Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Out of all his deaths so far, getting beaten to death definitely hurt the most.

The final control room was over fairly quickly. Explosions and shouts rang out from behind them as they raced down the tunnels carved through the earth. A room made of Blackstone opened up before them, five chests with signs above them sat in the room, along with a button on the far wall. Everyone gasped, praising Eret for his work, and made their way over to the chest with their name. Tommy, along with Eret, made their way to the button on the wall. Wilbur shouted behind them, and Eret reached for the button, but Tommy beat him to the punch. Eret looked at him horrified as the sound of pistons reached his ears, and four figures emerged from the walls.

Tubbo was the first to go, something that Tommy was thankful for. At least he wouldn't have to see the slaughter with his own eyes. A gloved hand clamped around the young boy’s mouth, and a netherite blade slid its way across his throat, courtesy of Sapnap. Tubbo barely had time to lock horrified eyes with Tommy before he died, body disappearing before it hit the floor. Wilbur was the next lamb to the slaughter as Punz took an axe to his thigh, forcing the proud man to his knees. He tried to raise his shield, but it was batted to the side and the axe dropped once again, splitting open the man’s head like an overripe watermelon. Fundy, having just seen his father butchered lunged forward, sword clanging against the armor of George. The goggle-clad man backed up a step before grabbing the hybrids’ wrist. Sword hand immobilized, Fundy could do nothing but beg as George plunged his sword into their gut. With a swift kick, the young fox was shoved off the blade, dying body slumped against the Blackstone walls.

Tommy, like the coward he was, tried to run. He backed away, but smooth Blackstone walls stopped him in his tracks. The masked man advanced on him, sword gleaming. Tommy fumbled for his sword, but his sweaty hands slipped on the handle, not that it would have changed anything. Dreams' forearm slammed against his throat, pinning his body to the wall. There was a beat of hesitation before a searing pain erupted in his chest. The arm keeping him against the wall fell away, but his body didn't move. Buried up to the hilt in his chest was Nightmare, Dreams’ sword.

His eyelids felt heavy and his chest burned, but he forced himself to look up at the sound of Erets voice. Eret was still alive! He had to stop them from killing him, he had to. 

A clumsy arm fumbled for the handle for Dreams’ sword, but Eret spoke once more, "Down with the revolution, boys. It was never meant to be!"

 His hand fell back down as the sunglass-wearing man's words hit him. Eret betrayed them. Fundy let out one last breath before disintegrating, and Tommy soon followed suit.

The duel, while a much slower death, was far less painful. Dream and Tommy stood back to back, bow in hand as Wilbur counted their steps. Tommy's hands shook, a combination of nerves and having just respawned. From the brief look he caught of Dream, the older man's hands were stock still. Ten paces felt like an eternity for Tommy, whose mind raced. Aim to kill or aim to the sky? He knew what he needed to do, but he knew he couldn't do it. Wilbur called to fire and the duelists spun around, Tommy shooting first, His arrow missing Dream by a matter of inches. Dream released his arrow immediately after, and he didn't miss.

The arrow lodged itself up to the fletching in his throat, choking him with his own blood. Wilbur and Tubbo threw the one splash potion of instant health they had left, which by design did nothing but numb the pain, and dragged him back to L'Manburg. Initially, they tried to force-feed him Instant Health and Regen pots, but his esophagus was punched clean through so none made it further than the arrow wound.

Fundy had suggested trying an IV, but by then it was too late. He had lost too much blood and his body disintegrated.

But there was no quick death awaiting for him now. No health potions to ease his passing into the next world. Just cold obsidian and the crazed eyes of a self-proclaimed god.

It had started fairly normally, with Tommy belting out song lyrics as loud as he could and Dream clamping his hands over his ears to try and muffle his amazing singing skills. Then Sam, the bastard, had made an appearance. He said some bullshit about still not having found the cause of the explosions and had to keep Tommy in longer, which he knew was a lie.

Tommy wasn't stupid, despite what others might think. He read the contract. Hell, he even asked a question about this exact scenario. He could be locked in the prison for up to seven days, no more. And today was the seventh day, yet Sam broke his word, which he couldn't say didn't surprise him. Maybe it was the green?

Green people were always pretty strange. Mexican dream (Rest his soul) and Drista, while good people, were quite strange (not that he'd ever say it to their faces). That new guy he had shown around was green too, what was his name? Charlie something?

Dream was, well, Dream. He sometimes wondered what happened to the Dream he used to know. The one who he built Church Prime with. The man who heard of his family problems and offered him a place in his SMP. The man with a tea kettle laugh and a heart of gold.

Sam used to be fine. A certified genius of Redstone and machinery, he built Tommy a whole android for Prime's sake! But then he got stuck on top of the egg, forced to eat his own flesh to survive, and he wasn't quite the same afterward. He became more closed off and cautious, training every second he wasn't at the prison or helping Tommy and Sam Nook at the Hotel.

But, despite all that, he had always taken Sam for a man of his word. Apparently not. Half a dozen potatoes fell into a small pool of water and Sam left, ignoring Tommy's screams and threats.

Things continued to deteriorate from there. There was a quick scrap over the potatoes, Dream elbowing him as he grabbed his three, leaving the rest for Tommy. Soon after, they had begun to argue, about what escaped his mind. The subject soon turned to the revive book, which mocked Dream for making up.

"The revive book isn't real! Schlatt’s dead! I've seen his grave! His corpse is there!"

Dream was silent for a moment, the bubbling of lava and the dripping of the crying obsidian the only sounds in the room.

When Dream spoke, Tommy nearly didn't hear him, "Why don't you go ask him then?" The man stepped forward, fists clenched. Tommy backed up, but the jagged obsidian pressed against his back. For a moment, he was back in the final control room, still young and wide-eyed, watching his friends cut down around him.

A fist collided with his face, and he was brought back to the present. His head snapped back, colliding with the walls just in time for a punch to the gut. Tommy collapsed to his hands and knees, gasping for air. A sharp kick landed right into his ribs, and he flopped onto his side, stars dancing in his vision. He tried to crawl away, but a boot came down hard on his hand, crushing into the ground but thankfully not breaking it. Another kick struck him in the jaw, dislocating it. 

With a kick in the gut, he threw up. A putrid mix of stomach acid and blood splattered against the floor as his stomach emptied itself. Dream didn't stop, though. Kick after kick landed on him as he curled up, arms feebly trying to protect his head. With a particularly strong kick, he was forced onto his back as Dream straddled him.

With another punch, he began to bloody Tommy's face. One blow broke his nose, another made his left eye stop working like someone had flipped a switch and turned it off. 

The punches stopped, but strong hands wrapped around his throat, and he couldn't breathe. His left hand gripped at Dreams’ arm, but Dream's grip didn't lessen. His hand went further up, trying to push Dreams’ face away, but his hand only pushed the mask off of his face. He was too far out of it to get a good look at the man’s face, but his one good eye stared straight into dreams emerald green ones. He idly wondered if he was the first to see Dreams’ face.

The pressure around his neck released as Dream stood, brushing his hands off on his orange jumpsuit. Tommy rolled into his stomach, coughing and hacking and spitting blood and broken teeth on the floor. Thank yous and apologies bubbled out between split lips as tears streamed down his face.

Dream knelt next to Tommy, running a hand through his hair, painfully reminding him of exile where he did the same thing. Back then he had found comfort in it. Now it made him want to vomit again.

Dream whispered something in his ear, hot breath tickling his neck, but he didn't hear it. The ringing in his ears drowned out all sound as Dreams hand tangled itself in his hair.

He lifted his head painfully slow, as if drunk off the moment, before he slammed his head back down with a monumental crunch. Tommy was far too tired to do anything but softly whimper as his head was slammed into the obsidian again and again and again until bone finally gave way and unconsciousness welcomed him with open arms.

________________

Tommy wasn't sure what he was expecting to be there when he died. An endless, sunny field maybe? A palace in the clouds? A castle in the deepest depths of the nether? Phil had never mentioned an afterlife, death probably never crossing the partially immortal man's mind until after Wilbur, and they hadn't exactly been close after that. He wondered if Drista would be there, considering she was, technically, a god.

Needless to say, he was going in blind.

When Tommy awoke, nothing hurt. His left eye was still swollen shut, but it didn't hurt. His right eye flitted open and was met with absolute nothingness. It was as if he hadn't opened his eye at all.

Dream hadn't gotten his other eye, had he? He didn't really want to remember. He waved a hand in front of his face, and he could see it clear as day. Well, he wasn't completely blind at least, but where the hell was he?

He planted his hands down and tried to sit up, but his balance was completely off and he would have fallen over had a hand not clamped on his shoulder, steadying him.

A blurry face swam into his vision, and a painfully familiar voice echoed into his ears, "Careful Tom's, don't strain yourself."

Tommy groaned, his vision swimming and head aching, "Ghostbur? That you?"

His vision cleared slightly, just enough to see the slight scowl on the figure's face, "Afraid not. C'mon, I'll help you."

With the strange figures' help, Tommy was able to stand, if only just. He leaned heavily on the other, which in any other situation would have embarrassed him, but he couldn't find it in him to care at the moment.

Tommy’s vision finally cleared and he glanced to see the man who was basically holding him upright at this point. He wore a large trench coat, with a yellow sweater almost grey from gunpowder. He wore his signature beanie and a lit cigarette hanging out of his curled lips, and a still bleeding wound in his stomach.

"You're here early," Wilbur Soot grinned.

Tommy immediately released the man, stumbling backward, his legs thankfully holding his weight, "No, no, no. This isn't real. This can't be real! You're dead! I saw you die!"

The smile on the man's face fell slightly, "And so are you, Tommy. C'mon, the others are waiting." Without waiting for a response, he spun around and began to walk, forcing Tommy to jog after him to keep up, "Others?"

Wilbur turned to look back at him, a gleam in his eyes, "What, did you forget about Schlatt and Mexican Dream already?"

_______________

The walk, surprisingly, didn't take long. After only about 5 minutes of silence between the two, they reached two people sitting on the ground, one of them facing them with the other back turned as they sat on the ground, playing some card game.

The one facing him wore a wrinkled suit, ram horns curling around his ears. A single stream of blood dripped from his nose down his face, evaporating as soon as it landed on the black floor. The other wore a green, white, and red poncho draped over a blue hoodie. Despite the man facing away from him, he knew the upper half of his face was covered in a mask similar to Dreams but painted like the Mexican flag instead of white. Empty bottles and packs of cigarettes littered the otherwise bare ground.

He could tell the exact moment Schlatt saw him. His eyes flicked up, a scowl on his face as he glared half-heartedly at Wilbur, "Finally back from your little walk, lover boy? MD is kicking my ass and I could really-" His eyes landed on Tommy and he stopped mid-sentence, eyebrows furrowed.

"Kid? That really you?" Mexican Dream spun around, a grin on his face that fell as soon as he locked eyes with Tommy. Despite the man looking so different from Dream, the mask still made him flinch

"What the hell happened to you?" Wilbur shot him a glare, and he quickly backed down. Mexican Dream waved him over, handing him a lit blunt, "Eyy man! Welcome to Tijuana! I got you a welcoming gift hombre!"

Tommy looked down at the blunt skeptically. Tommy had quite a bit of experience with drugs, considering he helped run a drug empire before it turned into L'Manburg. Back then, though, Wilbur never let him have any "dealer samples" as he called them.

"Aren't I too young to smoke?" Mexican Dream just waved him off, "This is the afterlife man, age doesn't matter! It's a constant party, man!"

Shrugging, he raised the blunt to his lips and took a deep inhale, immediately bending over to hack his lungs out. MD cackles and pats his back, Schlatt and Wilbur chuckling in the background. He is assured that he will get used to it and be a pro in no time.

Once his lungs no longer feel like they're burning he sits down, MD on one side and Wilbur on the other. Schlatt produces a deck of Uno cards from his suit and begins dealing them in.

"Where the hell did you get that from? You sure as shit didn't die with it." The former president chuckles as Wilbur explains, "If you concentrate hard enough here, you can create things. Usually small stuff, like decks of cards or packs of cigarettes. It takes a lot out of you, so we haven't tried to do anything big. Schlatt tried to make a cuck shed once and managed to knock himself out for a month. Damn thing didn't even last long either."

Tommy nods, playing a +2, enjoying a groan from his pseudo brother, "C'mon, already? Games just started!" Mexican Dream subtly gave him a high five and Schlatt grinned at him.

He grinned back. If this was what the afterlife was like, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

______________

Turns out, he was right and wrong. Most of the time, everything was fine. The four of them played every card game known to man, including go fish and competitive solitaire, which Wilbur particularly seemed to enjoy, and laughing like old friends. His eye never healed, nor did the rest of the wounds, which was annoying but he got used to it. Blood constantly dripped from a deep cut right above his hairline, but like Wilbur and Schlatts’ blood, it evaporated as soon as it fell. He had fixed his dislocated jaw, though. Since nothing was technically broken, he just slid it back into its proper place, which strangely didn't hurt.

He quite enjoyed the afterlife. He didn't have to worry about anything. Dream couldn't touch him here. There would be no exile, no more deaths, no more pain, just the sweet numbness of the void. There was the occasional enderman that wandered over, but they never bothered them, even if he stared them straight in the eyes. Even if they did get angry, they couldn't hurt him. You couldn't feel pain in the afterlife, but he could still get hungover, for some reason.

He spent a lot of his time either drinking or smoking, which Wilbur would have killed him for had he been alive, but in the afterlife it didn't matter. They all had some form of bad habit. Wilbur smoked constantly, Schlatt was never without his trusty flask, and Mexican Dream was always high off something, usually weed, but it wasn't unheard of for him to summon something stronger.

He himself preferred beer and cigarettes, much to Wilbur and Schlatts’ joy and Mexican Dreams annoyance. Cigarettes helped steady his hands, which shook constantly since doomsday, probably something to do with being struck by lightning. Booze helped when his memories became too much to handle, and the feeling of Dream's hands around his throat felt too real.

Try as he might, he just couldn't find it in him to enjoy the weed that Mexican Dream seemed to have endless supplies of. All it did was make him paranoid and flinch at any subtle movement, usually sending him into a panic attack. Mexican Dream didn't offer him weed anymore.

When he managed to summon his first object, a wobbly music disk that he recognized as Mellohi, and they celebrated by getting blackout drunk and playing charades, which went about as well as expected.

Not everything was fun and games, however. When Wilbur drank too much or was high off his ass, which was thankfully not often, he would rant and rave about how he and Tommy deserved to die, and how the server was better off without them. Mexican Dream or Schlatt would take him on a walk when that happened, coming back only when the man was passed out in a heap.

He and Wilbur had both been very drunk once, and Wilbur was ranting about how Dream was really a good guy or some bullshit when he snapped. He and Wilbur got into a shouting match where he explained, in vivid detail, how Dream had beaten him to death, smashing his head onto the obsidian and splattering his brains against the walls, before running off somewhere to sulk. There was always a slight tug in his head that led him to the others, so he didn't worry about getting lost. When he returned, the three of them had given him a group hug and a heartfelt apology from Wilbur.

Schlatt was a far cry from the ruthless dictator he was when he was alive. He was no saint, but he at least seemed to care now, sheltering Tommy when Wilbur got particularly bad, throwing bottles and stomping around like an angry toddler. He had asked about the sudden change, which prompted a sad smile and something about Wilbur "pulling his head out of his ass" or some bullshit. He did spend most of his time drunk, but they all did to be fair.

Mexican Dream was the same drug-dealing madman he was in life. He constantly carried a picture of Mamacita with him and was always ready with a quick joke or gift of alcohol and cigarettes. He had taken to leaving his mask off after the first few days, seeing how scared it made Tommy.

He asked Schlatt about the revive book once about a month into being dead, and the older man grimaced, "Yeah, the book's real alright. No clue if it worked, and I was too busy fucking over loverboy here to test it out," he elbowed Wilbur in the gut, who responded by slapping the back of his head, "Dream promised his eternal loyalty or some bullshit if I gave it to him, along with a promise to revive me if I ever died. Load of bullshit."

With a roll of his eyes, they went back to the poker game they were playing. Tommy didn’t ask about the Revive Book again.

_____________

The day he got revived was nothing particularly interesting. They had just passed his second month anniversary, which ended with him nursing a nasty hangover and Schlatt still passed out cold. 

The three of them were playing go fish when there was a sharp tug around Tommy's neck. His cards fell out of his hands as he doubled over, struggling to breathe as the sensation tightened its grip on his throat.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he was yanked back, invisible strings pulling him away from the merry group. Wilbur and Mexican Dream were shouting, cold hands wrapped around his wrist, trying in vain to keep win with them. Schlatt sat up, awoken from the commotion. He jumped to his feet as soon as he saw what was happening, but when he reached out to grab him, his hand passed straight through him as if he wasn't even there.

Schlatt tried again, but his hands closed around empty space. There was another pull, and the grip around his wrists loosened. Wilbur looked terrified and tried to pull him, but his hands slipped off like he was made of butter, and Mexican Dream wasn't able to hold him back alone. With one last tug, his wrist was ripped free and he was yanked back, stumbling to keep upright. Wilbur made a wild grab for him, but his hands phased through him too.

Another yank and he was on his back, being dragged along the floor away from their merry little group, their still shouting bodies disappearing into the distance. There was a gut-wrenching sensation, and then he was falling. A pinprick of light appeared in the distance and grew larger and larger until it was all he could see.

Pain erupted all over his body like someone had skinned him alive and dropped him in a bathtub of lemon juice. Like every nerve ending was simultaneously being marinated in harming potions.

For the first time since he died, he felt fear.

____________

He realized he was alive again when everything hurt. Every inch of his body felt like pins and needles, like when he sat on his leg wrong and it cut off the circulation, but a hundred times worse. His head still pounded from his hangover, which didn't help either. His swollen eye throbbed to the beat of his heart, which was back to beating in his chest, which was a strange sensation.

His mind slowly became clearer, and the pain only intensified. The ground he was laying on felt like a bed of nails, every inch stabbing into his raw skin. His ribs burned so much he wondered if they had been ripped out.

A grating voice that was oh so loud echoed into his ears, "Tommy? Tommy. Get up." His eye shot open and immediately snapped closed. The light felt like someone scooping his eyes out with a rusty shovel. He opened his eyes again, far more cautiously this time, and immediately took in the large figure leaning over him, a white porcelain mask smeared with blood.

He screamed, and the sound assaulted his ears like a thousand explosions. The masked man bent back, releasing a crazed laugh of his own, proclaiming that he was a god. Tommy begged to differ but didn't voice his opinion, instead crawling into a corner and clamping his hands over his ears to try and drown it all out. He wondered if Sam would notice he was back, or if he would even care.

_____________

He stayed in that corner for a whole week, only moving when absolutely necessary. He sat next to the wall of lava despite the bubbling noise being far too loud, the warmth a welcome change from the numbing cold of the afterlife. Everything was cold, which was great for beer but less great when he wanted a hug and Wilburs’ cold embrace only reminded him of his death. That's part of the reason he drank, it made him feel warm.

Dream had originally tried to ask him questions, what death was like, what Wilbur was like, but he ignored the man. What was the worst that could happen? He gets sent back to the void to play games and get plastered for another few months? Oh no, what a nightmare.

Dream had realized he wouldn't budge after the first day or so, deciding to just sit back and watch him. Anytime the man was awake, which was most of the time, he was sitting on the chest with that damn smiley face mask boring into his soul, head tilted slightly like a dog observing a new toy. It made his skin crawl, but he refused to show it. He wouldn't give Dream anything.

The floor and walls were smeared with blood, his blood. Dream had obviously messed with it, drawing glyphs and symbols in a language that seemed to ooze power and something decidedly wrong. Something about the symbols told him they were never meant to be seen by mortal eyes, much less painted in blood to revive a dead man.

Withdrawal hit like a hammer in the groin, and sometimes he wondered if that would kill him rather than Dream, but he wasn't that lucky. His whole body shook like he was dropped in the antarctic, and he was constantly sweaty. Sometimes he would pass out, only to wake up an indeterminate amount of time later. He couldn't help but feel disappointed every time he woke back up in the cell.

He had reset his jaw sometime during the first day after Dream had gone to sleep. The pain had almost made him jump into the lava if only to make it stop. He had dislocated and reset joints before, but this hurt a hundred times worse, like someone had set his pain tolerance into the negatives. The only thing keeping him going was spite. He couldn't let Dream win. Not again.

He could count the number of times he moved on one hand, waiting until Dream fell asleep before crawling over to take large gulps of water from the cauldron before crawling back. Dream had left him a potato once, and he hadn't managed to get more than two bites in before he felt ready to throw up, so he tossed the rest into the lava. He made sure to not so much as shift whenever Dream was awake, maybe to spite him, he wasn't sure anymore.

