Tonnage

Chow.

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As the lot of them make their way down the corridor back to the chow hall, Tom can't help but grin at the sounds they make. The Bat-Fam can't help it. They slip across the floor on soles intended to aid stealth, and all of them have been trained for years at this point to make no noise when moving around. So from them is the slightest rustling, despite the fact there are four of them.

Then there is Cyborg. His heavy footfalls are accompanied by the humming of machinery as Nightwing and he gossip idly about friends and foes from their past. Reminiscing about what was and trying to keep up on what's current. The names of heroes and villains dribble from their tongues with love and respect on the one side. And anywhere from sadness to loathing on the other. But it's all interesting and even the rest of the bats are riveted listening to it. It's all information that predates their involvement, and it's obviously something that he doesn't just yammer on about for no reason.

And him. The soles of his sandals have almost no give at all, and he isn't bothering to even attempt to be quiet. So from him, the rubber-covered heel hitting the floor, and then the slap of the ball of his foot as it smacks down makes a very distinctive 'Thud-Wump' sound with every step against the metal floors. It's a deep, reverberating tone that seems to make the deck vibrate ever so slightly each time his toes hit the floor.

Of course, it's also strange because Cyborg is a heavy hitter. He's a big guy, metal body, strong, tough... And Tom can't help but make the comparison between them as they make the final approach to calorie-laden wonder.

Cyborg is just small. Not really, maybe. But compared to Tom? He's a foot or more shorter and by comparison, looks like he's built to be riding racehorses.

Opening the door to the cafeteria this time is an entirely different experience.

While it is a decent-sized space, and so could still be considered mostly empty, that does nothing to change the fact that the last time he walked in here there were two people waiting. This time there are at least a dozen and the ones sitting at the table closest to the door include some big names.

The big names. Well, and Booster Gold.

The rest of the people in the room look over curiously. Some sizing him up in his tie-died t-shirt and sweat shorts that he'd worn under the suit today. Some seem to be deciding if he should be here. At least one that turns away in what looks to be mild disgust. Tom just ignores them.

He isn't a huge fan of what he sees in the mirror either, but that's just rude.

Superman stands from where he'd been sitting with the rest of them, his expression an encouraging smile. “Hello Tom, welcome to the Watchtower. Grab yourself a bite to eat and come on back. We need to talk about how you are going to be moving forward with your search and rescue education. There are normal classes that cover the basics, and we'd like to run you through those as well. But there are a few tricks of the trade for those of us with the means to take advantage of them.”

As he starts making his way over to the food line, he's stopped. Batman has stood up and is standing in front of him. The entire room becomes silent. Superman being a nice guy is a given. Batman giving a new guy the time of day is generally not.

“I'd like to thank you, Tom. For what you did the other night. It won't have made the people responsible happy though, so I've added a panic button to the suit schematic that is currently being produced. Short, powerful, and long-range. We can track it from orbit to find you within a few meters. If anything happens, and for whatever reason you can't get in touch with us directly, I want you to use it.”

How the man manages to look stern while holding out a hand to shake is beyond Tom, but he does it anyway. “Yes, Sir. I'll do that. And thanks, I didn't think of that. Be good for search and rescue, too. Once I find somebody I could use that to get help!”

The handful of people in the room who don't know who Tom is are astonished at what is transpiring, and even the one that gave him the strange look earlier is now more speculative than anything.

He vaguely knows who these people are. Colorful costumes and photogenic appearances for the most part make it easy to remember them, but until recently he'd never really had the motivation to keep track of them.

It's cool, of course. Heroes! It's just that after his parents died he'd lost interest in the whole scene for a while. Even stopped keeping track of the Gotham heroes.

Making his way to the counter, he starts filling a tray. Then he looks around the room. At these people that he's sure are going to judge him for this. And he seems to collapse on himself just slightly, but grabs a second tray anyway and piles that one high too.

He's hungry. But he can practically feel the looks of incredulity spearing into his back.

