Chapter 7
When Tommy walked into the building, he knew the air had shifted from its usual aura. Something just felt weird, but his senses weren’t going off, so it couldn’t have been anything bad. Or at least anything threatening. The first thing he noticed was that he didn’t immediately see anyone else there. There was always at least one person hovering around the front. Not today. He walked in suspiciously, moving to the back. He didn’t see anyone there, either.
Before he could change, his boss suddenly appeared around the corner. Tommy was just glad he found someone else alive. “Hey, Mr. Whitman. Uh, where is everyone?” He asked.
“I gave them an hour off.” Mr. Whitman said simply.
“What? Why? Do I need to be here?”
“Yes. There’s a high-profile customer coming in soon. You’re the only one I want here, actually.”
Tommy shot him a confused look. “Why? I’m not really the person to impress anyone.”
“I don’t need you to impress him. I need you to treat him like you would anyone else.” Mr. Whitman told him.
He paused before answering. “Okay. I think I can do that.”
“Good.” Mr. Whitman nodded. “Go get changed, he’s going to be here soon.”
Tommy did so, still slightly suspicious. He left his bag in the back, and moved to the counter, apprehensively waiting. Mr. Whitman joined him within a few minutes. It was only a few moments of uncomfortable silence before the door was pushed open.
A pretty regular dude walked in. Black jeans, a light blue sweater, plain baseball cap. The only thing slightly weird was the black face mask he wore, but that was still fairly common. Ranboo wore one too, a lot of people did it of their own volition. No one would have questioned it, and he guessed that was the point. But underneath the cap, careful eyes scanned the room with a hard expression.
“Welcome.” Mr. Whitman greeted. The dude didn’t respond, just glanced around while shifting like he was uncomfortable. The vehicle that had dropped him off pulled forward, out of view of the door. “Let’s start, shall we?”
The guy nodded his agreement. Tommy grabbed a paper, and moved from the counter. “I’m Tommy.” He said, gesturing. “Come with me.”
The guy kept an eye on the door and the glass that was lain in it, and seemed to relax slightly as they were hidden from it. Before Tommy could even grab a pencil, he took the mask off, the cap, and the sweater. Underneath the sweater he wore a collared white long-sleeved shirt. His face scratched at Tommy’s memory, but before he could draw it from the depths, the guy took of the gloves Tommy hadn’t even noticed he was wearing and the answer smacked him in the face.
The Winter Soldier stood scrutinizing him, looking much less uncomfortable standing straight with his arms crossed and his expression hard. Tommy paused, but only for a second. Well, shit.
“Name?” Tommy asked, his heart beating in his chest. His senses weren’t going off; there’s no way he knew yet. Tommy would just need to be careful about the way he spoke and held himself. The man was a super spy, for God’s sake.
“Techno Barnes.” He drawled, like he was surprised Tommy even needed to ask.
Tommy wrote it down. “You mind if I call you Techno?” He asked. He would do it even if he said no. The other just shrugged. “Which fit are you getting?”
“Basic dress suit, custom fabric.” Techno recited. Tommy nodded, writing it down.
“You look uncomfortable.” Tommy remarked, grabbing his tape measure.
“Wow, really? Strange.” Techno said sarcastically.
Tommy smirked. “Smartass. Hold still, yeah?”
While he was taking measurements, Tommy asked bluntly, “So how’s the arm work? How does it connect to the rest of you?”
“Why?” Techno narrowed his eyes.
“Just need to know if we should modify the design of the shirt.” Tommy told him.
He blinked, and seemed to accept that as an answer. “The metal plates start before my shoulder.” He said.
“Do they pinch in places, or rub on the clothes anywhere? Have you noticed any holes?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t think so.” Techno gave a small shrug, as to not move too much.
“Alright, good. That’s sick, by the way.” Tommy said, writing the numbers down.
“What?” Techno raised an eyebrow.
“Your arm. It’s cool as hell.” Tommy said. “Moving vibranium plates? That’s awesome. It’s got to have a synthetic nervous system, right? How does it connect to your own nerves so you can control it?”
Techno looked at him. “I don’t know.” He said after a while. “I wasn’t involved in the process until they stuck it on me. And I was unconscious then.”
“You know what, that’s fair.” Tommy nodded.
Techno looked at him some more, and sighed. “There is a nervous system. They artificially wired it to my own.” He said, staring ahead of him.
“That’s so cool. How much can you feel? Heat, pressure, pain?” Tommy asked.
“I can feel pressure. Heat and pain are strange.” Techno paused. “They’re kind of dull. I could put my hand on a stove and only be aware that it was hot. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Have you done that before?” Tommy quirked an eyebrow, smirking.
“…Maybe.” Techno admitted.
Tommy grinned. “Can you take it off?”
“I can.” Techno gave him a weird look. “I don’t want to.”