He had caught his reflection in the water, once, and immediately regretted it. The entire left side of his face was a deep purple, and the area around his eye was painfully swollen, forcing the eye shut. A sheet of dried blood covered that half of his face as well, and his hair was so bloody it was almost red. That was a day ago, and he hasn't gone to get another drink since.

Sometime during the fifth day, the loudspeaker on the ceiling cracked to life, the light on the camera blinking red, "Alright Dream, I'm-" Whatever the warden was going to say was cut off as the man stopped mid-sentence, seemingly in shock. Tommy was grateful for it, as the few words Sam had spoken nearly blew out his eardrums. Was everything this loud?

There was a shuffling noise over the speaker, and the Netherite barrier shot up with a metallic ca-chunk!  

Sam spoke up again, voice thick with emotion, "Tommy, if you can hear me, I'm going to get you out of there, ok? I'm coming." He wondered why the man sounded so sad. He had let him die after all.

There was a moment of silence before the sound of Redstone activating and pistons firing could be heard through the lava. Dream stood up from his place on the chest and leaned against the wall, waiting as well.

The lava slowly fell, drifting lower and lower until he could see the figure of the Warden across the gap. The creeper hybrids armor was crooked, and his lower two arms continually clasped and unclasped. Tommy locked eyes with the man across the gap, and he could see the man’s red eyes from here. He didn't think Sam smoked, but it was the only reason he could think of for why the wardens eyes would be bloodshot.

Dream, the slimy bastard, took the opportunity to speak, "You know he hasn't moved an inch done I brought him back, right? Hasn't spoken a single word, either. I quite enjoy the silence, myself." He couldn't even see the man’s face but he could tell he was grinning.

Sam ignored him, pulling out a small tablet and pressing a few buttons, and the platform he was stood on slowly shifted forward.

Dream continued to monologue, "He called out your name as he died, you know." Had he? All he could remember of when he died was the pain, but he didn't put it past him to try and beg for help.

"He called for you, Puffy, Tubbo, Ranboo, Phil, hell he even tried Technoblade, but it didn't stop me from cracking his head open. Nobody came to save him, so he didn't even bother trying when he got back."

"Shut up."

"I tried so hard in exile to break him, you know? Told his friends not to visit, blew up his stuff, told him no one cared for him and that I was his only friend and that didn't work! It almost did, but then he decides to go root around in an anarchist’s basement and the bastard takes him in!"

"Shut up Dream."

"But it turns out all I needed to do was kill him to get him to snap! So really, I should be thanking you-" The platform Sam was stood on finally reached them, and the man moved faster than he thought possible. He shot forward, trident materializing in his hand as he threw it forward. It flew straight and true, all three prongs lodging themselves in dreams chest. Enchanted with loyalty, it pulled itself out of the prisoner’s chest with a wet pop! Before returning to the wardens extended hand.

His eyes lingered in Dream, who finally shut up as his body slumped to the ground, bleeding. Sam followed his eyes and waved his hand, "Don't worry, he'll live. Probably."

Sam's deep and soothing voice was like music to his ears compared to Dreams sharp and mad ranting. His hand lowered to his shoulder, stopping right before he touched him.

"Can you stand?" Tommy didn't think he could if his life depended on it, so he shook his head. He wasn't angry with Sam, not anymore. He used to be, but he couldn't find the energy to be mad anymore. He understood why the older man did it, it was his job after all. Keep the prisoner secure. But it didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Strong arms made their way under his legs and around his shoulders as Sam picked him up. The touch felt like pins digging into his skin, but it was better than the obsidian, which felt like razor blades, so he couldn't complain. The man smelt strongly of gunpowder and Redstone, which was to be expected of a creeper hybrid, but still brought back nasty memories of a ravine and a man's shattering sanity.

Sam was warm in the way lava wasn't, comforting yet not burning. He found himself leaning onto the man's chest as he muttered apologies and explanations.

"S'okay." His tongue felt like lead and his vocal cords felt like shattered glass, but he managed to get the words out. It was no one’s fault but Dreams.

Sam simply shook his head, "No, it's not."

________________

The trip out of the prison was much faster than he remembered, probably because Sam seemed to skip most of the safety measures, going a back route he had never seen before. His eyelid felt so heavy, but Sam refused to let him sleep, gently shaking him awake whenever he began to drift off.

Soon enough, they were back at the entrance, and Sam set Tommy down in the receptionist's chair. The warden scanned through his inventory, eventually pulling out a strength potion. Tommy eyed it curiously. They hadn't been able to get potions in the afterlife, they were too complicated or something.

Sam pressed it into his hands, "Drink it. It'll keep you upright until we can get you home, at least." He popped the cork and raised the bottle to his lips, the strong metallic taste of the potion a strange but welcome change after two months of nothing but alcohol and cigarettes. Sooner than he wanted, the glass was empty, and he handed it back to Sam, who stored it away.

Already, he could feel the effects of the potion kicking in like a triple shit of Expresso and adrenaline. He managed to stand, albeit a bit shakily, and made his way to the locker room where all his shit was. He opened his ender chest to grab the key card, but he paused as his hand drifted over a piece of fabric. Slipping the key card into his pocket, he pulled the fabric out.

In his hands was a tattered brown trench coat with a patch of the original L'Manburg flag sewn onto the shoulder. He remembered making a few of these for Wilbur as his way of saying sorry for getting them exiled. It had been him that had suggested Schlatt, after all. This one, while not the one the man died in, was one of his favorites, and it was shown in how many little rips there were. He had put it in his ender chest after Wilbur blew everything up, promising himself he'd get rid of it later. Later never came.

He slipped the large garment over his thin frame, and it fit surprisingly well, not needing him to roll up the sleeves at the very least. He and Wilbur are around the same size now, which would have been helpful when he had to make the man’s clothes without a measuring tape, having to eyeball it, but that was in the past now. 

He had made a lot of outfits back then, anyway, having been the only person on the server who could sew property. Some of the others could fix holes, but he was the only one who could make new clothes. He remembered running out of dark blue dye when he got to Fundy's uniform, so he had to fudge it and make the fox-man a baby blue one instead. He wasn't the only person who made clothes anymore, though. Puffy, Niki, and Eret, who had learned after the revolution, could all make clothes pretty well.

Shaking himself out of the past, he slid the key card into the receptacle, and the locker unlocked with a soft click. He shoved everything into his inventory, not bothering to put on any of the safety equipment Sam Nook gave him. He was just going to go home and pass out, no point in putting it on just to take it right off.

He stumbled out of the locker room, and he could feel Sam's eyes boring straight into his newest article of clothing, but he said nothing.

He stumbled over an uneven patch in the floor and Sam's hand shot out, clamping around his shoulder to keep him upright. The touch burned, and he ripped himself out of his grasp with a gruff, "Thanks."

Sam's hand hovered in the air for a moment before it fell back to his side, "Alright, got everything?" At Tommy's nod, he pulled out his control pad, and gestured to the portal on the far wall, "Alright, just head on through and wait a second and I'll be in right after you."

"No."

Sam paused, hands stilling, "No? What do you-"

"I mean, I'm fine Sam, I can walk home on my own. I'm not some old lady who needs help to cross the street, I'm a big man!" He knows Sam sees straight through the facade, but he slumps his shoulders and sighs, "Alright, just head through the portal and wait until I give the signal. And Tommy?"

He pauses right before he steps into the portal, glancing back at Sam who drops something into his hands, a regeneration potion.

"Drink this when you get home, at least."

He spares Sam a small smile before he steps into the portal, the slightly nauseating feeling of changing dimensions alien to him after so long. He steps to the side for a moment, before the loudspeaker crackles to life and Sam gives the word. He steps back through the portal and a weight slides off his shoulders.

Sunlight filters through the opening before him, and a warm breeze drifts across his skin. He steps out of the entrance hall and stops as the sunlight beats down on him. He didn't realize how much he missed the sun until he was under it, its warm touch caressing his battered face.

The wooden planks of the prime path felt comforting beneath his sneakers as he stumbled down the path that led to his home. Birds sang songs in the trees and a squirrel darted across the path in front of him.

It was certainly a change from the deafening quiet of the void, and it was too much.

The walk to his house felt much longer than it really was. His legs were weak from not walking for two months, and even with the strength potion, he wondered if he would even make it to his house.

He passed his hotel and a new building had cropped up beside it, called the Bee and Boo Bed and Breakfast. Looks like he had some competition from Tubbo, but who the hell was Boo? He didn't stick around, despite how much he longed to get run and see Sam Nook. He didn't want to be seen quite yet, especially in this condition.

Turns out that lady luck was not on his side as two figures emerged from the Mc Puffy’s. One was much taller than the other, a messy black suit and white undershirt covering his lanky body. A long tail swished behind him, two Tufts of hair jutting out on the end like fletching on an arrow. Each half of his body was a separate color, one half black and the other half white. A crown sat just behind two black and white horns, inlaid with precious jewels. When his head raised, he met the teens' red and green eyes.

The other figure was much shorter than the other, a while head and shoulders shorter. An oversized fluffy jacket hung over his shoulders, a flag sewn onto the shoulder, much like the trench coat he wore now. A pair of stubby horns sprouted right above his temples, and a piece of metal glinted around the base of one. His large ram-like ears jutted out from beneath his hair. Even if he couldn't see it, he knew there was a stubby tail jutting out of the teens’ tailbone.

Tubbo was obviously making some sort of joke with Ranboo, with both of them chuckling lightly, which made him wonder when they got so close. He didn't hate the older boy, quite the opposite, but he never could show his affection like a regular person, so he made fun of the ender hybrid.

Ranboos' head raised and they met eyes, and the enderman hybrid stopped in his tracks. Tubbo, having sensed him stop, glanced back. His eyes traced Ranboos' sightline until he saw Tommy.

Tubbo took a sharp breath, and took a small step forward, "T-Tommy?"

Not that he would admit it to the older boy, but he deeply missed his bee-loving friend in the afterlife. He tried not to think about him too much, as he would inevitably start sobbing that he could never see Tubbo again and end up drinking enough alcohol to kill a horse.

Tommy spread his arms wide and prepared to get tackled in a massive hug, "Hey Tubbo, Ranboo. Miss me?"

The hug never came. Tubbo and Ranboo simply stood stock still, staring at him. He would have thought they were statues had he not been able to see the steady rise and fall of their chests. When it became obvious that they weren't going to hug him, he let his arms fall to his sides.

"What, is there something on my face?" Tommy flinched as soon as he said it because yes , there was something on his face. Black and blue bruises that had yet to heal, and dried blood he hadn't bothered to wash away. If one looked closely, you could see the deep scar peeking out from just below his hairline, where his skull had finally given way, or the necklace of bruises from Dream's hands around his neck.

Ranboo pulled out his memory book and began flipping through the pages frantically, "No, this can't be real, I remember… I remember you dying! Sam told me... I wrote it down…"

Tommy scowled, shoving his hands into his coat pockets to get them to stop shaking. He did not like the d-word, all it did was shove him back in that damned cell, fists slamming again and again into his face, and prime dammit where was Sam! What he would give for a pack of cigarettes and a nice cold drink right now.

He stepped closer to them, "Look if you're just here to stare then just leave. I'm tired as hell and feel like shit, so if you would kindly fuck off, thank you." His heart twanged from being so mean to them, but he was about to fall over if he stood any longer, and he didn't feel like being the local carnival attraction any longer.

His words seemed to break Tubbo out of his trance, as he launched himself forward with a cry erupting from his mouth. Tommy barely had time to process before he was tackled in a hug. The two toppled backward, collapsing on the prime path.

The jolt from the fall felt like falling on a cactus, and for a moment he was back in the cell, Dream leaning over him. He blinked, and Dream was replaced with Ranboo, grinning shyly down at him.

He could feel tears soaking into his shirt and the horns poking into his chin, but all he cared about right now was that Tubbo was here. He clung to Tubbo just as hard as the older boy clung to him, but if they noticed, they didn't say anything.

After what seemed like seconds, but was far closer to minutes, Tubbo grudgingly stood up, offering Tommy a hand, which he took. He leaned against his friend, as he would rather not fall flat on his face, and his legs felt like lead. He glanced over to Ranboo, who was standing awkwardly to the side, tail swishing anxiously.

He sighed dramatically and waved him over, "C'mon Ranboob." The taller teen immediately swept him into a hug, tail wagging like a dog. His clawed fingers dig ever so slightly into his skin, but not enough to hurt his sensitive skin. He wonders if they could punch down to the bone if Ranboo tried. If he could plunge his hand into his stomach and rip out his entrails like a pinata.

Thankfully, Ranboo was not as clingy as Tubbo, as he let go fairly quickly, but stayed right to him and Tubbo. He glances at the tall teen’s face and notices burns trailing from beneath his heterochromatic eyes.

"Why's your face all burnt, big man?"

Ranboo dislikes eye contact, so he isn't surprised when he finds the ground very interesting, "I, uh…. When I cry, my tears burn me."

Tommy hummed. It made sense, considering he was half enderman, but it was still strange, "Why were you crying then? One of your pets die? I swear if it was Sapnap, I'll beat his ass for you." He vaguely remembered that Ranboo quite liked animals, and had a few before doomsday.

Ranboos' face was a mix between confusion, incredulity, and sadness, "You died, Tommy. You died."

He scoffed. Did they not think he knew that? "Yeah, two months ago. Tell me something else I don't know."

Tubbo took a sharp breath and Ranboo took his hand. Since when were they such good friends? Maybe they had gotten close in the months he was gone. A traitorous thought whispered that Tubbo had already replaced him, but he ignored it.

 "Tommy, you died a week ago."

No. That couldn't be right. They had a clock and calendar just to keep track of the days. They had celebrated his two-month anniversary just a few days ago. It couldn't be only a week, right? Tubbo wouldn't replace him in a week, right?

…Right?

Numb fingers dipped into his pocket and pulled out his communicator, a small device for communicating with everyone on a server. The date printed on the top right corner was March 8th, exactly one week since his death, and two since explosions had locked him in the prison.

Tommy stumbled away from Tubbo and Ranboo, breaking onto a run as the two called out behind him. He needed to get home and sleep and for Wilbur to wake him up and they could laugh about his shitty dream and get back to playing cards and drinking and being happy for once in his life.

He stumbled into his house, barely noticing the flowers, red and white, planted outside, as well as a wilted allium on his doorstep, and immediately blocked the doorway with some spare blocks in his inventory. The house seemed to be around about the same as he left it, but the floors had obviously been ripped out and replaced, but he couldn't find it in him to be mad.

He barely made it to his bed before the strength potion finally wore off, collapsing onto the soft wool sheets.

Remembering his promise to Sam, he sat up, fishing the Regen potion from his inventory, yanking the cork out and downing the potion in one solid movement. The familiar burning of the potion felt like lava running through his veins as it forced his body into overtime, stitching together broken ribs and bruised skin. The taste was like someone described how cherries taste to someone who had never eaten one, far too sweet and artificial.

He didn't bother to put the bottle away properly, simply dropping it to the ground as he laid back down on the too-soft bed. He didn't bother to go under the covers, nor to take off his sneakers or trench coat, sleep already pulling at his mind.

His last thought before sleep claimed him? He really needed a drink.

Chapter Text

Tommy dreams of a dark ravine, of gunpowder and whispered words, of fireworks and festivals, of a pit and violence, and of a body covered in bandages. He dreams of explosions and fratricide, of heroes and Theseus. Of a shattered country and a broken family. Of tents and sugar-coated lies, of lava bubbles and of pillars above the clouds. He dreams of a black grid, of three-headed withers and a final death of a country he lost everything for. Of a vault and a heartfelt goodbye, of a puppeteer's strings finally cut.

When he wakes, it is to the door being opened and his makeshift barrier being torn down. He ponders going back to sleep. Dying asleep would be a peaceful way to go, he thinks. He keeps his eyes closed as the door to the room opens and something clatters to the floor.

He wondered who they were. Definitely not Phil, they were pretty good at the whole being sneaky thing. Technoblade, maybe. Subtly was not the blood god’s forte. Jack Manifold was possible too, considering he was close with Tubbo and hated his guts. Hell, it could even be Niki, she did lead him to the nuke site.

"Tommy? Is that you?" A voice called out that was decidedly not any of the people he was thinking of. He rolled over to see that Conner was standing at the entrance to his room. In the back of his mind, he realized that his left eye was working again, but he stored the thought away for now.

The sonic onesie-clad man was standing in the doorway, a pickaxe laying on the ground next to him. Tommy sat up, forcing back a yawn. He no longer felt like his body had been run through a meat grinder, which was nice he supposed.

"Mornin' Conner. What brings you to my humble abode?"

Conner blinks, "Oh, I moved in here after I heard about… you know."

"Welp, since I'm back now, you'll have to move back into your old place. Wait, it wasn't you who messed with the floor, right?" Tommy swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, legs thankfully no longer as weak as they were yesterday.

Connor shook his head, hands held up placatingly, "No, that was those egg weirdos, threw a party here or something. Well, I got stuff to do, so see you around!" The man nearly ran out of the room, almost forgetting his pickaxe before doubling back to grab it. He heard the front door slam shut as he presumably went to set up back wherever he lived.

So, the eggheads tore up his floors and threw a party for his death? Rude, but oh well, not much he could do about it now.

He wandered downstairs to find all his chests gone. The floor he could at least understand, not everyone would like grass floors, but why the prime would they get rid of his chests? Thankfully, he had some wood in his inventory so he was able to replace them fairly quickly. He dumped most of his inventory in the chest, just keeping the essentials. Opening his ender chest, he grabbed a stack of emeralds before letting the lid fall shut once again.

He took a quick shower, considering he was still covered in dried blood and threw on the safety gear Sam Nook had given him over a fresh set of clothes. His green bandana, one of a pair, was stained with blood, forcing him to hand wash it clean, which, needless to say, was a pain. He could have left it to dry properly, but he refused to go anywhere without it, so he tied the still damp cloth around his neck.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and while he looked better, he still looked like shit. His left eye, while not swollen shut, was still black, and there was a white strand of hair that hung over it, blending in slightly with the rest of his blond locks. He was glad that the eye had healed already because he was getting really tired of not having depth perception. His eyes themselves, which had once been a vibrant sky blue, were a full gray as if all the color had been drained out, and his pupils were even darker than normal as if the void had gotten stuck there.

He made his way to the front door and sure enough, his makeshift blockade was torn down. He pulled open the doors, blinking as the sun assaulted his eyes. After so long in the void, the sun was far too bright, but he didn't have any sunglasses. Maybe when he visited the village later he could grab a pair.

He stepped outside when his eyes no longer felt like receding into his skull, and something crunched under his feet. He lifted his boot to reveal a dead allium. He kneeled down to pick it up, knowing immediately who had left it. He glanced up, only now noticing the plethora of flowers decorating the front of his house. Red and white. His colors. His eyes landed on the statues of him next, which he liked far less. Heroes deserved statues, not screw-ups like him. He added another item onto his mental to-do list, tear down the statues .

The walk to the hotel was short, much shorter than it had seemed last time, purposefully ignoring the other building that stood next to it. He pushed open the fence gates and stood in front of his hotel for the first time in months. The sign was changed, reading The Manifold Hotel instead of its true name, but he could see some signs posted to the side of it threatening a lawsuit from Puffy. Huh, he would have to thank the captain the next time he saw her. He couldn't say he didn't expect Jack to do something like this, so he simply resigned himself to change it later and moved on. He was too tired to be angry, anyway.

He stepped into the lobby, where Sam Nook was idling behind the counter, polishing the counter with a rag. The bell on the door rang, and the android glanced up.

Realization glimmered in their eyes as they spoke, "HELLO TOMMYINNIT! IT IS GOOD TO HAVE YOU BACK! JACK MANIFOLD HAS BEEN RUNNING THINGS IN YOUR ABSENCE."

While everyone else would have to check their communicators to understand what Sam Nook was saying, Tommy had been around the android for long enough to understand him anyway.

"Jack Manifold, eh? Any clue where he is right about now?"

"HE SHOULD BE UPSTAIRS IN YOUR SUITE."

"Alright, thanks Sam Nook. I'll see you later." He stepped behind the counter the android was standing at and climbed the ladder to the second floor. The sign to his room had been changed, with Jack's name instead of his. Figures.

He pushed the door, coming face to face with Jack, who had been about to open the doors himself. The man in question froze for a solid minute, 3d glasses slightly askew on his face. Jack's hand drifted down to his sheathed sword, but Tommy didn't have his axe on his person, it being stored in his inventory.

As he looked at the older man, a spot on his head stuck out to him. A slight patch of hair just above his ear was the same silvery grey color as the lock above his own eye. It was hard to notice, given the man’s buzz cut, but once he knew what he was looking for he could see it easily.