Dropping that off at the table, he turns around to go back for a drink only to see that Orphan has already filled the largest glass size they have with some sort of brown soda and sets it next to his tray with a smile.

“Thanks.” He half whispers as he gives the chair a good once over. It doesn't look particularly sturdy, but Cyborg is sitting on one, so... And yes. It holds him fine.

As he begins eating, surrounded by some of the most impressive heroes on the planet, he can't help staring a little. He's eating lunch with the big three. Batman has chosen a chef's salad. Superman a hamburger and fries.

Wonder Woman has some kind of seared fish fillet with a substance on the side that looks a lot like coleslaw, just with way too many colors in it for Tom. She sees him looking and offers a warm smile.

Tom looks down and concentrates on his food. There are just too many beautiful people in this room and looking at his food right now is way safer.

“So, Tom. What exactly are you looking to accomplish here? I'd heard that you weren't interested in joining the league full-time, and that is fine. Honestly, you are a tad under the age that we'd like to see full-time members anyway. But I have to say, seeing somebody putting in the time to learn what they are doing rather than leaping forward and causing a disaster is always nice to see.” Jon Stewart nods at the end of his statement, and Tom nods back. Not sure what else to do, he starts explaining his goals for heroics in really basic terms.

“Um. I was just hoping to get better at pulling people out of bad locations. You know, Search and rescue? Just, I can do it in environments and places that most can't. I'm a little hard to hurt. I guess.”

Flash scoffs at him. “If you're a little hard to hurt, then I am just a little bit quick. We watched your testing, Tom. For safety reasons with an unknown meta, somebody needed to anyway and we were curious. But don't sell yourself short. That was an impressive display.”

Wonder Woman nods, smiling. “He's right, Tom. Very impressive. What I've heard of your activities in Gotham is likewise magnificent. You have much to be proud of.”

The rest of the room is now looking at this massive, rotund individual with naked curiosity. A few are pecking at their phones now, most likely looking him up.

Tom feels like he might puke as he starts shoveling food in his mouth faster to get out of there. Batman speaks next, directed towards the side of the table that includes Tom.

“If you all are willing, I'd like to see these sparring sessions of yours where you all fail to take him down turned into a mutual training environment. A lot of what he needs to learn you already know, and when he gets to the point we are customizing training it would be more efficient if he had a good grasp of the basics.”

Tom pales and goes to open his mouth, but Batman shakes his head cutting him off. “The deal you have for compensation can stand until you are on your feet, Tom. We're trying to make things better here.”

Cyborg looks over from his own burger, which appears as though at least a cow and a pig gave their lives for it. It's doubtful he can keep up with Tom, but he looks disturbingly ready to give it a shot.

“What deal is that?

Robin sets his fork down and swallows to speak, but Spoiler beats him to it, much to his annoyance. It was his deal, damn it.

“We each offer five hundred bucks a night for the chance to practice against a meta. A couple times a week for a few hours each. It's worked out really well, he gets some cash he badly needs and we get a chance to spar with someone of his ability without too much risk. Been a lot of fun, and I don't think any of us would begrudge some training time. Maybe Red Robin can help with some of the less active bits since he's laid up anyway. Maybe do it through video calls?”

There is a call from the far side of the room, and a drop-dead gorgeous woman in a leather jacket and fishnets stands and starts walking their way.

“This an open invitation kind of thing? I could always use a good workout.” She gives the hulking teen a smirk as she sees his eyes struggle to stay off her toned legs. “Maybe I can teach you something while I'm at it.”

Nightwing nods her way and offers the introduction with a smirk at Tom. “Black Canary, this is Thomas Wierzowski. So far he's handled Two-Face to the point we're unlikely to have problems with him again and turned Croc into a pain pudding twice. Among other things."

“I... Sure. I can get beat up by anybody willing to help me out. Things were pretty tight even before somebody blew up the apartments. At this point I can use all the help I can get.”