“Fair enough.” Tommy nodded. “Can you beat Captain America in an arm wrestle?”
Techno’s lips upturned, just barely. “Yes.”
“What about Iron Man?”
“Yes.”
Tommy grinned. “Hell yeah. You could make a lot of money like that, y’know? You cover your arm and bet some buff dude twenty you could beat them in an arm wrestle. Boom, swindled.”
Techno snorted. “That sounds like a good way to get punched.” He said.
“Yeah, probably.” Tommy nodded. “But money. Worth it.”
Techno rolled his eyes. “Sure.” He deadpanned.
Tommy smirked, quiet for a few seconds. “Where’d you get the sweater from? Doesn’t seem like your style.”
Techno grimaced. “It’s not. I had to borrow clothes.”
“Unfortunate.” Tommy commented.
“Very.”
“What would you have done?” Tommy asked.
Techno raised an eyebrow. “Well, I can’t really go out dressed like I usually would without someone wantin’ to assassinate me. I would have drawn their attention to somethin' else, so they don’t notice anythin' different.”
“Like what?” Tommy questioned.
“Like copious amounts of jewelry. Who cares that you’re wearin’ gloves when you have ten pounds of gold on you?”
“So basically just being so extra no one pays attention to anything else.” Tommy said, amused.
“Exactly.”
“Smart.”
“I know.”
After a while, the whole sheet of numbers was filled. “Okay, I’m done.” Tommy told him, rolling his tape back up.
“That’s it?” Techno asked.
“That’s it. Mr. Whitman will email you when it’s made, presuming you already have the ‘custom fabric’ specified.”
“We do.”
“Cool. You’re free to leave if you don’t have any questions.”
Techno didn’t acknowledge after that, just pulled everything back on. Then he was out the door like he’d never been there in the first place. Tommy gave the paper to Mr. Whitman. The next hour, his coworkers filed back in through the door, and everything shifted back to how it usually was.
“I met the kid.” Techno said gruffly, walking into the living room in a white t-shirt that was a lot more comfortable than the stupid sweater he’d had before.
“What kid?” Wilbur called from his upside-down position on the couch.
“What do you mean ‘what kid’? How many kids do you know?” Techno rolled his eyes, moving to the kitchen.
“Three.” Wilbur told him.
“And two of them live here. So who’s the other one?”
“What kid?” Phil asked him, looking up from the ground beef sizzling on a pan on a stove.
“The one from the tailor’s. Tommy.” Techno said, thunking his forehead on Phil’s shoulder.
“Hi, mate.” Phil said, raising an eyebrow.
“For god’s sake, Phil, you’re gonna burn the fucking meat.” Sam snapped.
“I got it.” Techno rolled his eyes, pushing Phil out of the way and turning the heat down.
“Phil should be able to do it himself.” Sam glared.
“Lay off, mate. I haven’t cooked for at least seventy-two years.” Phil scoffed.
“It’s spaghetti. It’s not that hard to make.” Sam scoffed back.
“I can cook.” Techno reminded him.
“Are you going to do it for him every time he decides he wants a snack and eats an elephant?” Sam challenged. “If he’s gonna eat like a supersoldier, he’s going to cook for himself.”
“Okay, here’s an idea. Ordering the fuckin' food.” Phil suggested.
“Takeout is unhealthy. I will not have your organs dying on me yet, old man.” Sam sniffed. “Besides, it’s a lot cheaper to cook twenty pounds of food than to buy twenty pounds of food.”
“You’re a billionaire!” Phil said exasperatedly.
“Yeah, well I’m not going to be if I have two teenagers, two supersoldiers, four aliens, and two gods all eating takeout!” Sam threw his hands in the air.
“Keep the heat down next time, Phil.” Techno said calmly.
“But it cooks faster if I turn it up.” Phil said.
“It’s cooking faster than you’re stirrin’. You’re goin’ to burn it like that.”
“Give me the goddamn spoon.” Phil huffed.
“If you stir it to fast, you’re going to spill it.” Techno warned.
“Didn’t someone teach you the basics when you were younger?” Sam asked exasperatedly.
“No. Boys weren’t supposed to cook back then.” Phil rolled his eyes.
“What did they teach you in the military?”
“How to shoot people. Not how to cook them.” Phil said.
“Okay, that was a bit excessive.” Wilbur commented from the couch.
“He asked.” Phil scoffed.
“Okay, whatever. Come strain the goddamn pasta.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Techno can handle the meat.”
“Hold on, go back a minute, you skipped over a part here. You met Tommy?” Wilbur asked, sitting up to peek at him over the back of the couch.
“Yeah.” Techno drawled.
“Why?”
“I went to the tailor’s. That’s where he works.” Techno deadpanned.
“Yeah, I know that. I thought Sam told the owner to keep the employees out of it?” Wilbur said.
“Actually I told him to get someone who would act normal, and leave the rest of the employees out of it.” Sam corrected.