"Tommy? How are you here!" Jack demanded, his hand closing around the grip of his sword.

Tommy just grinned tiredly at the man, "Turns out Dreams revive book is real. Fucker beat me to death to prove a point. I see you've done some rebranding. Shit name though, Big Innit Hotel is way cooler."

The bald man scowled, "I grieved for you, you know. I reminisced about when we used to be friends and here you are, still being the same stupid little child even after Dream killed you. I died too, you know, and I didn't have my best friend Dream to pull me back out. He should have done the server a favor and kept you dead."

Jack's words felt like a punch in the gut. If anything, Jack knew how to push Tommy's buttons, "Fuck you Jack Manifold. Get the hell out of my hotel and never come back you bald-headed bastard."

He laughed, "This isn't your hotel anymore, this is my hotel. You should leave before anything bad happens to you," Jack drew his sword, netherite blade gleaming with enchantments, "Wouldn't want to find out if Dream will revive your sorry ass twice now, would we?"

In all honesty, he didn't particularly mind if Jack killed him, but he at least wanted to do a few more things around the area first, so he just scowled at the man and climbed back down the stairs. Sam Nook called out to him, but he ignored the android as he stormed out.

Who did Jack think he was? Taking his business and threatening to kill him? For the first time since his revival, a fire burned in his chest, fury pumping through his veins. For the first time since he died, he felt alive .

_____________

The feeling didn't last. The anger dripped out of him with each step. By the time he reached the main portal, it had all but fizzled out, leaving him feeling hollow, as if part of the void had come back with him. He had taken off the construction helmet and vest sometime between then and now, but he left his boots and jeans on. Too much of a hassle to take off.

He stepped through to the nether, slightly stumbling as he passed into the hub. His skin itched under the trenchcoat he still wore, but he refused to take it off. He wouldn't be in here long anyway.

He walked along one of the main paths, walking along the right-hand side. He could see the vast seas of lava below him, but he ignored it, feet carrying him to a portal leading to a large village where most of the servers traded. It was neutral ground, and there was a mutual agreement to not fight there.

The trip only took a few minutes before he was at another, much smaller, nether portal. Sweat beaded down his neck bet he kept the coat tightly wrapped around him, trying to warm the cold that still clung to his bones. He stepped through the portal, momentarily blinded by the sunlight as the dim lighting of the nether changed to a bright sunny day.

A bustling village spread out before him, villagers hauling too and fro from farms and blacksmiths and clerics. Stores and stands lined the main road, most selling more common items, like food or raw materials, but several stores had more high-end goods, like tools and armor.

He pushed open the door to a shop, bell jingling as it closed behind him. The shopkeeper looked at him warily, eyes hovering over his black eye, but they said nothing. The villagers knew the goings of the greater area, of the wars and bloodshed, and a black eye was pretty tame all things considered.

The shop itself was filled floor to ceiling with bottles of different beers, wines, whiskeys, and anything else alcoholic you could imagine. Behind the counter were boxes of cigarettes and cigars, and anything else smokable. He wasn't quite sure why the shop was here, as far as he knew nobody on the server drank or smoked except Quackity, and he alone wasn't enough to keep this store in business. Maybe the villagers kept him in business, who knows.

One of the main reasons he went to a village is that they didn't care how old you were for the most part. As long as you had the money, they were open for business, which was admirable.

He grabbed a basket next to the door and wandered around the store, picking out what he wanted. He could have just put everything in his inventory, but it was common courtesy to show what you were buying. Besides, he definitely did not want to be accused of stealing here of all places.

Schlatt had a liking for whiskey, so he grabbed two bottles that looked vaguely looked like they had in the afterlife. Wilbur mostly drank wine and beer, so he grabbed a six-pack of some random beer and two bottles of wine, one red and one white. Mexican Dream hadn't been much of a drinker, but he did introduce him to rum, so he grabbed a bottle of that too. He grabbed another handful of bottles, including vodka and something called mead, which was made with honey and made him think of Tubbo, so he bought it.

He walked up to the shopkeep and placed the basket on the counter, praying his villager was still up to scratch. It was definitely better than his piglin, which he hadn't spoken since he was with Techno in his cabin during exile.

The Villager glanced over the items in his basket before huffing a laugh, "You trying to buy my whole stock? This everything?"

Tommy thanked his lucky stars that he could understand the man, "Three packs of cigarettes, please." The shopkeep nearly raised an eyebrow and took down three packs, seeing them in the basket.

"Alright, that'll be 50 emeralds."

"45"

"48"

"Deal" Tommy grinned, handing over the emeralds and slotting the bottles and two packs of cigs into his inventory, putting the third pack into a pocket inside the trenchcoat. He marched out of the store, mission completed.

After the sun glared down at him, he decided to see if the clothing store had any sunglasses for sale.

____________

The clothing store, sadly, didn't have any in stock, infuriating him to no end. He sulked as he walked back to the portal, silently cursing out the shopkeep. His eyes scanned across the shops and markets he walked past, freezing in place as he noticed one store.

It was a fabric and sewing store, nothing out of the normal, but he felt it calling to him. He hadn't sewn in so long, not since he made Tubbo his presidential suit. His old sewing supplies had long since been blown up, and he hadn't replaced them. He looked down at Wilbur's his trenchcoat, and saw all the small rips and tears, and made up his mind.

The bell on the door chimed as he walked in, the shopkeep smiling at him. The walls were lined with different fabrics, yarns, knitting needles, and everything he could imagine. There were even looms on display. 

He picked a small vial of sewing needles and some thread that roughly matched the color of his coat. He debated on getting some fabric but ultimately decided against it. After all, he could always make his own.

The bell rang as the door opened, and Tommy glanced over instinctually, expecting to see a villager, but instead saw someone he knew.

A royal gown was draped over their shoulders, flowing over a simple blue button-up. A crown atop their brown hair, rainbow-colored diamonds, and jewels glinting in the light. Black sunglasses hid their pure white eyes, which he had only ever seen once.

It was silent for a beat as the two regarded each other, Eret with surprise and Tommy with suspicion.

Eret, to his credit, got over his surprise quickly, greeting Tommy with a "Good morning," as he stepped over to look at the variety of fabrics on display. Was it morning? He thought it had been early when he left the prison, so that would mean he had slept for a solid twenty-four hours. He sadly couldn't say that was a first.

With one last wary look at Eret, he stepped up to the shopkeep and set his items down. They only cost two emeralds so he paid quickly and tried to rush out before he would have to talk to Eret anymore.

Sadly, as all of his plans typically go, it went to shit almost immediately. Eret raised his hand to set it on his shoulder, but he stepped away before it could touch him. Erets’ hand hovered for a moment before it fell back to his side.

"Hey Tommy, I was wondering if you wanted to head to my castle and have a cup of tea or something. As long as you didn't have anything planned, of course."

Tommy did, in fact, have plans. He was going to wander around the main Esempi and see what had changed, tearing down the statues of him around his house, before ending the day with a nice drink and a smoke. He would have turned down the offer, but he figured it couldn't hurt. The worst that could happen was nothing, after all. Death didn't scare him, not anymore.

Tommy shrugged, "Sure, why not." Eret grinned at him, but Tommy didn't return it.

________________

Eret’s castle was almost exactly the same it was the last time he came here. Right before the final showdown with Dream, he had borrowed some supplies and left a sign. He thinks he had made up for what he took, but he can't remember.

Rainbow-colored beacons stretched far into the sky, and crimson vines climbed the mighty walls and towers. The two stand together in a large kitchen waiting for tea to boil. It is silent but in a comfortable way. Eret didn't bring up his death and resurrection, his new article of clothing, nor did he mention his still black eye. Before he died, the silence would have made him uncomfortable, but now he loved it. It reminded him of the void, where he was safe and no one could hurt him.

He was yanked out of his mind as the kettle began to whistle. He failed to suppress a flinch, but if Eret noticed, they didn't say anything. They took two teacups and set them down, filling them with steaming water. Eret pulled two teabags out of a drawer and dunked them in.

They handed one of the cups to him, "I'd like to show you a little spot I go to relax, c'mon."

Tommy tried to forget the last time he filled Eret somewhere and walked a few paces behind them. They led him through twisting corridors and up a seemingly endless flight of stairs, but eventually, they reached a small ladder leading to a trapdoor, sunlight filtering down through it.

Tommy went up first, pushing the trapdoor open and stepping up the ladder, the sunlight still annoyingly bright. Once his vision adjusted and he realized where he was he gasped. He was atop one of the many towers on Erets castle, and the entire Esempi stretched out before him. A table and two chairs were set up, so he set his tea down on the table and walked to the edge of the tower.

A small breeze ruffled his hair, and for a moment he could imagine he was a kid again, Phil ruffling his hair fondly after he lost yet another sparring match with Techno. He could imagine Wilburs' proud grin and the smiles Techno always tried to hide from him.

The breeze died, and Tommy was placed back to reality, one brother dead and his father and other brother want him dead. He couldn't blame them, though. He had betrayed them, stolen his axe and turtle shell helmet, and joined the enemy.

He leaned over the edge even further, trying to find that breeze once again. It was a nice day out, he noticed. A voice in the back of his head whispered to lean forward just a little more, so he could be back with Wilbur.

He closed his eyes, leaning forward just a little more. It would be breezy on the way down, after all. Just a little more and everything would be ok.

A hand landed on his shoulder and gently guided him away from the edge, oh so different from how Dream yanked him away from the edge in exile.

"Careful, Tommy, wouldn't want you to fall now would we?" Erets normally inexpressive voice shook slightly, just enough to be noticeable.

"No," Tommy agreed, even if he didn't believe it.

Eret sat him down in one of the chairs, pressing his cup of tea into his hand, the hot ceramic warming his cold hands. He has to put all his attention on steadying his hands so he doesn't spill the hot tea all over himself, which wouldn't be ideal.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping on their tea. It was the first thing he had since he left the prison, except for the Regen potion, and it tasted wonderful.

A question that had been lodged into his skull since the revolution buzzed, and he finally asked it, "Why didn't you tell them?"

Eret frowned, confused, "Pardon?"

"The button," he clarified, "We both know you didn't press it, but you never mentioned it, why?"

Eret pursed their lips for a moment, before answering, "You didn't deserve it."

Tommy couldn't help but disbelieve him. Kindness didn't get you anywhere on this server, but Eret spared him from that fate? He had always assumed he was holding it as blackmail, ready to hang it over his head if they ever needed something from him. But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized they were being genuine.

Tommy hummed and took a sip of his tea, which was now almost gone, "I spoke to Wilbur in the afterlife, you know." Eret nodded, urging him on, "Schlatt and Mexican Dream too, but they aren't important right now. He forgives you, you know. I do too. Have for a long time."

Eret looks at him with a strange look on his face, so Tommy clarifies, "I mean, Dr… he got into your head, right? Gave you false promises and shit? He did that with me too, during exile. Told me he was my only friend and everyone hated me, dumb shit."

Tommy sighed, leaning back into his chair, "Maybe you were right, maybe it never was meant to be."

There was a beat of silence before Eret responded, voice choked up, "I- prime , Tommy, thank you. Thank you so much."

Tommy grins at him, and if a tear runs down Erets cheek? Well, there's no one else to see.

____________

When they finish their tea, Tommy goes home to tear down the statues, Eret insisting on helping. He doesn't really want him to, because he needs a smoke and doubts Eret would like that very much, but when he remembers how many statues there were, he begrudgingly lets him help.

He is constantly brushing his hair out of his eyes as he works, which annoys him, but he's used to it. He hasn't had a haircut since before exile and hasn't had the time to cut it since. Eret noticed and handed him a hairband, showing him how to put his hair up in a short ponytail. It reminds him of when Techno would braid his hair in exile, but he pushes the thought out of his mind before it can go any further.

As they work, tearing down statues of him with wings and halos over his head, he wonders if he had a funeral. He wonders if it was like Schlatts, with a robbed grave and a middle finger, or like Wilburs', whose body was never found, at least by L'Manburg.

He asks Eret, who shakes his head, "No-one really believed you were dead, not at first. It took a few days for it really to sink in, and by then you were back. A funeral felt too final. Tubbo made a memorial in Snowchester, though. Close enough to a grave I suppose."

With Eret’s help, they finish far faster than if he did it alone, with the sun past its peak, maybe three o'clock. Eret left soon after, with a promise that he was always welcome to drop by whenever.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot," they paused, turning around, "I noticed you squinting a lot, so I figured you could use these."

Eret held out his hand, a pair of folded black sunglasses rested in his palm, the same type as they always wore. Tommy slowly reached out, as if worried that they would take their hand back and berate him for being dumb.

But the hand never pulled back, and Eret let him take the pair of sunglasses. He wishes he had something to give them, but his inventory is empty of anything worthwhile, and he's sure Eret would wonder why he had a bottle of wine on him for no reason.

"Thank you, Eret." He curses his voice as it wavers, emotion lodged in his throat.

Eret nearly smiles at him, "No problem. I'll see you around, alright?"

As Eret walks away, he slides the sunglasses on his face. The difference is immediate as the brightness of everything drops to a much more acceptable level, one where he is no longer barely able to see with how squinted his eyes are.

He steps inside his house, wandering into the kitchen. He pulls open the fridge and it is, unsurprisingly, empty. He pulls out the various bottles of liquor from his inventory, carefully setting them down on the shelves. They technically didn't need to be in the fridge, as the stuff he drank in the afterlife was just barely cold, but he just wanted it out of his inventory.

After putting the alcohol away, he steps outside, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pack of cigarettes, instinctually reaching into his pants pockets for a lighter. His pockets turn up empty and he scowls when he remembers he doesn't have one. He could go back to the village, but he really doesn't want to go back through the nether.

His mind immediately supplied somewhere he could find a lighter, and he hates that it makes his legs feel weak. But, with no other choice, he goes back inside for a moment. When he comes back out, a bottle of beer is in his hand, already opened. He takes a large swig and begins to make his way down the path.

______________

Pogtopia is exactly as he remembers it. Buttons litter the walls, the stench of gunpowder and cigarette smoke-infused in the stone. The stairs and crosswalks groan beneath his feet as he walks across them, half-rotten and barely holding up. He wonders if he listens hard enough if he can still hear Wilburs' madness-infused rants.

He steps down onto the ravine floor, ignoring the doorway that leads to Technos potato farm. He averts his eyes from the pit, wondering if his blood is still spattered against the walls there.

He gulps the rest of his beer down, warmth seeping into his veins. He tosses the empty bottle to the side, no one would care if he littered here of all places. His body must not be as used to alcohol as he was in the afterlife as he feels slightly tipsy, which usually took far more than one bottle. It makes his thoughts calm down slightly, though, so he doesn't complain.

He walks straight past his and Tubbos’ room, pushing the door to Wilburs' room open. He had never been allowed into the man’s room before, considering Wilbur spent most of his time in there, and he wasn't one to disobey his brother.

The room stunk of smoke even worse than the rest of Pogtopia, enough that the stone was a shade darker than normal. The room itself was scarcely furnished, with only a bed that he doubted was ever used and a desk with a simple wooden chair. On the wall across from the door hung an old map of the Esempi, with several places crossed out and labeled with a frantic script.

He forced his gaze away from the map and turned to the desk. Crumpled paper littered the ground next to it, and an empty inkwell sat next to a broken quill. A half-finished letter sat on the desktop, writing nearly incomprehensible.

He pulled the chair out from the desk, setting it aside. Under the desk was a single drawer, locked shut. He scoffed, like that would keep him out. He pulls out his trusty bobby pin, and within a few seconds, the lock clicks and he slides the drawer open.

The drawer is mostly empty, with only a half-empty pack of cigarettes, a Zippo lighter, and a single stick of dynamite left.

He pulls out the cigarettes and lighter, barely sparing a glance at the cigarettes as he swaps out the full package in his pocket with this new one, storing the full one back in his inventory with the rest. He ignores the dynamite. He turns over the lighter, revealing it's painted with the L'Manburg flag, the old one, on one side, the anthem etched into the other.

Fitting, the dead man’s lighter is etched with the symbol of a dead nation.

He fishes a cigarette from the package he just took, holding it between his two fingers as he flicks the lighter open. The flame lights and he holds the tip of the cigarette over it, letting the flames ignite the tobacco inside. He holds it up to his lips and takes in a breath, letting the smoke into his lungs as he flicks the lighter closed, slipping it into his pocket. For the first time since his revival, his hands steady.

He breathes out a cloud of smoke, and he can't help but remember when he was a kid during the winter when it got cold enough you could see your own breath. He would always pretend to be a dragon, breaking fire and burning villages. He wonders if he would recognize himself now, barely ten years older but oh so different.

Mission complete, he leaves Pogtopia and doesn’t look back.

______________

Tommy spent the rest of his day sitting on his bench, repairing his trenchcoat. He finishes his first cigarette and lights another, needle dipping into the well-worn fabric again and again. It takes hours for him to repair it fully, and by the time he’s done, the sun is dipping below the horizon, and he can hear the groans of monsters around him.

He sets the coat over his shoulders and makes his way back inside, pausing for only a moment to look at the flowers. He needs to water them tomorrow. He walks into his kitchen and grabs a bottle of beer, returning to his bedroom as he pops the bottle cap off.

He sits down on his bed, taking a swig of the cool liquid as he prepares for a long night.

Chapter Text

Sleep didn't come to Tommy as he tossed and turned for hours, eyelids stapled open. He bundles himself in every blanket in the house, but a chill settled deep in his bones refuses to leave. His stomach screams at him for steak, bread, something, but the thought of eating makes him sick. He manages to choke down a slice of bread that tastes like ash, but nausea overtakes him and he stores the rest of the loaf away and washes the taste down with the last of his bottle of beer.

He sets the Axe Of Peace on his lap and stares at the blade, the black netherite blade glimmering purple with enchantments. He runs his fingers over the runes painstakingly inscribed into the blade with a sharp chisel and steady hand. He remembers when the blade finally tasted flesh, the gasps of his allies as he brought the head down on Dreams neck, severing the man's head in one clean chop. He remembers shooting him right in the man's neck, exactly where he had hit Tommy in the duel, with Dream's own crossbow. He remembers Dream begging him to stop, but he also remembers how he was about to kill Tubbo, and gives the man no mercy.

He only stopped when Dream brought up the revive book. The ability to bring back the dead was alluring, the temptation of immortality and being able to see his brother again won out over his need for revenge, and Dream was locked away in a prison of his own making.

He tests the blade on his thumb, and it easily separates the skin like water. Still sharp. He remembers Techno called him worthy to wield the blade, and placed a turtle shell helmet on his head. He thinks of the shattered helmet and emerald earring in his ender chest and wonders how Techno and Phil reacted to his death. Did they cry and mourn, feeling the loss of yet another family member, or did they laugh and cheer, happy to finally be rid of an annoying pest that never seemed to die?

Would Techno look back at when he was still young and wide eyed, begging for his big brother to train him, or would Techno focus on his betrayal of family for friends and country?

Would Phil open his eyes and see that even after everything, he was still a teenager who was far from perfect, or would he turn his back on him as he so often did, leaving on adventures and conquests with Techno, leaving him and Wilbur behind?

He doesn't doubt it's the latter.

_____________

Seconds tick over to minutes which turn to hours and Tommy realizes he isn't going to be able to sleep. He pushes away the blankets he has bundled himself in and stands up. He throws on a stray pair of pants and his iconic red and white t-shirt and wraps himself in his newly repaired trench coat. He walks into his main room and roots around in his chests for a bucket, eventually finding one.

He pushes the front door open, stepping outside. The moon shone dimly above him, halfway across the sky. He trudges over to his small wheat farm, dipping his bucket under the water. Bucket filled, he moves back over to the plants littering his front lawn, carefully dripping what he deemed an acceptable amount of water on each plant. Roses and poppies, daisies and Lilies of the valley, each plant carefully watered.

Plants had never been his forte, leaving him doing little more than guessing how much to water them. Perhaps he could ask someone how to care for them properly if he was around long enough. He remembers Niki and Puffy used to have a flower shop, so they seem like as good a start as any.

It would have to wait, though, as it was still midnight and the sun wouldn't rise for hours still. At least he knew how to kill some time.

_____________

The Esempi was very different at night. Creeper holes looked like portals to the void, and the red Vines that curled everywhere looked even more sinister, like some faint squid was choking the life out of the server. Eyes glimmered from behind trees and in bushes, animals and monsters alike on the hunt. A crow flies overhead, and he wonders if it's one of Phil's, of the thousand-strong flock affectionately named "chat". Considering it doesn't stop to pester him for scraps, he doubts it.