Her eyes narrow and she looks at Batman with an expression that demands answers. Batman responds with a voice that, even past his usual sound of having smoked in the womb, sounds irritated.

“We think that was Black Mask's retaliation after Tom responded to a kidnapping attempt that devolved into an attempted murder by tearing off the man's arm. It seems that Black Mask wasn't pleased by this and took steps. They have an uneasy ceasefire at the moment. I suspect because the villain hasn't yet worked out either how to kill him, or whether or not he should try for recruitment.”

The room is now silent. Those unexposed to the meta's life didn't expect to hear that, and the heroes who have found his details online are passing around the information.

Spoiler is looking at Tom with an expression that is somewhere between a smirk and a giggle as he gives up on keeping his eyes where they ought to be and turns back to his food.

“You know, Canary?”

The blonde looks her way with a smile. “Yes, spoiler?”

“He's been tossing around the idea of starting a gym in Gotham not too different from the one Wildcat operates. Once he gets that handled, you can probably stop by anytime you want and just slap him around. He's into it.”

Tom's face is now completely red and he turns to her, stammering. “What? No, I mean... Money...” About then he realizes he's been had. Because anything with ovaries and half the ones with balls in the room all start to laugh.

He gives Spoiler an exasperated look and goes back to his food. The first tray is gone. Time to start on the burgers and fries.

Dinah Lance, the true name behind the rough and tumble, yet beautiful woman that has come over is one of the last to stop laughing.

“Oh my hell, Tom. You are a treasure. When do you get together?”

Robin looks at her speculatively. In a straight fight, no powers or gadgets, this is one of the few people in the world that Bruce has flat out told him would be a tough fight. One he couldn't guarantee winning. It's impressive, she looks hardly larger than himself.

“Maybe we can all teach each other something.”

Nightwing's broad smile once again makes an appearance. Tom decides that whatever toothpaste that guy uses is probably powered by the sun to get teeth that sparkly.

“A superhero workshop? For training in fighting styles and investigation techniques, a lot of which can come up in search and rescue?” He turns to his mentor, the Batman. "Honestly, that sounds like a fantastic idea. Why don't we already have something like that?”

Superman breaks in here. “We do, to a point. But that kind of thing usually takes place here on the Watchtower. Having a place to do so planet side wouldn't be a bad idea, though given the enemies we collectively have the security on the place would need to be very tight.”

Tom mutters. “Ought to just set it up in crime alley. If that place had heroes coming and going all day maybe people wouldn't be getting killed all the time.”

That stops the conversation cold again for a moment, and when he realizes what he's done, Tom buries his head in his food, taking big bites to get done even faster. A few seconds later, he stands back up and starts carrying his tray back to the receptacle on the counter.

“C'mon, guys, I wanna go see the suit getting made.”

Then he makes his way to the door. Pushes it open looking half behind himself to see if anybody is following. Hits somebody and his head immediately swivels back around. He stops. Stares. After about four seconds he slaps his hands over his eyes.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean to hit you like that. You okay?”

She is one of the most powerful people on the planet, and it was absolutely a combination of surprise and incredulity that actually saw her falling to the floor on her butt and looking up at the giant meta. She's just getting back to her feet when he reboots his brain well enough to respond, and then he says something she did not expect. Something that doesn't often happen.

He'd asked her if she was okay. It's a simple thing, but it rarely happens unless there are glowing green rocks around. Once she's standing and sees him still there, blocking the doorway with his hands over his face and his ears beet red, she giggles.

“I'll be fine. But I would like to get into the cafeteria.”

Tom cringes. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.

Removing his hands, he carefully does his absolute best to no longer gaze into that which has corrupted the minds of many a young man.

The boob window.

>>

Author's note:
We'll be getting back off the Watchtower soon. I promise.

Well aware that the likelihood of any Kryptonian under a yellow sun being surprised is way low. She was distracted by something. Work with me here.

Oh, and he'll get used to being around women at some point. But he's sixteen and has a lot on his mind. Give the poor kid a break.