“He was not normal.” Techno scoffed.
“Tommy measured you? What did he do?” Wilbur asked curiously.
“He asked about my arm. And he told me I looked uncomfortable.”
“That is his normal.” Wilbur shrugged.
“It was weird.”
“Did he make you uncomfortable, though?” Sam asked.
Techno paused for a second. “No. Not really. He acknowledged me and who I am. But it wasn’t bad. Necessarily.”
Sam nodded. “You can add the tomato sauce now. If he were to, say, be around the whole team, would that freak him out?”
Techno gave him a weird look, dumping tomato sauce into the pan and stirring. “I don’t think so. He was kinda cocky. Why?”
Sam shrugged in a way that told them he definitely had a reason. “I don’t know yet.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Hey Friday, can you tell Quackity to get in here?”
“Certainly, boss.”
A moment later, the singular human-sized air vent in the room popped open, a grinning head sticking out of it. “What’s up?” He asked.
“I’m going to fill the vents with carbon monoxide some day.” Sam said irritably.
“Wow, you’re grouchy tonight.” Quackity raised an eyebrow.
“It’s your turn to set the table.” Sam said, ignoring him.
“What? Why don’t you make one of the aliens do it?” Quackity complained.
“I don’t know if the aliens even know what silverware is.” Sam told him. Quackity grumbled, dropping from the vents.
“Most of us do. My brother, though? That’s questionable.” Dream said, smirking as he turned the page of the book he was reading.
Wilbur jumped, shrieking. The other four just turned to look at him. “How long have you been sitting there?” Wilbur exclaimed.
“About two hours.” Dream raised an eyebrow, his eyes tracking the words.
“Actually?” Phil asked.
“You guys didn’t notice him?” Techno raised an eyebrow.
“You did?” Phil asked.
“Where is your brother?” Sam asked.
“Currently talking with the twins.”
“About?” Sam prompted, suspicious.
“War. What else?” Dream raised an eyebrow.
Sam groaned. “I don’t know, I was hoping it was magic or something. Friday, can you call those three in here? And everyone else.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Is that going to be enough for everybody?” Wilbur asked, eyeing the copious amounts of noodles and sauce.
“Well I should hope so, because otherwise they’re getting Cap’s burnt meat sauce.” Sam scoffed.
“Boss, the group of aliens say they don’t want to leave the medical wing.”
Sam sighed. “Hook me up, please.”
“One second.”
Sam paused for a moment, then started, “Guys, please. You’ve got to be out of your own food by now.”
“What if he wakes up?” Velvet’s voice said stubbornly.
“Then Friday will tell you, and you can run back down before he can even blink.” Sam said tiredly. “This is worse than herding chickens.” He mumbled.
“I’m staying here. The rest of you can go.” They heard Velvet say.
“Dude. Get your ass up here. It will be fine.”
“Are we having human food?” Bad’s voice piped in.
“Yeah. I don’t even know how to make any other food.” Sam said.
“I know how to make Asgardian food.” Foolish announced as he entered the room, twins in tow.
“Look! He can cook for gods who eat whole boars in one go. He can cook for the rest of us.” Phil claimed.
“No, he can’t.” Sam said irritably. “He doesn’t live on this planet. You do.”
“What are we having?” Tubbo asked, bouncing into the kitchen.
“Spaghetti.” Sam told him, closing his eyes.
“Heck yes! I love spaghetti!” Ranboo cheered.
“Sit down at the table, then.” Phil told him.
“That includes you, Wilbur.” Sam said tiredly.
The aliens joined them within a few moments, Callahan signing.
“Callahan thinks whatever that is smells good.” Antfrost said for him.
“That’s good.” Sam nodded.
“Look at this. We’re all good friends here.” Wilbur spread his fingers on the table, grinning.
“No, you guys are a bunch of annoying people who live in my house.” Sam huffed.
“He’s grumpy tonight, don’t worry about it.” Tubbo told a disgruntled-looking Velvet.
Phil carried the huge pot of noodles to the table, and set it down. Techno followed with a lot of sauce to go with. As soon as they were on the table, a lot of hands went reaching for them.
Niki, Skeppy, and Ponk walked in that moment. “This is why I never had children.” Sam groaned.
Ponk smirked, pulling up a chair beside him. “I think the twins count, now.”
“Fair enough.” Sam sighed.
“You’re doing fine.” Niki assured him.
“I would be doing fine if he wasn’t so frustrating.” Sam threw a hand in the direction of Phil.
“I’ll take care of it tomorrow, okay?” Niki told him.
“Thank you.” Sam said gratefully.
“I can see the gray hairs.” Ponk joked.
“I’m about to add one more.” Sam told him. “Wilbur, do you have the kid’s phone number?”
“Yeah, why?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow.
“Tell him I want to meet with him sometime to discuss a possible job here.”