He doesn't bother to light a torch, as the moon shines bright enough overhead that it guides his path, soft and illuminating in every way the sun isn't. Besides, a light would bring monsters to him like moths to a flame, and he didn't exactly want to fight nowadays.

Zombies groaned and skeletons rattled, but thankfully most leave him alone as he walks along the prime path. A single zombie stumbles towards him, and the Axe of Peace met rotten flesh, a lone bubble of experience all that was left of the undead pest, which soon disappeared as it was absorbed into Tommy.

L'Manburg was covered in a glass top, sealing the crater, like a lid to a coffin. No monster, except for a single enderman, dared to stand on the glass, some primal self-preservation instinct kicking in and keeping them away.

Tommy didn't hesitate as he walked into the glass, which barely held his weight. Vines curled at the bottom of the crater, almost covering the exposed bedrock, and a large L'Manburg flag was hung on a flagpole, permanently extended in a non-existent breeze.

The further from the edge he went, the worse the glass got. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath his feet and there was an occasional hole he had to dodge around. He wondered who decided to use glass in the first place, but he supposed it was better than nothing.

One Tommy reached what he deemed to be the center, he laid down on his back and turned his eyes to the stars. He hadn't been stargazing in a long time, not since exile. Not since he didn't have any sheets to stave off the cold and when falling asleep meant waking up drowning, and every time he dragged himself back to shore he got closer and closer to not making it back.

He remembers Clara, the astronaut that danced between the stars with flowing blonde hair so similar to his own and a black gown as dark as the night sky. Most strikingly were a pair of pure white dove wings, so different from Phil's black Raven wings or even Wilburs Bluebird wings. They would spend hours laying down together, her showing him the constellations and telling him the story of each one, never getting frustrated when he asked for her to tell it to him again the next day.

He raises his hand and traces the outline of Orion, the hunter’s belt shining brightly in the night sky. The story of Orion was one he had already known, Technoblade having read it to him when he was younger, but he didn't mind when Clara told it to him.

He had brought up Clara once to Dream, who told him he was probably hallucinating and to try and get more sleep. The man's voice was tinged with something he had taken as concern, but now he wasn't so sure. It wasn't that far-fetched to think he was hallucinating, he had seen Tubbo wandering around his camp several times only to step behind a tree or turn a corner and disappear, so Tommy believed Dream.

It didn't stop him from seeing her, though.

The last time he saw her was on his tower that stretched up into the clouds, a one-way trip down on the front of his mind. He had been about to step off when Clara appeared in front of him, smiling sadly.

"Dream wasn't your friend," she told him, cupping his face in her hands, "He was here to watch you, to manipulate you. He was never your friend." 

"But if he isn't my friend, then who do I have left?" He racked his mind for anyone he had left. He was banished from L'Manburg, the Badlands were allied with Dream, and while he had forgiven Eret he still didn't trust them yet. He was alone.

"You are not alone, my child," She brushes a stray tear he didn't even know had begun to fall, "You have more allies than you could possibly know. Your brother and father still care for you, even if they don't seem like it."

Tommy scowled, protesting that Techno and Phil were not his family, and Clara laughed, a bright bubbly sound that could bring sunshine on even the cloudiest days.

She smiles at him one last time, and he only then realizes she is crying as well, "Aim for the water." And she was gone in the blink of an eye as if she was never there in the first place. He looked down, and in his clenched hand was a single white feather.

Tommy aimed for the water.

He had never seen Clara after that. He knew she was real, the feather tucked carefully in his ender chest was evidence of that, but he never saw her again, not without lack of trying. He would sit outside for hours on end on days he couldn't sleep, staring at the stars and waiting, waiting for her to show up with her soothing voice and flair for the dramatics. Sometimes he talked to her, telling her about the happenings of the server. He had sat out all night the day before the final fight with Dream. He hadn't spoken much, only saying he likely wouldn't be around to talk to her anymore. He waited until the sun rose for her to appear.

But she never showed up.

He starts to speak to the empty stars above, knowing there won't be a response, but that's ok.

"Hey Clara, it's been a while and a lot happened. I went to go visit Dream in prison, remember Dream? Dude with the white porcelain mask and always wore green? That fucker." Tommy shifted slightly and the glass beneath him crackled, but he paid it no heed.

"So I went to visit him out of the kindness of my heart, yeah? Went to go move on and shit, when explosions go off and I get locked inside with the bastard. A week goes by and Sam, the warden, says he can't let me out for some bullshit reason. Got into a little fight with Dream, and he, well, beats me to death." The words feel like lead on his tongue, but he can't stop himself.

"The afterlife was pretty cool. Wilbur, Schlatt, and Mexican Dream were all there, and we played a bunch of card games and shit. It was fun. I miss it. I miss them."

"Two months went by in the void, and Dream brought me back. Apparently, it was only two days, which was strange."

Gears slowly turned in Tommy’s head as he added two and two together, "Wait, if I was only dead for two days, but it felt like two months, then that means Wilbur and Schlatt have been dead for years, at least." Tommy tried to remember how long ago they died, but his memory failed him. Had it been months? The revolution started when he was 14, and he was turning 17 next month, so maybe a year? 

"Christ, has it really been a year? Damn. What was I saying again? Oh yeah, prison. So after a few days, I think five? Sam finally came around and realized that I was alive again and let me out, I ran around and did some errands and now I'm here."

Tommy traced the sky once again, having finished talking for the moment being. He stared at the half-moon that hung overhead, steadily makings its way across the sky. He wondered what Earth would look like from the moon if he could see the shattered crater of L'Manburg like he could see the holes that pock-marked the lunar surface.

He fished his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and held it up in front of his eyes, a lone cigarette left. He plucked it out, setting in the corner of his lips as he regarded the empty packet.

He pulled his lighter from another pocket and flicked the flint, sparks flying and a small flame erupting from the top. He moved the lighter closer and the flames licked the pack, easily catching the cheap cardboard and paper.

He didn't drop it, even as the flames climbed the paper and hissed against his skin, simply watching as the flames danced against the night sky. The burns hurt in the way nothing could in the afterlife, a striking reminder that he was alive, even if he really knew he was nothing more than a dead man walking.

The flames soon died out, what remained of the pack nothing more than some ash blown away by the wind. He lifted his still lit lighter and touched the flames to the end of his cigarette, turning it into shades of orange and red.

He flicked the lighter closed and slid it back into his pocket, taking in a deep breath of smoke. Going through four cigarettes in one day was not particularly noteworthy, but it certainly differed from the norm. At this rate, he would have to go back within the week. Maybe he could find one of those hundred count cartons, that might work.

He exhaled a cloud of gray smoke, briefly obscuring his view of the stars before the wind dispersed it.

"I've been thinking about visiting Snowchester tomorrow. It's not like I've got anything much better to do, and don't tell Tubbo this, but I miss him. He was one of the only reasons I didn't just walk into the wall of lava when I got brought back. I owe it to him at least."

There was the sound of something teleporting, and purple particles danced into his vision as an Enderman leaned over him. Purple eyes met gray as he locked eyes with the creature, something he had gotten used to doing in the void. It surprisingly didn't attack him, simply tilting its head and continuing to stare.

There had been a few enderman in the void, and he had grown a little fond of them. They were curious things, picking at the glass bottles they had discarded and examining spare decks of cards. They were also very smart, easily on the same tier as villagers, and able to build structures and understand languages. He thinks Schlatt mentioned playing a basic card game with one once, apparently losing every game.

They reminded him of cats, if cats were nine feet tall with horns and a serious aversion to eye contact. Hell, they even did the thing with their eyes where they got really big when they were happy and Wilbur swears they can purr.

He wonders if Ranboo purrs.

The enderman next to him sits down, staring at the cigarette in his mouth but Tommy simply stares at the stars as if it were his last day alive.

"Stars sure are nice tonight, huh big guy?" The Enderman startles slightly, but looks to the sky above, warbling something in their native language. He thinks they agree with him.

The two sit like that for some time, Tommy only moving to toss his cigarette butt away once it's done burning. Eventually, the Enderman gets bored and chirps what must be a goodbye and disappears in a burst of purple. Tommy doesn't have time to respond before they're gone, but whispers his farewell to the wind anyways.

Tommy's eyelids feel like lead, but he keeps them open, lazily tracing the stars and reciting stories he knows by heart. Minute by minute, his eyes droop further and further, and soon enough he has fallen asleep beneath the stars, moon smiling down upon him.

For once, Tommy doesn't dream.

_________

Tommy is shaken awake.

"Gimme a few more minutes, Wilby." He slurs, mind still half asleep. What did Wilbur want? Maybe he was sleeping on some of the cards or something.

"Tommy, you need to get up." A voice that was distinctly feminine and not Wilbur urged.

The moment he realized he was not in fact still dead, his eyes shot open and he sat up, glass crackling dangerously under him.

He blinked several times to shake the sleep from his brain, trying to remember last night. Oh right, he was stargazing over L'Manburg.

He looks over to see Captain Puffy kneeling carefully next to him, dressed in her signature captain's outfit, hat and all.

He blinks at her, confused, "What's up Puffy? Why are you here?"

She shifts slightly, and the glass beneath them cracks, ready to shatter and send them falling down hundreds of feet, "I saw you sleeping out here and the glass looked like it was about to give out beneath you."

She holds her hand out to him and he takes it, letting Puffy lead him to a safer spot. Once the glass beneath them no longer cracks with every subtle movement they make, the sheep hybrid breathes a huge sigh of relief.

"Why were you even out here, Tommy? How are you here, even?"

"Stargazing," Tommy answers simply, ignoring the second half of her question as an ugly feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. Puffy lets the question drop, and the two stand there for a moment in silence.

He looks over at Puffy and notices her eyes are locked on something, so he follows her gaze, expecting to see some crimson vines or a monster or something. He does not, however, expect to see the butt of a cigarette laying on the ground.

Oh shit .

His mind races for an excuse, and ends up awkwardly chucking and stuttering out, "Litter, Innit?"

Puffy looks up at him, lips pursed and he prepares for the inevitable lecture about how smoking kills and how he's too young blah blah blah. Like he cares if he dies at this point.

But the sheep hybrid says nothing, simply turning and continuing to usher him off the glass lid. She fusses over him as they walk, steering him away from unstable and cracked sections and insisting on looking at his black eye and necklace of bruises when they step back onto solid ground, making sure that his shattered skull was fully healed when Dream dragged him back to the land of the living.

He tries to think of the last time someone babied him and comes up blank. It was certainly long before L'Manburg and the Revolution, maybe just before Fundy came along?

He doesn't remember the day Fundy came into their lives very well, only Wilbur coming home weeping with a bundle of blankets cradled in his arms. He was around 10 back then, but still remembers how deeply Wilbur threw himself into being a good father who was around and cared, unlike Phil did to him and Tommy. He went all out, buying clothes and toys galore, transforming a spare room in the little cabin they lived in into a room fit for royalty.

Wilbur never forgot about him, far from it. He still spent time with him and sang him songs, but would immediately go spend time with Fundy whenever Tommy wasn't around. It didn't take long for Tommy to realize who the favorite was. He would spend most of the day with Tubbo, messing with the citizens of the nearby town. Wilbur, if he noticed, never said anything.

As much as he hated, he could never bring himself to despise Wilbur or Fundy for it. They had wormed themselves far too deep into his heart for him to hate them. Besides, he had been homeless before he met Philza and was taken in, so it wasn't like he was going to complain.

Puffy’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, "I'm opening a therapy office, by the way."

Tommy nods, "That's a good idea. Tubbo definitely needs it. He's got a nasty habit of bottling stuff up and never talking about it." He ignores the small voice in the back of his head that says, are you one to talk? When's the last time you said how you truly feel?

Puffy shifts, "I was thinking of setting up an appointment with you , Tommy"

He nearly laughs. Him? Needing therapy? He was fine! Nothing was wrong with him, and big men don't need therapy. He tells her this, but all it does is make her look sad.

"Just… Think about it, ok?" She pleads, and Tommy reluctantly agrees.

He begins to walk back to his home and Puffy trails behind him.

"Oh, right!" He turns around and gives her a sheepish smile, "I saw what you wrote on the hotel sign. Thanks for sticking up for me while I was, you know, dead."

She beams at him, patting his shoulder. He doesn't flinch.

"I couldn't just let Jack disrespect you like that, and don't worry, we'll have your hotel back in no time!"

He smiles, and it doesn't quite reach his eyes, "I'm sure we will." The words sound flat even to him.

He continues to talk before Puffy can speak again, to pry and ask what's wrong, if he's ok, "Well, it was nice talking to you, but I need to go visit Tubbo and you know how clingy he is. Nice talking to you!"

He practically runs away from her after she says her goodbyes, making his way home to grab some things. He snatches another pack of cigarettes to replace the one he burned last night and pauses in front of the fridge. He really wants to bring something, a bottle of beer at least, but knows Tubbos' less than stellar track record with alcohol.

Deciding to just deal with it later, he opens his door again and heads towards Snowchester.

_____________

The walk to Snowchester takes almost half an hour, as he is forced to walk on top of the high-speed tunnel. He didn't mind though. Being underwater brought back bad memories of waking up drowning, and besides, his legs worked fine.

Well, maybe they didn't work fine. As the temperature slowly dips and his breath condenses when he breathes out, his left leg aches from the knee down. A reminder of when he left Logstedshire with only one shoe, frostbite nearly claiming his leg. Thankfully, he managed to get some potions and gapples before it got past the point of no return, but anytime he went somewhere cold it acted up, a dull burning sensation radiating from the limb.

Snowchester was a mess when he finally arrived. Tubbo was running from house to house like a man possessed (which honestly wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen on this server.) A netherite chest plate hung unevenly on his shoulders, straps tightened hastily, and a Hemet sat crooked on his head.

"Tubbo?" Tommy hopped down from atop the tunnel, snow crunching under his sneakers, and Tubbos' head shot up to look at him. At seeing him, Tubbo both breathed out a sigh of relief yet somehow got much more anxious.

"Tommy, you shouldn't be here right now!" Tubbo shouts, rushing over to him. The words hit him like ice, grabbing his heart and pulling until it shatters.

Tubbo immediately backtracks, realizing what he said, "No, I didn't mean it like that! Oh, prime it's just... The syndicate are visiting and-"

"Whats the Syndicate?" Tommy wracked his mind for any organization he could think of and came up blank. Maybe it had something to do with the egg? Snowchester was vine-free, after all.

"It's a group lead by Techno and Phil to destroy governments or something. I know you don't have a great track record so if you head home for a few hours I can text you and we can hang out so if you can just-"

"No."

Tubbo laughs slightly nervously, "Whaddya mean no, big man?"

Tommy shakes his head, hands roughly shoved into his pockets to quell the shaking, "It means I'm not leaving you alone with Techno, not again." Tommy doesn't elaborate on his point, and Tubbo doesn't need him to, the scars that cover half his face and shoulder evidence enough. Even if his hands shake more than they have in weeks, he can't leave his best friend alone with his executioner, no matter what.

"But I won't be alone, Tommy, I'll have Phil and Ranboo there to help. I'll be ok Tommy, promise." Tubbo reasons, and Tommy ignores the sting that Tubbo would rather be with Ranboo than him, despite how much longer he's known the older boy.

"I'm not going to stand by and let this happen! Not again!" Tommy is nearly shouting now, and he feels a flicker of something in his chest. A small spark of warmth amongst the seas of ice that coat his bones.

Tubbos' shoulders fell, and he knew he won, "Alright, you can stay. Just don't do anything stupid, ok?"

Tommy grinned at the shorter boy waving him over, "You got it, Tubso. Now get over here, your armor's crooked."

Chapter Text

It didn't take long for the Syndicate to arrive. He had properly tightened Tubbos' armor as if he had done it a hundred times, which granted he had. Tubbo had tried to shove him in a set of armor as well, but the only set they had that would fit was Dreams, which he turned down for obvious reasons.

Tubbo did manage to force him into some warmer clothes; a thick long sleeve shirt, pants, and a pair of fluffy boots and gloves. He had tried to give him one of the Snowchester jackets, but he refused to part with his trenchcoat.

Tubbo had questioned why his clothes smelled like smoke, and he waved the question off by saying it was just the trenchcoat, which Tubbo reluctantly accepted. He didn't want to tell him the truth, not yet at least, even if he knew Tubbo wouldn't hold it against him, as he was more than acquainted with drugs. Who knew pufferfish could get you high? Tubbo had long since been clean though, so who knows.

Far sooner than he wished, their company arrived, Techno first to step out of the tunnel, netherite armor swirling with enchantments, red cape billowing in the wind. He was in his full Piglin form, something he had rarely ever seen before coming to this prime damned server. Niki was next to come out of the tunnel, pink hair falling out from beneath her helmet, and a familiar cloak clenched around her shoulders. Wilbur's cloak.

The beating of a massive pair of wings announced Phil's arrival, setting a slightly bedraggled-looking Ranboo down. None of them had their weapons out yet, but it did little to calm his racing heart. He hadn't seen Techno and Phil since Doomsday, and he had wanted to keep it that way, but Tubbo needed him.

It didn't take long for them to be spotted, their dark clothing sticking out against the bright snow. Techno was the first to notice them, staring straight at Tubbo and seemingly skipping right over Tommy.

"And we've already been discovered, wonderful." Technos monotone voice echoed around his head like church bells, visions of withers and obsidian grids paint themselves on his eyelids, screams long since snuffed out fade in and out of his ears like a broken radio. His hand twitches and The Axe of Peace materializes in his hand.

The brief flash of light draws the syndicate's attention, and suddenly everyone is staring at him. Techno tenses ever so slightly, hand drifting to the axe on his waist. Phil just nudges Ranboo, who looks slightly apologetic, and whispers something about Tommy not being dead, like he couldn't fucking tell. The winged man notices the coat he now wears and frowns as he remembers the last person to wear it. Niki's face morphed into shock, then quickly shifted into annoyance, which didn't exactly surprise him. He knew Niki was trying to kill him, but he had hoped she would give up by now.

"Theseus," Techno cooly calls.

"Technoblade," Tommy seethes, teeth clenched hard enough to be painful. He taps the butt of the axe on the heel of his boot, a nervous tic.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Techno questions, head tilting slightly like a curious dog.

Perhaps in another life, the question would set ablaze a fire in his chest, the mention of his demise burning with the heat of a thousand suns. But this is not that life, and Tommy only laughs at the man he once called a brother.

"Turns out Dream wasn't talking out his ass when he said he could bring back the dead."

Tubbos' hand finds its way into his and he squeezes, though he isn't sure who is comforting who.

"He can bring back the dead?" Phil speaks up, an excitement in his eyes he hadn't seen since he first tried to revive Wilbur.

Tommy snorts, "Good luck trying to get him to resurrect Wilbur. Fuckers gone off the deep end. Hell, he killed me to prove a point."

"Dream killed you?" Techno asked, but he already knew the answer.

"What, jealous you didn't get to be the one to do it? There's a rather long line, big guy, but I suppose I could bump you up a few places, family discount and all." Tommy grins at them, watching their reactions.

Phil was easy to read, he could see his wing hike up, feathers ruffled like he had physically attacked the old man. His head dipped down, hiding his eyes beneath his bucket hat.

Techno’s reaction was much harder to read, with the hybrid having the best poker face known to man, but he could see the way the corners of his lips twitched and how he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Tommy laughs, "How'd that be for poetic, huh blade? Two sons killed by their own father?" Philza physically flinches, and if he didn't know any better, he thinks Techno did as well.

"Tommy," Tubbo pleads, and Tommy just sighs. He could never say no to Tubbo, especially when he did the sad eyes.

"Alright, fine, let's just get this stupid thing over. Lead the way, Tubbo."

_____________

The tour was doomed from the start, no doubt about it. Tubbo led the members of the Syndicate on a brief tour of the snowy village, Tommy right beside him. They lead them around, Techno voicing his approval of the potato farm. At one point, Ranboo breaks away from the main group and darts into one of the houses, Tubbo's house, but Tubbo didn't even blink at it, so he let it go.

Techno asks about a sturdy building built into a hill with a do not enter sign above a keycard locked door, and Tubbo waves him off, saying it's just the mines. The locked door was merely to keep any stray mobs from wandering out. A safety precaution, he insists. Techno begrudgingly lets it go.

During the short tour, he could see Phil try and make several attempts to talk to him, all of which failed before the winged man could speak up. He would open his mouth to ask something, then after a moment's hesitation shake his head and turn his attention away.

Perhaps before he would have found it funny, perhaps he would have laughed at the man he once considered a father, but now all he felt was a distant ache for what once was, for when their family was closer than any other. When the biggest threat to his life was Wilbur's cooking, who apparently likes his sandwiches with actual sand.

"So, Tubbo, how would you describe this establishment you have here? A government?”

Tommy scoffed. Typical. Figures the only reason he would come out of his house was to sniff out a potential government. He glances at Tubbo, who gives him a small nod. I got this .

“I would say village, military base,” Tommy kicks Tubbos boot, “That sort of thing.”

“Any leadership? Any institutionalized powers? Anything like that?” Techno presses.

“Nope!” Tubbo plasters a grin on his face that Tommy knows is completely fake.

Techno seems to accept the answer, and there is a beat of silence, broken by an alarm beginning to ring. Techno pulls out his communicator and he realizes it's the man's sellout timer, one of the hybrid's many ways to keep the voices in check. Phil hands him a bell without needing to be asked and he makes his way into Tubbo's basement for a little privacy. 

Not being able to see Techno and make sure he isn't up to anything suspicious makes his hands shake even worse than they did before, to the point he can barely hold the Axe of Peace.

With a weary sigh, he puts the axe back into his inventory, fumbling for a cigarette and his lighter. He hadn't intended to smoke in front of everyone, but he didn't want to leave Tubbo alone, even if it was only Phil, Niki, and Ranboo.

The lighter takes a few flicks to light, and he slips it back into his pocket once the cigarette is lit, greedily inhaling a lungful of smoke.

He breathes out a cloud of smoke and surveys the reactions of the group. Tubbo merely raises an eyebrow at him, silently asking him a question. He shoots him a quick look that says, I'll explain later . Ranboo frowns slightly, staring at the burning stick hanging out of his mouth, tail stilling. Niki looks like she was just sucker-punched, eyes darting from the cigarette in his mouth to the coat around his shoulders. Maybe she can see the family resemblance.

Phil’s eyebrows furrow and the corners of his lips twitch, "Since when did you smoke, mate?"

Tommy debates shooting back a scathing remark, something about Phil not caring, but he can't bring himself to do it. The short argument earlier had already taken so much out of him.

"A few months ago." Not a lie, but not the whole truth. For him, it had been months, but it had only been a week or so for them.

Phil seems surprised and goes to ask another question, but Tommy ignores him, looking out to the ice-covered sea. Something sits right on the coast, and he can make out the grey of cobblestone and brown of wood against the white snow.

"Hey, Tubbo, what's that down there?"

Tubbo turns to look at what he's pointing at, and his expression grows sad, "Oh, that's your memorial. It's just a bench on some cobblestone, and now that you’re back I guess I should take it down."

For a moment, the ice that coats his bones thaws just a little, and a pang of warmth rests in his heart. Memories of the bench, their bench, filter through his head like sunlight through leaves. He knows Tubbo knows the significance of benches for the two of them, and he can't help but smile. it's small, barely visible, but it's there if you look hard enough.

"No, it’s alright. S' just a bench, after all. not like it's a big fuck off statue right above my house of me with wings on my back and a halo over my head." 

Someone behind him snorts, and despite not knowing who it is agrees wholeheartedly. Tommy is far from a saint, and there was no ascension when he died, no white wings and glowing halo greeted him before the gates to the afterlife, only an inky void and the burning of whiskey in his throat.

Tubbo takes his hand and gives it a quick squeeze, which he returns. For a moment, he can pretend that it's just them against the world, just like old times.

But as a door opens and closes behind them as Technoblade rejoins the group, he is ripped back to reality. He takes a puff of his cigarette as he turns, begrudgingly letting go of Tubbo's hand.

He knows Techno notices the cigarette between his fingers and the smoke creeping from his mouth and fixes him with an unimpressed look, "That stuff will kill you, you know that Theseus?"

Tommy rolls his eyes, "Oh no! What a nightmare!" He exclaims, sarcasm oozing from his voice, "Please, if anything is going to kill me, my little habit isn't going to be it. It wasn't the last three times, at least."

"W-what do you mean by that, mate?" Phil carefully asks, and he almost laughs at the man. Like he cares. None of them do, no one but Tubbo (and maybe Ranboo) cared about him nowadays, they all knew better.

Tommy waves them off, "Don't worry about it, now let's get this damned tour over with so you can fuck off."

_______________

Sadly, Techno had more questions once the tour was over.

"So, I've heard rumors about a "weapon" in Snowchester, would you happen to know anything about that?" Figures Technoblade of all people would hear about the nukes. Only a handful of people knew about them, only Tubbo, Jack, Niki, and Tommy knew, and he only knew because he nearly got atomized by one. Radiation sickness was a bitch, to say the least.

He wonders who clued Techno into the nukes, and how much they told him. He doubts Techno would be this passive if he knew what the Nukes really were. Niki was a likely choice, considering she was part of the Syndicate now. It could also easily be the voices in the Piglin hybrids’ head or Phil's flock, both of whom had an annoying habit of being semi-omniscient, knowing far more than they had any right to. Thankfully, they were incomprehensible most of the time if he remembers right.

"Oh, it's nothing special, just a little deterrent in case anyone tries to attack Snowchester. Self-defense and all that." Tommy muffles his laugh with a cough. Nothing special his ass. He remembers the massive crater the test nuke left, dozens of chunks reduced to nothing but a pit leading straight to bedrock.

"I can respect self-defense," Techno nods, "As long as you don't plan on becoming a Tyrant and invading other places, which you don't plan to do, right?" The threat is thinly veiled, and they both know Techno will fulfill it.

"I have no plans to use Snowchesters weapon offensively, as long as we aren't attacked first." Tubbo grins, and he doesn't bother to hide his threat. Tommy glares at the Piglin hybrid from his spot on Tubbo's right-hand side, knuckles white on the leather grip of The Axe of Peace.

The two groups stare each other down, and Phil is the first to give, "Alright, I think we've learned all we need to know," Techno looks back and huffs, "Alright, let's head back and continue our meeting." The Syndicate members turn around and begin to filter towards the entrance tunnel, Phil stretching his wings and preparing to fly with Ranboo instead. A pang of something runs his heart at the thought of Phil taking someone else for a flight, something that he had only ever done with him before.

Technoblade looks back at him, a look that he would have mistaken for concern had he been any other person, "Farewell Theseus." 

Tommy sneers at him, "I hope you drown, Blade."

The last thing he sees of Techno is his red cape as he steps into the tunnel, trident in hand.

"Good riddance," Tommy snorts, "Honestly, who does he think he is, going around policing the server. Me me me me my name is Technoblade and I say you can't have any governments because I say so! What an asshole!" He hears Tubbo chuckle behind him and his lips twitch into what might be a smile.

He throws his arm over his best friends shoulder and pulls him closer, "Now come on, we've got a lot to catch up on;"

Tommy doesn't see the way Tubbo glances at the barely visible bulge in his coat where his cigarette box sits, and the mournful expression on his face, "Yeah, we do."

______________

Tubbo's house was surprisingly cozy if he ignores the occasional creak when the sea breeze blows too fast and what sounds suspiciously like hooves from upstairs. He would have gone and checked it out but it was rude to snoop around in other people's houses, and the fact that his left leg was currently wrapped in a towel and Tubbo had threatened him with castration if he walked around on it.

His leg, which had only been pins and needles when he first arrived, had slowly shot up to feeling like he had dipped it into a bath if harming potions, which was not ideal, and putting any pressure on it made him want to scream. Who knew frostbite left permanent nerve damage? Not him, that's for sure.

The house itself is small, with a living room and kitchen on the ground floor, separated by a waist-high wall, and storage in the basement. The second floor is apparently storage as well, but judging from the strange noises coming from there and the fact that Tubbo had to replace the ladder up there when they first walked in, he isn’t quite sure.

Tubbo walks back over from the kitchen, two mugs filled to the brim with hot chocolate and whipped cream. Tubbo had offered him some food but his stomach rolled at the thought of eating anything, so he declined. He clutches his mug close to his chest, the warmth of the cup like fire against his frozen fingers. Tubbo sprawls next to him, practically collapsing on the couch.

"Watch it!" Tommy yelps, as a stray elbow almost knocks the mug out of his hands.

"Sorry," Tubbo grins, not sounding very sorry at all. 

Tommy takes a sip of his drink, the rich taste of chocolate overloading his taste buds. His body seems to remember that he hasn't had anything to drink or eat, despite it being well past noon, and he drains the mug in a matter of seconds.

His mouth and throat burn from chugging the steaming liquid and his stomach twists itself into a knot in protest. He sets his mug down on the coffee table as he grimaces. Probably wasn't s great idea to chug a cup of hot chocolate on an empty stomach.

Tubbo turns toward him, face shifted into one of concern. (He ignores the voice in his head that says Tubbo is just pretending to care, and that he will leave him, just like everyone else.)

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, my stomach is just bothering me." The knot his gut has tied itself into tightens even further, and he tries to hold back a flinch. Based on the way Tubbo sets his own mug down and frowns at him, he didn't succeed.

"Are you sure? I have some medicine I can grab to help if you want?" Tubbo was always too kind for his own good.

"Nah, it's alright." Tommy brushed him off, he could deal with a little bit of pain. Tubbo nodded and took a sip of his own hot chocolate.

"So, smoking?" Tubbo lightly asks. He can see their ram ears flicking and short tail stilling.

"Yeah, smoking," Tommy agreed, "Started doing it a day or so into the afterlife, helps keep my hands still."

"Wilbur get you into it?" It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. Wasn't a whole lot to do there, two months of nothing but card games gets boring with nothing to numb existence."

Tubbo leans against him, warmth radiating from his body, "You promised you wouldn't be like him, you know."

Tommy sighs, laying his head on top of Tubbo's, carefully avoiding his horns, and throws his arm over his shoulders, "I know, Tubbo, I know."

"Are you gonna blow up everything?"

Tommy squeezes Tubbo's shoulder, "No. Never."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

His eyelids feel so very heavy, and he’s oh so warm, so he lets his eyes slide shut. Just a little nap , he tells himself, and for once, he doesn’t dream.

______________

Tommy was roused from his sleep by a gentle knock on the door. Immediately his mind kicked into gear, axe appearing in his hand as he shot upright. He felt a little bad as Tubbo, who had been curled against his side, groaned as he flopped against the couch cushions, blinking away the sleep from their eyes.

Tommy cautiously made his way to the door, axe poised to strike. Another gentle, almost hesitant knock rang out, and someone cleared their throat.

"Uh, hello? Tubbo? You there?" Ranboo questioned from behind the door. Of course, Ranboo would come to visit Tubbo, they seemed pretty close when he saw them last.

Tubbo sat up, batting Tommy's axe down as he walked past him, pulling open the door. There, hunched over in the doorway, was the half and half man himself, a well-worn suit in place of the armor he had been wearing before.

"Hey, Ranboo! Come on in!" Tubbo ushered in the Enderman hybrid, who sighed as they stepped out of the slight snowfall. Despite how much he hates despises envies dislikes the enderman hybrid, he trusts Ranboo enough not to attack either of them.

"Ayup Ranboob," Ranboo sighed at the nickname but greeted him back.

Tommy wasn't quite sure how he felt about Ranboo. They had been close, during exile he had confided in the older teen, the only person who knew what really happened back then. But he lived with Phil and Techno, with who he wasn't exactly on the greatest terms. Looks like Phil had replaced him and Wilbur already.

"So what brings you back here? You lose something?" Tommy wonders if he said something because both of them stiffen up at his question, Ranboos' sheepish smile quickly becoming forced.

"So, you know how you were… Gone for 2 weeks?" Tubbo grinned at him hesitantly.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Well, we may have gotten married?"

What.

"We also adopted a kid!" Tubbo added, unhelpfully.

Tommy blinked as his mind ran in circles, desperately trying to comprehend what the two had just said.

"So in the two weeks I was in prison, you married Ranboo-" "Platonically," "-and adopted a kid?"

Tubbo nodded, "Pretty much."

Tommy shifted his feet, " And… He makes you happy?"

Tubbo pursed his lips, "Yes."

Tommy ignored the pang in his chest, the voice that whispered in his ear that he wasn't enough, that Tubbo had moved on without him, that Ranboo was everything he wasn't. He ignored the sting of betrayal that Tubbo got married as soon as he died, and that he was probably happier than he had ever been when he was alive. He would ignore it all, for Tubbo's sake.

He had ruined his best friend’s life enough.

He plastered on a smile, "Good for you, Tubso," He ignored the sightly concerned look the older teen shot him, "Now, are you going to show me your kid or am I going to have to find them myself?"

Tubbo grinned at him, "Of course, big man! I just wanna make sure he's ok with visitors first." The short boy walked over to the ladder against the wall and climbed up, pushing open the trapdoor above them.

"So that's what the noise was," Tommy mumbled, remembering the sound of hooves scratching against the floor. He had a pretty good idea of what the kid would be, and cursed how rusty his Piglin was.

Tubbo's head poked out from the open trapdoor, grinning down at him, "Alright, come on up!"

Tommy glanced at Ranboo briefly, who was looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite identify, before following in Tubbo's footsteps and climbing the ladder after him.

______________

The kids’ room was strange, to say the least. A single twin bed was set in a corner, a rocking chair resting next to it. A small bookcase filled with kids’ books and bedtime stories sat against the opposite wall, a chair fit for a giant (or Ranboo) set carefully next to it.

The strangest thing was the pictures. Pictures of Tubbo, Ranboo, and the kid littered the walls. (He pretended not to care there were none of him.)

The child themselves was behind Tubbo's legs, one large eye staring straight at him. He immediately recognized the pinkish-brown skin and large pig-like ears indicative of a Piglin, but the rest of the kid’s body was hidden behind Tubbo's legs.

"His name is Michael, and he isn't the biggest fan of strangers," Tubbo informed him, patting the kid’s head.

Tommy crouched down, getting down on the kid’s level, " Hello. " His Piglin was rough, a symptom of not having been practiced in months, but Michael immediately perked up at it.

" You can speak Piglin! This is so cool! " He darted out from behind Tubbo, rushing right up to him, wonder in his eye. Now that he could see the kid properly, he could make out the large patch of exposed bone around their right eye and missing eye, green flesh festering around the edges of the spot.

" What's your name? " The zombie Piglin asked, pulling at the base of his trench coat.

" I'm Tommy." He uses the common form of his name, as there is no direct translation of his name in Piglin. The closest translation was Theseus, hence Techno’s insistence in calling him that.

“Toh-me?” The Piglin tries, Common foreign to his vocal cords, “ The one who founded L’Manburg? With the disks?”

“The one and only,” He puffs out his chest, grinning down at the child who reminds him so much of Fundy when they were younger. The Piglin cheers, tugging at his arm and pulling him around.

He lets them drag him around the room, introducing him to his stuffed animals and photos on the wall, distantly noticing Tubbo and Ranboo climb back down the ladder. Tommy mentally chants not to swear because he knows Tubbo will kill him if he teaches Micheal to swear.

"... and this is my chicken! I used to have a real one, but she had to go away for a while but that's ok!" A faint smile graces Tommy's face as Micheal talks, pulling stuffed animals out of seemingly nowhere.

"Hey, Tommy?"

Tommy hums, "Yeah kid?"

"Why is part of your hair white?" The corners of Tommy's smile dipped and his hands shook ever so slightly harder than they had before.

"Tommy?"

"A bad man gave it to me," Tommy's voice was barely above a whisper, but he knew Micheal heard it anyways, "A very bad man gave it to me."

There is a pause as Micheal looks up at him, one remaining eye meeting his.

"I like it," they decide, scooting closer to him.

Tommy grins down at them, raising an eyebrow, "You like it, huh?"

Micheal nods, "Like quartz. Quartz and gold."

His hand finds its way to the pale strand he knows by heart, twirling his fingers into it, "Like quartz," Tommy repeats.

Tommy and Micheal sit for a while longer, until Micheal yawns loudly and slumps against him.

Tommy tries not to laugh as he looks down at them, "Tired?"

They weakly shake their head, despite their eyes being half-closed, "Nuh-uh."

Tommy snorts, "Sure. Come on, let's get you to your bed." Micheal doesn't sit up, instead giving him puppy dog eyes and holding out their arms.

Tommy's resolve quickly crumbles and he gives in, picking up Micheal, who is either very heavy or he is very weak, and setting them down on their bed. By the time he finishes tucking them in, they're fast asleep.

Tommy's heart warms as he looks down at them. He ruffles the top of their head and mutters, "Sleep well, kid."

Behind him, the ladder creaks and the trapdoor opens, Tubbo's head poking out of the hole.

Tubbo flashes him a shit-eating grin full of mischief, "Seems like you get along with Micheal, yeah?"

Tommy fixes him with a half-hearted glare, "You saw nothing, goat boy, or I'll teach Micheal to curse."

Tubbo’s eyes glimmer, “My lips are sealed. Now come on, we made dinner.”

“Dinner?” Tommy glances out the window, and sure enough, the sun is low in the sky. His empty stomach grumbled audibly, and his cheeks tinged red.

Tubbo’s head disappeared back down the ladder, and with one last look at Micheal, He followed him downstairs.

______________

Tubbo made ham, which honestly didn’t surprise him.

The moment he saw it, he knew it wasn't just shoved in a furnace or crafted on a crafting table, like most food on this server. It was hand-made, glazed with fresh honey and homegrown spices.

Tubbo hands him a steaming plate of ham and garlic mashed potatoes, doused in butter. He took it with a smile, even if he knew he would be sick if he ate more than half of it. He knew what happens if you eat too much after being starving for a long time, and he hadn’t eaten anything substantial in weeks.

He sits down on an armchair, while Tubbo and Ranboo take the couch (He pretends not to see the way Ranboos' tail wraps around Tubbo's waist). All three dig in, and the ham is the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

For a few minutes, they simply eat. Tommy finishes half of his ham and a few bites of mashed potatoes before he knows he can't eat anymore. He sets the plate down on his lap, already regretting eating so much.

"Are you gonna cure him?" 

Tubbo looks up, eyebrows knitted together, "Cure who?"

"Micheal," he elaborates, "Get rid of the big fuckin hole in his face," He taps right below his right eye, where Micheal’s skin gave way to bleached bone.

Ranboo leans forward, flipping through his memory book, "You can cure that? I thought it was just… I don't know?"

Tommy scoffs, of course memory boy doesn't know, "Yeah, it's just a really powerful bacteria. Bit of a pain to get rid of, but for a rich bitch like you I'm sure it'll be easy."

Tubbo sets his plate down on the coffee table, silverware nearly falling to the floor, "How do we cure it? Is it contagious? Will he be ok?"

"Micheal should be fine once he gets the cure, and unless you're secretly a piglin you don't need to worry about getting infected. As for curing him, you need to craft a special potion. I think it's Nether wart, Ghast Tear, Glistering melon, and glowstone dust, but I'm not quite sure. Phil would know. Once you give them the potion, give them a golden apple and soon enough they'll be good as new."

Ranboo scribbles down his instructions into his book, "Nether wart, Ghast Tear, glistering melon, and glowstone dust, right?"

Tommy shrugs, "I think? It's been a long time since I've been quizzed on it. Techno and Phil would remember."

Tubbo nods, remembering their childhood, but Ranboo has no clue why he knows this, so he asks, "Why do you know so much about this? I mean, first you speak fluent Piglin and now you know how to cure the undead?"

Tommy rolls his eyes, "I grew up with the Blade, Ranboob, of course I'd pick up a few things."

Ranboo pauses and scribbles something down in his book, "Oh. I'm sorry I brought it up."

Tommy waves it off, "S' alright. Not your fault you didn't know."

He stands up, moving over to the kitchen. He puts away everything he didn’t eat, and sets his plate and silverware in the sink.

Tubbo speaks up, "So me and Ranboo have been talking…"

If that wasn't the biggest red flag he's heard all day, then he would eat his non-existent hat. Were they going to tell him they didn't like him anymore? Did they decide he was too much work? The compass around his neck burned ice cold against his sternum.

"...and we wanted to know if you'd like to live with us here in Snowchester? We're building a big mansion so there'll be plenty of space. I know you want to be factionless but as I said to Techno, we aren't really a faction…"

"No."

Tubbo faltered, "No?"

Tommy suddenly found the oak floorboards very interesting, "I mean, it's lovely here, but I just… You have a family here, Tubbo. You're finally happy! I don't want to ruin that."

He walks over to Tubbo and sets a hand on his best friend's shoulder, "I think it's best if I stay away. You've already moved on without me, but it's ok," He glances out the window, noting the time, "I should leave, before the mobs come out."

He moves towards the door, but pauses just before leaving when Tubbo calls his name, "Tommy!"

"You're part of my family too, you know. Just, please think about it?"

Tommy nods, even though his mind is already made, "Alright, Tubso. Love ya, and I'll see you around, alright?" Tubbo nods, and Tommy finally steps back outside into the fading afternoon light.

_______________

Smoke drifted behind Tommy as he walked along the prime path, setting sun painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. His coat flutters behind him in a small breeze, temperature much warmer than it had been in Snowchester.

Soon, he reached his home, but instead of heading inside he made his way to the bench. The oak wood was cool as he sat down, exhaling a cloud of smoke from his lungs. It was peaceful, and he let his mind wander.

Tubbo had gotten married and had a kid, and they were moving into a mansion together. He had been the happiest he had ever seen him since long before they came here, back when they were still kids. He knows Tubbo's going to be a good dad, he knows that. Nothing like the man who left him in a box by the side of the road. They had entertained the idea that Schlatt was his father, but they never had the chance to ask him. Some things were best left unknown, he supposes.

A creak in the path behind him brings him out of his thoughts.

" Lovely night tonight, isn't it?" Tommy leans back, smoke leaking from between his lips.

"You fooled them all, you know," The person behind him sneered, "Tubbo, Ranboo, Niki, hell you even convinced Techno and Phil. Everyone thought you were dead, even me."

Tommy leaned back, a slight smile on his face, “Hello Jack.”

There was a metallic click of a crossbow being loaded, "But you came back. Dream and that damn revive book brought you back."

Tommy took another puff of his cigarette, “I didn’t ask to be brought back, you know.”

Jack ignored him, “So I suppose if you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself.”

He debates trying to stop him, to take out his axe and anoint it with blood once again, but he doesn’t. Everyone has already moved on without him, Tubbo got married. Techno and Phil replaced him with Ranboo, as did Tubbo. He was alone here, but he wasn't in the afterlife.

So he just breathes in smoke as Jack fires, aimed right at the back of his head.

The last thing Tommy saw before a crossbow bolt passed through his skull was a figure draped in black, a veiled hat obscuring their face. Large black wings sprouted from their back, blocking his view of the sky, but he didn’t hold it against them.

As everything went black, he couldn’t help but think they felt familiar.

_________________

He felt the void before he saw it. He could feel the cold wrap itself around him, curling into his bones. He could feel every slight pain of living fade away, every little pinprick and scrape going numb. The piercing pain from the crossbow passed through his head slowly faded to nothingness.

He opened his eyes, taking in the horrified face of Wilbur above him.

He smiled, “Miss me?”

Chapter Text

Wilbur stumbled backward, eyes wide in horror, "No, no, no! You can't be back! You were supposed to be alive again! She said..."

Tommy laughed as he sat upright, "What can I say? The people love me."

His bones popped as he stretched, shaking off the last dredges of dying. A droplet of blood ran down his forehead and dripped from the tip of his nose, evaporating before it could even touch the floor.

He glanced around him, noting the scattered cards and discarded bottles, as well as two passed-out bodies sprawled on top of each other. He rolled his eyes. Typical.

A pair of arms wrapped tightly around him as Wilbur buried his head into his shoulder, tears soaking right into his coat.

The hug was cold, the same as everything in the void, but he leaned into the hug nonetheless. He held Wilbur as he shook in silent sobs, grieving for a younger brother who hadn't even fought back.

Wilbur sniffled and finally slipped out of the hug. He planted both his hands on Tommy's shoulders and looked him dead in the eye, "Why- How are you back here, Toms? You're supposed to be alive!"

Tommy simply shrugged, "Jack is a good shot."

Wilburs gaze hardened, dangerously similar to the look the man wore in Pogtopia, “Jack as in Jack Manifold? Founder of Manifold Land?”

Tommy simply nodded.

Wilbur sneered, and Tommy would have flinched had he still been alive. But he wasn't, and nothing Wilbur could do would hurt him here, “I knew something was off with him, especially when he managed to get out of here on his own.”

"Yeah, right bastard he is," Tommy pouted, "Son of a bitch didn't even let me finish my cigarette."

Something in Wilbur's face shifts and the older man frowns at him, "....That's what you're mad about? That he didn't let you finish your smoke instead of, you know, killing you?"

Tommy can't help but laugh, "Course, big man! If it wasn't him, it would have been someone else. Bad, Antfrost, hell maybe even Techno or Phil. Besides, I get to see you, after all." 

Wilbur looks like someone just slapped him, and his trench coat shifts in a way that he knows means his wings are moving beneath them. He never asked why he hid his wings more often than not, and Wilbur never told him.

Exhaustion pulled at his eyelids, curling around his head and wrapping around his limbs. He didn't bother to fight it, simply resting his head on Wilburs lap, letting his brother run their hands through his hair.

"Did you know that Tubbo got married?" Tommy's voice is barely above a whisper, but he knows that Wilbur can hear him.

"Go to sleep, Toms. You can tell me all about it when you wake back up, ok?"

Tommy lets himself fall asleep, not worrying about how long unconscious will hold him. After all, he has all the time in the world now.

_____________

Jack stares at his hands, and can't help but see them dyed red.

He wanted Tommy dead. He was the source of so many problems on this server, so why did it feel so wrong?

He hadn't expected Tommy to die tonight, despite stalking him all the way from Snowchester and aiming a crossbow at the back of his head. He expected something to happen, for Tommy to fight back and force him to retreat, lick his wounds, and try again later.

But he didn't.

Tommy didn't even flinch as the bolt (which he would swear seemed to hesitate if he didn't know any better) passed clean through his head, splattering the ground with blood. He just slumped over, cigarette (since when did he smoke?) tumbling from his mouth onto the grass beneath them. He hadn't finished it.

Some instinct in the back of his head screamed at him to run before someone decided to visit and found him, smoking gun literally in hand. He ran until there was a stitch in his side and his lungs screamed for rest. He collapsed next to a tree and buried his head in his hands, wrenching his headset from his ears.

By the time the sun set, dark clouds gathered overhead, and just as the last remnants of sunlight disappeared from the sky, it began to rain. Lightning lit up the sky and thunder rumbled in the clouds. Mother Nature herself seemed to mourn for Tommy's death.

Jack knew he had to get home quickly if he didn't want to risk getting sick, so he stuffed his thoughts into the deepest depths of his mind as he stepped into the pouring rain.

______________

Tommy drifts awake to the sound of quiet conversation.

"-m worried about him, Schlatt! He didn't even care that he was dead again, he joked about it, for fucks sake! Something's wrong, we have to tell them." Wilbur was arguing with someone, and despite his best attempts to be quiet, it still woke him up.

Another voice but back, which Tommy immediately placed as Schlatt, "I'm worried too, but what do you suggest we do about it? Ghostbur doesn't remember shit, Glatt can't even go out during the day, and no one is going to believe fucking Mexican Dream." Based on how Schlatt yelps after he says that, it's safe to assume MD slapped him.

"There has to be something in the Revive Book, some way to talk to the living." Wilbur sounds desperate.

"If there was, I don't know it. I didn't memorize the damn thing like a fucking loser."

Tommy decides he's heard enough and groans, sitting up and blinking the sleep from his eyes. The conversation immediately stops and a tense silence overtakes the void.

Schlatt grins at him, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, "Hey kid. Didn't expect to see you back so soon. Only what, a few months? Four maybe?"

That's not right. It should have been seven-ish, because it had been about a week since his first resurrection, and the two days he had been were two months here. Not that it matters, since he doesn't need to worry about time now that he's dead, and Dream won't bring him back unless someone tells him.

He hopes Jack buried his body, or even just tosses it into L'Manhole to disappear like Wilburs' did.

"Ayup Schlatt." He greets, and a smile comes naturally, "You kick Wilbur's ass while I was gone?"

Wilbur sputters about betrayal while Schlatt cackles, and a warm feeling rises in Tommy's chest.

He's home.

_____________________

Tubbo and Ranboo finish their dinner not long after Tommy leaves, Tubbo volunteering to wash the dishes as Ranboo fills him in on how the Syndicate meeting went. (Surprisingly well, all things considered. Snowchester is marked off the potential threats list, and the two breathe a huge sigh of relief.)

The sun continues to set and by the time Tubbo is done with the dishes and Ranboo is done talking it's far too late for him to walk home safely, and snow is beginning to come down hard.

Tubbo frowns as he looks out the window at the blizzard outside, "Looks like you'll be staying here tonight, big guy. There should be some of your clothes in the bedroom downstairs." 

Despite technically not living together Ranboo still spends quite a lot of time here, and has spent the night more times than he can count.

Ranboo also frowns at the storm outside but for a different reason, "I hope Tommy made it home ok."

Tubbo pauses for a second, staring at the snow quickly coming down, before answering, "I'm sure he made it home alright. I'll send him a quick message, just in case."

He pulls out his communicator from his pocket and types out a short message.

Tubbo

Hey Tomny, jus wanted to make sure u got home alrigt!

Delivered: 8:01

Satisfied with the knowledge that Tommy would get back to him soon, he put away his communicator and continued to chat with Ranboo. 

Ranboo plays with the end of his tail, straightening the tufts of hair at the end. Tubbo notices and frowns at him, concern glimmering in his eyes, “Are you alright Ranboo? You’ve been nervous all day.”

Ranboo furrows his eyebrows and looks at Tubbo, “Did you notice anything… Strange about Tommy? Because ever since I saw him earlier my enderman side is going crazy and I just…” He trails off, ducking his head.

Tubbo hums, “Other than his sudden smoking habit and attitude shift? Not really.”

Ranboo just sighs and scribbles something down in his memory book, and the topic shifts.

Time flies by and before either knew it, two hours passed. Tubbo yawned, batting Ranboos' tail away from his side. He glanced at the clock on the wall, noting with dim shock that it was just past 10.

"Oh shit, we should probably head to bed now if you want to get back to your house before Techno wakes up."

Ranboo hums in agreement and the pair make their way downstairs to the lone bedroom, after quickly checking that Micheal is still asleep.

Tubbo pushes open the door to the bedroom and steps inside. It's nothing fancy, a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a desk and chair, the only furniture.

Sitting neatly folded on the bed are clothes, Tommy's clothes. Ranboo frowns, "Oh, he left his clothes here. I can drop them off in the morning if you want?"

Tubbo waves him off, "Tommy has a few pairs of clothes here, what's a pair more? And besides," Tubbo cracks a sneaky grin, "If he wants them back he'll have to visit again."

Ranboo nods politely, internally worrying about how much thought his husband has put into this.

(Across the server, a communicator sits with a message, delivered but never read.)

_____________

“So, you said Tubbo got married?” Wilbur prompts. The four of them are playing poker, passing around a bottle of…Something. He didn’t really care. Alcohol was Alcohol.

“Yup,” Tommy takes a swig from the bottle, “Got himself a kid, too.”

“Wait a fucking minute,” Schlatt interjects, “He was actually pregnant? I thought that was just an excuse!”

He and Wilbur both burst out laughing, and Mexican Dream cackles, slapping Schlatt's back.

“N-No! Prime!” Tommy wheezes, “Adopted! He adopted the kid!”

Schlatt breathes a sigh of relief, “Christ, you scared me for a minute there.”

They take a minute to catch their breath, and Tommy continues to talk, “So yeah, Tubbo got married to Ranboo.”

“That’s the enderman hybrid, right?” Wilbur interrupts as Schlatt groans and hands Mexican Dream a bottle of whiskey. They must’ve had a bet.

“Yeah, Enderboy.” He is fairly sure he hasn’t told anyone here about Ranboo, not sober at the very least.

“They got married while I was in prison and adopted a little zombie Piglin named Micheal. And yes, I told them how to cure it, so don't interrupt me.” Wilbur has the decency to look embarrassed.

“They don't know any common yet but they speak Piglin pretty well, so I’m not sure how old they are. They remind me of Fundy, back when they were younger.”

He sighs, “I’m gonna miss the kid.”

Wilbur’s smile falters for a moment, but he plasters it right back on, “Chin up, Toms, you’ll be back soon.”

He doesn’t bother to tell them that he wasn't here by accident, that he could have easily stopped his death. He just smiles and nods.

He plays his hand, two kings and a joker.

_____________

Far above the sky and between the stars, a woman kneels, looking down on the Earth below. She watches as her son, her own flesh and blood, is murdered in cold blood by a man barely older than him. She tries to save him, wrapping her powers around the crossbow bolt and pulling. The bolt briefly pauses in the air, but her son doesn’t even shift, and his fate is sealed.

Anger is useless to gods, which is why she is not mad at the young bald man. Anger is futile when the subject of your anger will be dead in mere decades, a blink of an eye for an immortal, unaging deity. Instead, she pities him for feeling the need to murder, but it does not bring her child back.

Her gaze shifts to a large obsidian structure, housing only a single occupant. A descendant of her own kin, corrupted by more than a greed for control. He is not the only mortal with the knowledge of how to reverse death, a demigod made of gold and emerald is more than capable of reversing death, but the only one who will know of the young boys’ death, for now, is the prisoner.

He is not the only one willing to resurrect her child, her sister seeming to have an attachment to him as well, as she personally escorts him to the afterlife, but godly intervention is forbidden, even if rarely followed. A plan begins to form in her mind, but for now, she weeps for her son, life cut short far too soon.

____________

The afterlife is different this time, but not in a bad way. He catches glimpses of something else, just behind the black void. Sometimes he catches glimpses of a train station, of dot matrixes for Jubilee Line and dim lighting. He hears the occasional distant train horn, screeching brakes, and thundering wheels. Other times he sees a dilapidated gym, ruined gym equipment and flickering lights. Sometimes he sees a dim alleyway, garbage cans and trash littering the ground. 

He mentions it to Wilbur and he just shrugs and says he must just be seeing glimpses of their afterlives, and not to worry.

He doesn’t tell him that he sees L’Manburg, too. He stands under the tall Blackstone walls and sleeps in the shade of the hotdog van. He doesn't mention when he wakes in the final control room.

Sometimes when he looks at his wrist he sees thin red cords tied to them, like a puppet. He sees them on his ankles, too. He can't see his own throat, but he can just feel something there if he claws at it enough.

The lives counter on his left wrist shows three grey hearts. It's strange to see it somewhere else than a corpse, but he shrugs and moves on.

He doesn't look at his wrist again

None of them mention his new choice of clothing, but Schlatt does comment they look even more like brothers now. Wilbur threatens that he will cry.

He brings up once that the two months he spent here were only two days for the living, and Wilbur just frowns.

"So I suppose we haven't been dead for ten years then, no?"

"It's only been a year for us."

Wilbur hums, and they move on.

____________

Tommy and Schlatt are the only ones left awake, Wilbur and Mexican Dream both passed out. They are playing poker, worn cards passing through his hands like second nature. It isn't often that the two are alone, normally at least one of the others is awake, but tonight it is only them.

He's had questions he's been meaning to ask since he died the first time, but he never felt like the time was right. Now seems as good a time as any, and the whiskey that burns his throat and the cigarette between his lips help loosen his lips.

"You mind if I ask some questions?" He phrases it as a question, but he knows that Schlatt isn't going to say no. There would be no point.

"Ask away," Schlatt grunts, focused on his cards.

"Why did you do it?" 

The older Ram hybrid pauses, scratching one of their horns, "I've done a lot of shit, kid. You're gonna need to be more specific."

"Why run for president? Why exile us? Why execute Tubbo? Why did you do all that to us? Nobody there did anything but welcome you with open arms, and you ruined their lives." A spark of something ignites in Tommy’s chest, but as soon as the words leave his mouth it fizzles out as if it were never there at all.

Schlatt doesn't talk for a long moment, and when he does it's barely above a whisper, "It's a long story, Tommy, but I suppose I deserve to tell you this much."

Schlatt reaches for a bottle and takes a long drink before handing it to Tommy, wiping his mouth clean, "It started when I was a bit younger, just barely a man. My father was a cruel man and I never knew my mother, so I lived by myself as soon as I could. I made a friend out of your brother, and for a while, I was happy. Didn't last."

Schlatt’s expression grows bitter, and he takes another swig of the whiskey when Tommy hands it back, "I was feeling strange, weak, so I went to visit a doctor to see what was wrong with me. Turns out I had something called cancer cachexia , atrophying my muscles and seeping away my strength. He told me I had only a few years to live."

"I tried to fight it, but it didn't matter. Regen pots didn't do jack shit, so I turned to booze to numb the pain. I used protein powder to try and keep myself upright, but it was a losing fight. I lost myself in depression, and I couldn’t tell you how many times I stood in a high place and just wanted to jump. Go out on my own terms."

"My depression turned to anger soon enough, and my thoughts turned bitter. If I couldn't live, why should anybody else? Then, your brother invited me to come see your country, and I saw a golden opportunity to show everyone my pain."

Schlatt laughs and it's dripping with self-hatred, "Did you know I'm Tubbo's father? I had him before I was even 16, and I knew I couldn't care for him forever. I could barely afford rent, much less afford to have a kid, so I left him by the side of the road and prayed that someone good found him. I told him we were playing a game, and that I would come back for him"

Schlatt looks up and his eyes are red, tears streaming down his face, "I never came back. I didn't even realize Tubbo was my kid until after the execution, far too late. I had my own son executed in front of me because I was bitter at the world for something I couldn't control."

Schlatt laughs. It's the laugh of a broken man.

____________

Techno is busy making potions when the voices start screaming.

Tommyinnit dead pog? Tommy is dead crabrave! Deadinnit. THE CHILD IS DEAD!!! Nooo rip Tommy :(. The gremlin is dead. O7's in chat. F. The raccoon is gone. Manipog. Haha crossbow go brrr. Can't stop that manifold grind.

Techno winces as the voices begin to shout, and he can already feel the beginnings of a headache forming.

"Chat, what's with the sudden obsession with Tommy? We talked to him hours ago."

When he first saw Tommy in Snowchester, draped in the Trenchcoat of his dead brother and a barely noticeable streak of white in his hair, chat had gone dead silent. It sadly didn’t last long, but they hushed when they saw him smoking, as well, muttering something about brothers. It didn’t take a genius to see what they meant. Dye Tommy’s hair brown and give him a pair of wings and he would almost be Wilburs spitting image.

He groans as chat continues to chant about Tommy being dead, which is obviously fake.

"Chat, since when did you care about Tommy? You hated him, like, a week ago."

Times change, blade. Yeah, that was a week ago! E. The raccoon has grown on us! O7. Doesn't matter now cause he's dead. Haha L. F's in the chat.

Techno sighs as chat continues to be completely incomprehensible, and he returns to his potions. He pulls off what is supposed to be a Turtlemaster potion, but instead of the brownish-grey color it's supposed to be, it's nearly black and smells metallic instead of its regular salty scent. Maybe too much blaze powder?

He opens a window and pours it out into the raging storm, trying to let as little snow in as possible. He can hear it sizzle on contact with the snow, which confirms his theory. Definitely too much blaze powder.

The trapdoor from downstairs opens and Phil climbs out, wings tucked close to his back to fit through and a crow perched on his shoulder, squawking quietly.

“You get everything you need?” Techno turns slightly to look at the immortal man.

“Yup, might have to wait for tomorrow to start construction, though. Storm looks pretty nasty.” Phil chuckles a bit distractedly, wings fluffing out.

Techno turns fully around, “You alright Phil? You seem distracted.”

Phil just sighs, “Yeah, my chat is just being really annoying.”

“Talking about Tommy?” Techno raises an eyebrow.

“Yours too?”

“Yeah, no clue why though. Been hours since we saw him.”

Phil’s wings droop, primaries barely brushing the floor, “I’m worried about him. He just seemed so… different.”

“Don't worry about him, he’s a traitor. Stabbed us in the back.” Techno scoffs, trying to ignore how fake the words feel.

Phil merely looks at him, eyes mournful, and Techno tries to ignore the memories of when Tommy would come into his room every time he had a nightmare, when he would read stories to him whenever Phil and Wilbur had another argument about them leaving again, when he first taught Tommy to fight.

He pushes away the memories of the betrayed expression on his face when he released the withers the first time, and the voices that whisper that the only traitor was him.

He turns back to the potion stand. Less blaze powder.

(Almost an hour's walk away, a body begins to attract crows.)

____________

He lasts almost a whole month this time.

They're playing Uno, and he has one hell of a hand, all four plus 4s, and two plus 2s. And everyone said he was unlucky.

He was just about to put down his first plus 4 when he felt a tingle around his throat. He coughs, but the sensation only grows stronger until he can't breathe.

Wilbur's face dances in and out of his vision and his voice sounds like he was submerged in water.

It finally clicks what's happening when there is a sharp tug around his neck. The red cord! He desperately grabs at his neck, but the cord slips between his fingers.

He continues to scratch at his neck until the delicate flesh gives way beneath his fingernails and he digs his fingers into his own throat, trying desperately to grab the thin red cord.

Blood runs down his hands and gathers around his collarbone and it burns , which only hastens his clawing. The dead don't feel pain. 

It doesn't matter, though, and soon enough his vision fades completely, and he slips into unconsciousness.

When he wakes up, he is soaking wet. His head pounds like a hammer is beating on the inside of his skull and his throat feels raw.

His eyes peel open and he takes in a beautiful sunrise shrouded by clouds. Rain falls around him, splattering onto his already soaked trench coat and seeping straight down to bone.

He's alive again, and he couldn't care less.

Chapter Text

Dream doesn't have much to do nowadays, which he supposes is a good thing. He paces through his small cell, writes in his books, and counts the drips of the crying obsidian. He had long since cleaned the blood staining the black obsidian, washing it away one handful of water at a time. (He tries not to remember how it got there)

With nothing to do, the Dreamon slumbers on in his mind.

He doesn't remember how he got possessed, only that it happened so sometime during the revolution. Sapnap, Tubbo, and Fundy had attempted to exorcise him once, but all it did was tighten the Dreamon’s grasp on him.

He was nothing but a prisoner in his own body, forced to watch as Tommy was exiled a second time. He could do nothing but stare as he drove the poor kid to the edge, literally and figuratively.

There were moments of clarity, when he managed to wrench control away from the Dreamon, but they were few and far between. He remembers handing Tommy his trident on one rainy day and praying that he just runs away with it. (He doesn't)

It isn't until they are in the vault that the Dreamon finally loosens its iron grasp on him. By the time he reaches the prison and the lava wall falls, he is more or less in control. Whenever he gets visitors or when Sam comes to talk, the controls are wrenched from his grasp, but for most of the time, he is in control.

So when he wakes one morning to the Dreamon already wrestling for control, he knows something is wrong. It doesn't take him long to find out.

Dream's godly blood allows him to know more than most, allowing him knowledge of things he logically shouldn't know if he focuses hard enough. It was how he knew if Tommy went into L'Manburg during exile, and how he knew where Techno’s base was.

So when he feels the distinct lack of a certain blond-haired teen, he immediately knows what has happened. Had Tommy simply left, either by hub portal or just by foot, he would have known as soon as he left the territory bounds. He hasn't checked in nearly a week, so he has no idea how long ago it even happened.

Tommy is dead, and the Dreamon doesn't like that.

"Sorry, Tommy." Is the last thing he is able to say before the puppeteer takes back up the strings.

__________________

Tubbo is busy shoveling snow when Ghostbur shows up.

The massive storm that had been ravaging the server for the last five days finally broke yesterday, and though the sky is still shrouded by grey clouds, blue skies lie on the horizon.

He is busy shoveling the paths with Jack Manifold, Foolish, and Puffy, heaving shovelfuls of snow into empty spaces between the houses. The storm had brought in nearly four feet of snow, coating every surface in what felt like meters of lead, even causing the roof of Jack's house to cave in. It was in the morning of the second day of the storm so his house had filled with snow, taking nearly a whole day to repair and get rid of all the snow.

Each shovelful of snow weighs nearly thirty pounds, and he thanks his goat genetics for his enhanced strength. He originally hadn't intended on shoveling at all, instead planning on melting it all. He had even drafted plans for a flamethrower before Jack talked him out of it, telling him he would probably flood everyone's basements if he did.

Based on how Jack is currently laying face down in a snowbank, he regrets his choice.

If there's one thing to be thankful for, he supposes, it's that the temperature is still below freezing. None of the snow has begun to melt and refreeze into ice. Compacted snow is one thing, wet compacted snow is another.

He is about to throw another shovelful of snow when Ghostbur appears, safely floating a few inches over the wooden pathway, tugging along a blue sheep.

"Hello Tubbo!" The ghost cheerfully waves, which Tubbo returns once his shovel is emptied into the snowbank.

Ghostbur was somewhat of an oddity, appearing and disappearing seemingly at random, often for days at a time. The last time anyone had seen him was just after Tommy died, the news of which the ghost did not take well, his signature blue turning from a light sky blue to a midnight black in a matter of seconds.

The ghost had run off immediately after that, saying they needed to "check on something."

Tubbo greets the friendly ghost, burying his shovel into the snow and leaning on it, "Hello Ghostbur, you been alright?"

The ghost nods excitedly, "Yes, I've been good! I heard you lost the compass I got you-" Tubbo doesn't have the heart to tell him he lost it months ago, long before L'Manburg fell, "-so I made you a new one!"

A compass materializes in Ghostbur’s extended hand and Tubbo gingerly takes it, holding it as if it was made of glass. The metal is glimmering with enchantments, and he can see a small Lodestone embedded in the back. He opens the lid, and in Wilbur's smooth handwriting is Your Tommy, painstakingly etched into the iron.

Tubbo looks up at Ghostbur, offering the ghost a heartfelt smile, "Thank you, Ghostbur."

Ghostbur grinned at him, bright blue wings hiking up in a way he thinks means the ghost is proud, "Of course!"

Ghostbur continues to talk Tubbo's ear off as he returns to shoveling, not that he minds all that much. While he isn't as close to the phantom as Tommy is, it's hard not to like the friendly ghost.

"....and Tommy was sleeping out in the rain! He must have been sleeping well because he didn't even shift when I asked if he wanted to play solitaire. He was always a heavy sleeper, I remember one time there was a thunderstorm and a tree-"

"What did you say?" The small smile on his face begins to slip.

Ghostbur pauses, "He was always a heavy sleeper?"

"No, no. Before that." While Tommy had once been a heavy sleeper, it had been years since the younger boy wouldn't wake at the drop of a pin.

"Oh! Tommy was sleeping out in the rain! For a moment I was worried he would melt, but that's silly! He's not a ghost!"

"In the rain? How long was he there?" Alarm bells ring in Tubbo's head as he pulls out his communicator.

Something in the ghost's eyes changes and their expression shifts ever so slightly, his smile begins to fall as well, "I...I don't know?"

The communicator finally loads and he looks down at it, begging for something from Tommy, anything. 

The last message between the two is from five days ago, simply asking if Tommy got home alright. A message received, but never read. Tommy always read his messages, and he always responded.

Ice replaces the blood in his veins as his heart stutters, communicator nearly slipping between gloved fingers.

He doesn't bother to respond to the calls of his name as he pushes past the ghost, legs carrying him to the high-speed tunnel, guided by the red needle of his compass. He prays that he doesn’t find a corpse, or worse, a ghost.

_____________

He makes the normally half-hour walk in fifteen minutes, and even as his lungs scream at him he can't bring himself to regret it. He skids to a stop in front of Tommy’s little dirt hole, scanning the area for anything out of place. He had taken off his heavy snow gear the moment he had left Snowchester, as he couldn’t afford to have heat stroke while Tommy needed him.

The first thing he notices is that their bench is empty, which calms his racing heart slightly. At the very least, Tommy was alive. Or someone dragged his body away, but he wouldn’t think about that.

The next thing he notices is that the front door is ajar, and the compass points to the house. He makes his way inside, the door creaking loudly as he shoves it aside.

“Tommy? You there?” Tubbo calls out, and there is a mumbled response from what he thinks is the kitchen.

The grass floor is silent beneath his boots as he turns the corner and steps into the kitchen, finally seeing the teen. Leaning against the earthen walls, empty bottles littering the ground around him, is Tommy. A half-empty whiskey bottle is clenched in one of his hands and his eyes are glassy and unfocused.

For a moment, the world around him shifts, and he is standing inside the White house. Horns sprout out of Tommy’s head and curl around elongated ears. His trench coat melts and forms into a black suit, and the green bandana around his neck melds into a red tie.

Tubbo stares at Tommy, and Schlatt stares back.

Tubbo blinks, and he is back inside the dingy dirt home.

“Are… Are you fucking drunk?”

"Tubbo? S' that you?" Tommy slurs, blinking at him with bleary eyes. 

"I can't believe it," Tubbo laughs somewhat hysterically, "Here I was, worried I would find you dead in a ditch, and here you are, drunk off your ass!"

"Since when'd you care?" Tommy sneers, taking a swig from his whiskey bottle.

"I always cared!" Tubbo exclaims, "I'm just tired of you fucking everything up for everyone! You always drag me into your messes and ruin everything!"

"You don't care," Tommy bites, voice bitter, "If you cared, you would have visited me in exile, or at the very least sent a message, or even wrote a letter. But you never did," Tubbo had thought about visiting Tommy more than he could remember, but he could count how many times he followed through on one hand, and still have four fingers left, “If you cared, you wouldn’t have gotten married as soon as you heard I died. What kind of friend gets married just after their best friend is murdered?”

"I can't grieve for you forever, Tommy. I grieved for you once before, and you weren't even dead, who's to say that time wouldn't be different? A friend would be grateful their best friend is moving on, and not hung up on their death forever!" He argues, “And I didn’t visit you because I was worried about what would happen if I did! What if you hated me? I couldn’t live with myself if you did.”

Tommy stumbles fireward, jabbing a finger into Tubbo's shoulder, " Seven months. Seven fucking months of hell. Of day in, day out torture. Every morning Dream would blow up all my tools, weapons, and armor, and I would spend the rest of the day getting them back, only to lose it the next day."

"Months of starvation,  manipulation, hallucinations , and my best friend can't grow the balls to see me?"

"Dream said you didn't want any visitors," The reasoning sounded lame even to him.

"And you fucking listened?" Tommy laughs, "You listened to Dream? The guy who killed me three times in a row? The very man who drove Wilbur off the deep end with a smile on his face? The man who fanned the flames that burned down L'Manburg? Him?"

Tubbo doesn't answer, and Tommy grins crookedly at him, "Nothing to say, Tubso? Figures," He takes another swig out of his whiskey bottle, "So much for not being like Schlatt, huh? Even fucking exiled me, too."

"Like father like son, I suppose."

What.

"What did you just say?" Tubbo's voice is deadly calm, brimming with rage. He grabs a fistful of Tommy's shirt, one he vaguely remembers lending him five days ago, and pulls him down to eye level. It's soaking wet.

"What. Did. You. Just. Fucking. Say."

Tommy's grin falters for just a second before it's plastered back on, something Tubbo doesn't bother to discern glinting on his eyes, "I said, like father like son."

In the blink of an eye, Tommy is leaning against the wall clutching a bleeding nose, and Tubbo’s knuckles are anointed with Tommy's blood. The compass in his hand digs painfully into the skin of his palms, but he can’t bring himself to care.

As Tubbo turns to leave, he spares one last look at Tommy, noting the tears gathering in both their eyes, "Don't bother visiting Snowchester anytime soon. For your own safety."

And just like that, Tommy is alone once again.

_____________

To say Jack has had a rough week is an understatement. The massive snowstorm that had appeared out of nowhere kept him stuck inside for four straight days, and he had to stay at Tubbo's for two of those, his roof caving in and flooding his house with snow.

It takes nearly a whole day to fix and clean out all the snow, and the better part of another to shovel out all the pathways, even with the help of Puffy and Foolish.

Every muscle in his body aches by the time they're finished clearing away all the snow. He wants nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep for a week straight, but he knows he has to check on the hotel and make sure it didn't get blown over.

He drags himself out of his house, bidding a quick goodbye to Tubbo, who is still shoveling with Puffy and Foolish. The teen has an unreadable expression on his face as well as bloodshot eyes, and he worries if he found Tommy. He did run off in a hurry earlier.

Deciding to ask him about it later, preferably once he gets a good night's rest, he continues along his path.

Jack has had such a bad week, he isn't even surprised to see someone inside the hotel as he approaches. The glass is tinted enough that he can't tell exactly who they are, but based on their height he assumes it's Sam, here to argue over ownership for a dead man.

(He wonders if anyone has found out yet. he hasn't told anyone yet, but he probably should let Niki know that he was successful.)

Once again, he debates just going home and taking a long nap, but he's come this far and forces himself forward.

He nods at Sam Nook as he walks past, not bothering to pull out his communicator to decipher the robot’s chittering language. He pushes open the tinted glass doors and freezes once he sees who's inside.

Sitting behind the reception desk, ratty sneakers propped up on the clean desk, is none other than Tommyinnit himself, the teen he put a crossbow bolt between the eyes of not five days ago.

"What the fuck," Jack breathes, and Tommy just grins at him, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Aww, what's wrong, Jack? You look like you've seen a ghost." Tommy mocks, voice dripping with fake concern.

"This isn't real, this can't be real! I fucking killed you!" Jack’s voice shakes and he takes a cautious step back.

Tommy just shrugs, smoke curling from the tip of his cigarette, "What can I say? S' not my time to die. Never is." Jack dimly notes he sounds bitter.

Standing in front of Tommy, he can't help but notice a few changes since they last met. The streak of white in his bangs seems a shade brighter, and he catches a glimpse of another lock just above his ear, the very same spot as his own.

A bandage is plastered across the bridge of his nose, and he can make out a few splotches of dried blood and the beginnings of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. He shifts in his seat, and his bangs shift enough that he can spy a patch of red skin where he knows a bolt exited the teen’s skull.

Jack pulls out his crossbow and points it right at Tommy's grinning face, forcing his hands steady, "I killed you once, I can do it again." The words are more a reassurance to Jack than a threat to Tommy.

Tommy just chuckles, "As much as I would love that, you're forgetting one critical detail."

Sweat trails down the back of Jack’s neck as Tommy’s feet come off the table and he leans forward, eyes staring dead into Jack's, "We aren't alone."

A cold hand clamps itself on Jack's shoulder, and Tommy's grin widens.

"Sam Nook! How nice of you to join us!"

Jack turns, finally noticing the iron machine looming behind him. The normally happy-go-lucky android is stone-faced, the apertures on their eyes narrowed.

Tommy stands and walks over to Jack as if he isn't pointing a crossbow straight at his heart, stopping a few paces away.

"So, the way I see it, you have two options here, Jacky boy," Tommy raises a finger, "Option one, you shoot me in the chest, I die." He pauses for dramatic effect, "And Sam Nook here either kills you too or gives you to Sam to be thrown in prison with that green bastard."

"Or," Tommy raises another finger, "You turn around, get the fuck out of my hotel and return to whatever hole you crawled out of, and you get to live."

Tommy spreads his arms to his sides, "Well, what will it be? I'm partial to option one, but then I might have to deal with your sorry ass in the afterlife." He tsks, as if having to deal with him is worse than being dead.

Jack's hands shake despite his best efforts, and the tip of the crossbow bolt quivers from where it hovers above Tommy's heart. Anger burns through his veins at being challenged like this, and the fact that Tommy is alive in the first place. He killed him fair and square! How dare he still live!

"Well? Better make your decision soon, before someone makes it for you."

With a sneer on his face, he begrudgingly sets his crossbow back into his inventory, and the iron hand on his shoulder releases as Sam Nook returns to his regular spot.

As Jack turns to leave, he snaps over his shoulder, "I'll be back."

Tommy laughs, "I'm sure you will."

Jack is midway through shoving through the glass doors when Tommy calls out one last time.

"And by the way? You're fired."

_____________

In the depths of the earth, a monolith of Crimson stands, surrounded by its followers. They sharpen blades and fletch arrows in preparation for expanding the eggs glorious reach.

Most of the server has come under their fold, red vines snaking across the landscape, but several places have gone untouched. A small village shrouded in snow remains untouched by its grace, and the egg has whispered that the time to act is upon them. It has given them a week to prepare, and as the final preparations are completed, they begin to march.

The village will either join them in the loving embrace of the egg, or it will be burned to the ground. There is no other way.

Unbeknownst to them all, another watches. The one who refused to answer the Eggs beck and call, unable to hear the glorious sermons it preaches. It watches them carefully file out, and he knows he must act.

He exits his hiding spot and begins to run towards his friend’s home, towards Snowchester.

Chapter Text

Snowchester seems peaceful, he notes. Birds chirp and hop on top of the snow and on branches of trees. Smoke rises out of a single house, carrying the smell of burning wood high into the sky, naught a breeze to disturb its sluggish path.

There will be much more smoke if he fails, he knows.

The frigid morning air bites at his ears and cuts into his nose, but he pushes on. He isn't a kid anymore, he doesn't have time to be cold. The Eggpire is not five minutes behind him, and the clock has already begun to tick.

The wooden pathways crack beneath his old sneakers as he runs across them, the thin layer of ice that formed on them cracking beneath his weight. A quick glance towards the other buildings in the town empty, lanterns snuffed and fireplaces cold. He supposes that's for the best, fewer people to worry about.

He tries to ignore the dread that builds in his chest with every hasty step he takes towards the only occupied house in the town. His last conversation, from what little he remembered, hadn't ended that well. He tries to tell himself that it's necessary, that he could be saving them, but it does nothing to pull his stomach from his throat.

Far sooner than he wants, he is standing in front of the only occupied house in Snowchester, Tubbo's house. He hesitates for a moment before he bangs on the door.

"Tubbo!" He hollers, out of breath, "Open the door! It's important!" 

No-one responds.

"Please!"

Tommy is never one to beg, but he forgives himself for it now. Anything for Tubbo.

Muffled voices sound from behind the door, and after a moment the door creaks partway open, Ranboos heterochromatic eyes meeting his own.

"Tommy?" The Enderman hybrid questions, "Why, uh, why are you here?"

He ignores the fact he needs a reason to visit his best friend and the bitterness that bubbles up whenever he is near Ranboo.

He takes in a deep breath, still heaving from running all the way here, and is about to begin to talk when Ranboo is shoved out of the way with a startled warble.

The door opens more, and Tubbo is standing in front of him. The teen he considered to be his other half looks terrible. His bloodshot eyes are pulled into a glare, hands clenching at a blanket draped over his shoulders.

Seeing Tubbo is bittersweet, as from what he remembers of their last meeting it wasn't exactly cordial. All he remembers is getting angry and then waking up surrounded by enough empty bottles of alcohol to kill a herd of elephants and a bloody nose.

"Didn't I tell you to stay away?" The threat is halfhearted at best, and Tubbo seems tired more than angry.

Tommy wants to ask what's wrong more than anything, to sit Tubbo down and force him to say what's weighing on his mind, but he can't. He swallows his regret and presses on.

"You need to leave," Tubbo raises an eyebrow as he continues, "The Eggpire is coming, and they don't look like they're coming for tea."

The door opened all the way as Ranboo stepped next to Tubbo. Something dangerously close to jealousy stirred in his gut as Ranboo casually wrapped his tail around Tubbo's waist, an act so domestic it made him want to puke. He forced the feeling down, stomping it out like the last embers of a raging wildfire. He didn't have time to dwell on it.

"The Eggpire?" Ranboo questions, "Why here, of all places?"

"I don't know, Ranboob," He snarks, "It's not like I can go up and fucking ask them, can I?"

The Enderman hybrid’s cheeks flush red, "Right..."

Tubbo's eyes finally drift from Tommy as he scans the snowy surroundings, "Why don't we fight them? I'm not just going to let them burn my home down."

"There's four of them, Tubbo," he argues, "And they have all their lives. You and I only have one and have to make sure Micheal is safe. We can't risk it."

Tubbo heaves a great sigh, "Fine. Ranboo, go get Micheal. I'll grab the essentials."

"Hurry," Tommy insists, "They weren't far behind." Tubbo nods as he darts back inside, rummaging around in chests for any valuables while he can hear Ranboo upstairs. Tommy stays outside and watches the high-speed tunnel into the town. He summons the Axe of Peace to his hand, just in case.

A sudden thought crosses his mind as he watches, "Dreams armor is still in your bunker, right?"

He can hear Tubbo pause in the room behind him, the rustling of chests going silent for a moment, "...Yes? Why?"

He merely hums, "Just in case."

His words seem to bring Tubbo no comfort, but he resumes searching nonetheless.

It isn't long before Ranboo climbs back down the ladder, a certain no longer zombified Piglin child perched on his shoulders. He lets himself glance back for a moment, just long enough to note the lack of green rot clinging to the kid. Bone still glimmers around his empty socket, but it looks far better than it had last he saw.

Normally, he'd say something. Ask how Micheal took the potion, or if Phil had helped them any, but he doesn't. No time.

"Got everything?" He asks, turning around. Ranboo has Micheal secure in his arms and Tubbo has a bag slung over his shoulder and another in his hand, which he tosses at Tommy.

"Carry this," The goat hybrid grunts, the three stepping into the empty streets.

A single Crow sits on the roof of a nearby building, black eyes staring as they make their way towards the high-speed tunnel.

That was their first mistake.

When they are only ten or so meters away, the water ripples, and a figure steps out. Decked in netherite armor glimmering with enchantments and a trident with three razor-sharp points, Badboyhalo stands in front of them.

Behind Bad, another figure steps out of the tunnel. Then another. Then another. They step forward and the demon is now flanked by Antfrost, Punz, and Ponk.

Thin crimson vines cling to their armor and weapons, and their eyes glow a dirty red. 

Micheal tugs on his father's suit behind him, “ Boo? Who’re they?” Ranboo shushes them. He wants to reassure them that it's going to be ok, but he can't show any attachment. Dream The Egg will only use it against him.

For a moment, everything is still. The two groups simply stare at each other, and it seems as if the world itself is holding its breath. Not a single bird calls, nor a single breeze blows.

Bad steps forward and some part of his brain notes that the formerly red highlights on his hoodie are white now.

"Well," The demon claps their hands, "This is your last chance to join the Egg. It can give you anything you want, and all you have to do is join us."

"Eat shit," Tubbo snaps from next to him.

"Language," Bad chastises, "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."

It is then when everything happens at once. Ponk draws a bow and launches an arrow at Tubbo, who barely manages to summon a shield to block it. Antfrost draws a splash potion from his inventory and tosses it into the ground, stomping on the fragile glass. The potion quickly disperses into the air around the Eggpire, and in the few moments it's visible he recognizes it as strength.

Bad and Punz charge, Trident soaring just over his head as he barely ducks in time. Tommy twists around, grabbing Ranboo by the arm and dragging him back towards Snowchester, Tubbo right next to him.

They almost reach the nearest house when Ponk gets a lucky shot, and an arrow slams straight intoTubbo's right shoulder, burying itself deep in the teen’s flesh and digging into bone. Tubbo yelps, stumbling slightly as the three duck behind the building. Tommy forces them to keep moving, weaving between a few more buildings until they momentarily lose their pursuers.

"I think we lost them," Tubbo whispers, peeking around the corner of the building they are hiding behind. When Tubbo shifts, he can see that blood has already begun to seep through the back of his thick winter coat, but he acts like it doesn’t hurt, probably for Micheal. From what little he can see the wound and where the shaft of the arrow is sticking out, the arrow buried itself deep into his shoulderblade. A nasty wound, making his right arm practically useless, but not immediately lethal.

"Not for long," Tommy pants, "They'll burn this whole place down looking for us, and this isn't exactly the best hiding spot."

"Well, what do you suggest!" Tubbo snaps, "That we just hand ourselves in?"

"I'm thinking!" Tommy bites back, "We could make a break for the forest, but they'll see us before we can get there. We need a distraction."

An idea pops into Tommy's head and Tubbo immediately frowns, recognizing the look on his face.

"I'll stay here and hold them off while you two make a break for it. I'll buy you some time."

"No!" Tubbo immediately rejects the idea, "We're not just leaving you here to die! Right Ranboo?" 

Ranboo looks up from where they are trying to comfort a teary-eyed Micheal and nods, "We aren't just going to leave you here, Tommy."

"We don't have another option!" Tommy insists, "You're hurt and Ranboo can't leave Micheal. Besides, some brainwashed cultists are nothing for the great Tommyinnit." He tries to summon some of his old bravado, but his coffers ring empty.

Tubbo stares at him for a moment before sighing, "Promise me you'll be ok?"

Tommy grins at him, "I promise Tubso."

Trusting him was their second mistake.

There is a shout as they are spotted, and Tubbo trades his shield for the bag Tommys still carrying before he takes Ranboo and dashes away. He takes a moment to fasten the shield to his arm before he darts out of cover, charging right at Antfrost.

His first strike takes the cat hybrid by surprise, his axe crashing into their chest plate just over their collarbone, sending them nearly into a crouch from the combined weight of the axe itself and the force of his swing. A few inches to the left and his blade would be lodged into the cat's neck. His second strike sends sparks flying as the axe skirts across their ribcage, and Antfrost stumbles back slightly.

He raises his shield as Antfrost aims a strike at his head, Netherite sword biting into the iron rim of his shield.

He swings again, but the element of surprise has been lost, and Ant manages to dodge a swing that would have taken his leg from beneath him.

Bad and Punz appear from behind a building, torches in one hand and weapons in another. Smoke climbs into the sky behind them as a house begins to burn.

Bad's trident sails through the air and slams against his shield, the wood splintering under the force of the throw.

Tommy risks a glance towards the forest behind him just in time to see Ranboos' lanky figure duck under a tree branch and disappear into the foliage. He pays for it when Ant darts forward, sword cutting a deep gash in his jaw.

He steps back as Punz arrives, sidestepping a stab that would have run him through. He jams the top of his axe into the mercenary’s face, his helmet’s noseguard driving into his own face.

An arrow sails past his face as Ponk reappears, another arrow already notched in their bow.

Gangs all here, He thinks as Bad advances on him, trident flying back to his hand.

The three circle him like wolves hunting their prey, and Tommy knows he has a choice. He can run and lose them in the woods, saving himself but dooming Snowchester, even if it is empty. Or he can stay and fight, try and save the town but likely end up six feet under. He may be a good fighter, one of the best on the server in all honesty, but he can’t take on four people at once and live. He doesn't even hesitate before he makes his choice. The only choice, really.

He waits for an opportunity and strikes, feigning a strike at Bad and darting away when they go to block. 

He runs along the pathways of the snowy town, hearing the heavy steps of his pursuer's not far behind. But, they are weighed down by armor, something he doesn't have, and he slowly increases the distance between them.

He finally reaches a specific portion of the path and he leaps over a barrier, feet crunching on farmland. He sprints across it, muttering apologies to the potatoes he tramples underfoot. Despite constantly being below freezing, the ground isn't frozen. Maybe he can ask Tubbo about it.

He skids to a stop Infront of the bunker entrance, Axe replaced with a pickaxe in a heartbeat. The thin stone brick wall collapses with a single well-placed swing, and he quickly replaces it once he steps inside, re-enforcing it with some spare obsidian he thankfully had in his inventory.

He doesn't need it to last forever, he only needs it to buy him a little time.

He turns around and the bunker stretches before him. Chests full of enchanted books and other supplies line the walls, spare weapons and armor set on armor stands and tool hooks. In the center of the room is the centerpiece of the bunker, an item won through blood sweat and tears.

Dream's armor.

Behind him, he can hear them break through the stone wall, and begin to break the obsidian behind it.

With no time to waste, no time to reconsider his choices, he steps up to the armor stand and begins to take the armor off.

He puts the armored boots on first, replacing his ratty trainers with gleaming Netherite covered boots. The leggings are next, sliding over his cargo pants and buckles on the inside of his legs.

The chest plate goes over his T-shirt, and he takes off his coat before he puts it on. He could wear it over the armor, but he really doesn't feel like repairing it afterward, so he begrudgingly slots it away in his inventory after taking the lighter and cigarettes out and putting them in his pants pockets. He does take the precious few seconds to take one out and light it though, the paper perched precariously between his teeth as he fastens the buckles on his right side.

The obsidian barricade shifts, and when he glances up he can see cracks spreading throughout the black material. His time is almost up.

He finishes fastening his chest plate and plucks the gauntlets off the armor stand and slots them over his forearms, making sure they don't mess up the bandages carefully wrapped around his arms beneath them.

His hands are no longer shaking.

The armor is comfortable, at least physically. It's very well padded, sheep's wool and leather lining the inside to the point he can't feel when he experimentally thumps his own chest. The armor also doesn't restrict his movement in the slightest, a welcome change from some armor he’s worn in the past.

The one thing he doesn't like is the aura the armor emits. It seems to radiate a toxic vibe, evil oozing like sludge from the armor. It clings so thoroughly to it that not even a deep clean in the fountain in Church Prime could cleanse it properly.

He breathes one last lungful of smoke before he tosses the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot. A pity.

He slots the helmet on just as the obsidian barricade shatters, and the four thralls of the egg rush in. Bad and Antfrost are the first two in, Punz and Ponk trailing behind them.

They pause, hauling in place as they notice his newly armored appearance, and he takes the opportunity. Bad and Ant halt just as the room opens, keeping Punz and Ponk trapped in the short hallway behind them. Perfect, a bottleneck.

Tommy, cloaked in the armor of a Dreamon and wielding the weapon of the Blood Gods disciple, charges.

He targets Antfrost first, whom he deems the weakest link other than Ponk, who has so far stuck to ranged combat. Against a grizzled mercenary and a literal Demon, the anthropomorphic cat isn't quite as scary. Still very deadly, just slightly less so.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but hesitation killed this one.

As he charges at them, they hesitate for a moment before bringing their shield up, and that's all it takes for him to strike. He swings the axe down hard on their left shoulder, where there is a small gap between the armor on the upper arm and the shoulder straps on the chest plate. The gap is tiny, and Tommy doesn't even plan on exploiting it, simply using the blunt force of their axe to take the arm temporarily out of commission. It would take the skill of a god to hit the weak spot.

But, sure enough, the edge of the axe slips perfectly between the two plates of Netherite, splitting straight through flesh and bone until it finally comes to a stop halfway through their arm.

A strangled scream forces its way out of their throat and their left arm goes limp, shield falling to their side. Several of the thin red vines attempt to wrap around the axe and keep him from taking it out, but they are far too small to be any real problem. He rips the axe out, cutting the flesh even more as it exits, a spurt of blood jumping out in its wake. He knows that it means he severed an artery, and within half a minute they'll be out cold, and dead within a few more.

There is a glint of blueish-green in his peripheral vision and he turns just in time to catch a trident thrust with his shield. He sends a quick swipe of his axe that manages to catch the shaft of the trident, sending it clattering to the ground a dozen feet away. Bad hastily retreats a step back, bumping into Punz behind him, who along with Ponk are still stuck behind Bad and Antfrost.

That problem dealt with, he turns back to Antfrost, whose sword has clattered to the ground and their functioning arm clenches a Regen pot. While it wouldn't completely heal his arm, the bone and joint going to need days to recover from fully, it would keep him in the fight by repairing most of the damage to the flesh, and more importantly, repairing his severed artery.

Tommy can't have that happen, so he swings his axe once more, and the blade kisses the flesh at the base of Antfrost’s neck, cleaving deep into their chest.

The potion falls out of their hand, shattering on the stone floor, a strange gurgling noise makes its way out of their throat as they choke on their own blood. He rises a boot and plants it on their chest plate, and with a quick kick sends them sprawling on the floor.

One last gasp for breath and Antfrost's body dissolves, leaving an empty suit of armor, a discarded sword, a handful of potions, a few sticks of dynamite, and some other riff-raff they had in their inventory.

"Well?" Tommy grins as blood drips from the tip of his axe, "Who's next?"

For a beat, there is silence, Bad's trident flying through the air and returning to their hand, and Punz peering from behind him. Then, at some unheard command, they turn around and sprint out of the bunker.

Tommy follows them after he snatches the potions Antfrost dropped, leaving the dynamite behind. He's trying to save the town as much as possible, tossing around explosives won't help his job. There are three potions; speed, instant health, and a splash potion of slowness, all helpfully labeled with little paper tags attached to the neck of the bottles with a little string. The speed potion is half empty, but the others seem unopened.

He debates taking a sip of the instant health for the cut on his jaw but decides against it. Despite being deep enough that he's pretty certain it's going to scar, it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it should. He shrugs, blaming it on the adrenaline pumping through his system, and steps out of the bunker to follow the eggheads.

__________________

The moment he steps into the open, an arrow collides with his shoulder, iron tip glancing off the heavily enchanted Netherite. He follows the path of the arrow and sees Ponk duck behind a building as another pillar of smoke begins to rise into the sky. His shoulder stings, and is surely going to bruise, but far from lethal.

Tommy darts across the potato field, catching another few arrows on his shield until he reaches the path again. He hops on top of the path just as Ponk releases another arrow, this one hitting the gauntlet on his right forearm.

His arm has far less padding than his torso, so the arrow burns like someone pressed a white-hot brand against his skin. It hurts like hell, but it doesn't do any real damage.

He turns and raises his shield as Ponk, who is standing next to a building, lobs another arrow at him. The balaclava they wear obscures most of their face, but he doesn't need to see much to tell they're angry.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise and he begins to duck when a sword swipes from behind and clips his helmet. Despite not being a direct hit, it still sends him sprawling face down on the path.

He blinks the fog from his mind and his battle instincts kick in, honed from two wars and far more fights. He rolls to the left just as a trident buries itself deep into the wood where he had just been laying.

Tommy barely gets on his knees when Bad slams their trident into his chest, sending him face up on the ground and all the air from his lungs. His axe skids across the ground, handle tantalizingly close but just out of reach.

He wheezes, desperately trying to get air into his empty lungs, and Bad plants an armored boot on his chest. A trident is poised above his head, the razor-sharp tips glinting in the sunlight. He tries to raise his shield but another figure stomps on it, who he realizes is Punz after a moment.

There is a flash of Netherite, and the sturdy leather straps that attach the shield to his arm are slashed straight through.

Tommy scrambles for something, anything to save him, and his hand closes around a clump of icy snow.

Bad raises their trident and is about to give him a forced lobotomy when he whips the snowball directly into their face. It impacts their helmet with a distinct clang and Bad stumbles back, trident drooping.

His left hand shoots out, wrapping around the end of the trident and wrenching it out of their grasp. He rolls to the side when Punz stabs the ground where he just was, swinging the trident like a bat and taking out the mercenaries legs from beneath him. The trident tugs in his grasp, loyalty enchantment desperately trying to return to the Demon, but he simply tightens his grip.

He stands, sending a quick jab at Bad's chest to keep him at distance while he retrieves his axe, the snow surrounding it bloody with what remained of Antfrost.

With Punz on the ground and Bad without a weapon, things are looking up for Tommy. At least, they were before an arrow nearly buries itself in his neck, instead just missing, carving a shallow line in his neck that oozes blood.

Tommy takes a moment to deliberate before he heaves the trident and whips it at Bad's chest. The demon barely manages to get out of the way as it sails straight past them, burying itself into the ground.

Tommy takes a few quick steps back as Punz stands back up, and Bad's trident flies back into their hand. Tommy grins, and a small glass object appears in his left hand. He spikes it into the pathway between Bad and Punz, the glass shattering instantly. The liquid inside vaporizes instantly, dispersing into the air around the two.

He can tell the exact moment they realize what potion it is. Punz goes to take a step forward and nearly trips when his foot seems to be made of lead.

Slowness.

He flashes the two a grin as he takes out the half-empty swiftness potion, downing it in one swig. By the time Bad and Punz realize what’s happened, it's far too late, and Tommy has already begun to sprint at the third remaining member of their little party.

Bad shouts out a warning as he rushes Ponk, who hastily draws an arrow and launches it at him. The arrow impacts him straight in the gut, and it feels as though someone has just punched him, but he shrugs it off and keeps going. 

Ponk tries to notch another arrow, but Tommy is already on top of him, axe knocking the bow to the ground. Ponk takes a hasty step back, sword appearing in his left hand. It's only diamond, but still heavily enchanted. 

Ponk swipes at his head and he easily ducks under it, axe swinging into their ribcage as he does so. 

They yelp and thrust their sword at his chest. Unluckily for them, he sidesteps the jab, catching their wrist. Ponk’s eyes widen as he raises his axe, and he brings it down hard on the unarmed inside of his elbow. 

Bone cracks and splinters as the axe bites into his arm, severing the arm from the forearm up. 

Ponk’s mouth opens wide in a silent scream as he falls to his knees, clutching at his new stump. Blood spurts out and paints the snow red, steaming in the freezing air. 

Tommy tosses the severed limb in his hand to the ground and watches as the vines that cling to the man's armor wrap just below his shoulder and constrict, like a makeshift tourniquet. Already, the blood flow begins to slow, sharp spurts fading into a dribble. 

As he stares down the older man, he debates sparing them, letting them run away and live to fight another day. They were out of the fight, no doubt about that. Even if they immediately drank a regen pot, it would still take days to heal fully, and even then they would still be at a massive disadvantage in a fight unless they get a prosthetic. 

Tommy kneels in front of Ponk and rests his hand on the back of their head. He leans forward until their labored breath tickles his throat. 

"Sorry Ponk," He whispers into their ear, "S' not personal." 

Hand firmly on the back of their head, he draws his axe against their delicate skin, carving a second smile across their throat. Blood spurts out of the wound and splatters against his chest plate, painting the dark metal red. 

There is a flash of iron as Ponk’s remaining arm lashes out, and an iron arrowhead is lodged into his left side, in the thin gap between the front and back of his chest plate. 

He recoils, the arrow falling out the wound. He takes the health pot from his inventory and takes a swig, relishing in the numbing sensation blocking out the stinging of the wound.

Ponk turns their eyes (which he would swear flicker to their original black) up and meets his own as he stands, pressing a boot against their chest. Blood stains the mask where their mouth should be as a wet cough bubbles out of their throat. With a quick kick, Ponks body is sprawled on the ground, and within a moment nothing is left but an empty suit of armor, a handful of arrows, and a diamond sword still clenched by a dead man's hand. 

He turns around and looks at Bad and Punz, who are still stumbling around, trying to get to him. 

"Hey bad," He scoops up the dismembered forearm of Ponk and holds it up, the diamond sword slipping from its grip, "Need a hand?" 

He grins beneath his helmet, despite the fact that neither of them can see it. Had they seen it, they would have noted that it was a little too wide, showing a few too many teeth. 

He tosses the arm at the two, their gauntlets clicking loudly against the wooden path. It rolls to a stop right in front of Bad, bumping into the toe of his armored boot. 

The formerly friendly demon takes a step back, and he doesn't need to see their face to tell they're repulsed. Even Punz, who he knows has seen (and done) far worse, looks slightly off-put.

Tommy seizes the initiative, rushing forward as the last dregs of the speed potion make their way through his system. 

Punz raises his shield as he swings his axe at the man's collar, the wood splintering from the force of the blow. 

The shield falls and Punz aims a swipe at his neck, which skirts across his chest plate as he leans back just far enough to stop it from hitting skin. 

Bad lunges at him with their trident and he twists out of the way. He responds by slamming his axe into the man's hip, sending him to one knee. 

He tries to push the advantage but Punz is suddenly in front of him, sword streaking through the air and forcing him back. 

Punz keeps pushing and Bad joins him, forcing Tommy to stay on the defensive or risk being skewered or decapitated. They know they have the upper hand now. 

Tommy may have taken out both Antfrost and Ponk, but all his cards have been played, and he has no more aces up his sleeve. 

His mind races as he sidesteps slashes and stabs, dancing around blows that would break ribs even if his armor stopped it from tasting blood. 

He swings his axe low and manages to clip Punz’s leg, sending him toppling over in the snow. Bad quickly advances on him, trident bared. 

Bad thrusts the trident forward and Tommy instinctively lifts his left arm to block it with a shield he doesn't have. 

The sharp point of the trident slams into the relatively thin armor covering his forearm, the Netherite not made to stop direct hits. 

The trident punches through the armor, passing through the thin Netherite and leather padding, and embedding itself into the bone. The radius, if he remembers right from all the old dusty medical books Wilbur had him memorize before they went to war. 

Tommy screams as Bad yanks back on the trident, but the weapon is thoroughly stuck in his arm and his gauntlet is keeping it in place. 

He lashes out with his axe, hitting Bad square in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few paces, letting go of his trident in the process. 

Without Bad holding the other end, the trident drags his arm down, and Tommy bites his tongue to keep himself from screaming again. 

Tommy takes a few quick steps back, slicing the leather straps of his gauntlet off with a quick swipe of his axe, uncaring of the thin red line it leaves on his skin. What's one more scar? He worries far more about the bandages that he cuts through more than his own skin. 

Without the straps to hold it against him, the trident is only held on by its grip on his bone. There is no time to prepare himself,  as Punz is almost standing and Bad is advancing on him like a lion stalking its prey. 

He takes the trident’s smooth handle and yanks, gritting his teeth as he feels the bone in his arm shift. White-hot pain grips his arm like a fire, crawling along his twitching muscles and blazing in his bone marrow. Nausea gathers in his gut and bile burns at the back of his throat as the overwhelming sensation to throw up nearly overtakes him. 

Bad lunges forward, smelling weakness like a wolf, and the two go tumbling to the ground. His axe clatters to the ground as Bad wrenches it out of his grasp, sliding it out of reach. 

They roll on the ground for a few moments, each trying to gain the upper hand, but Tommy's left arm is out of commission and Bad is stronger. 

Bads hands wrap around his throat as their red eyes meet his own, a grin on their face as they begin to choke him. Tommy wheezes as he claws at Bad’s hands, lungs heaving for air that won't come. He looks up once again and Bad is gone, replaced with a smooth porcelain mask and an orange jumpsuit. 

"You think I would let you go so easily, Toms?" Dream mocks, "I'm not done playing with you just yet." Through the stars dancing in his eyes, he can see the obsidian cell of the lone prisoner. 

His hand falls from where it was desperately clawing at the hands around his throat and instead scramble on the ground, for anything to help him. 

Tommy's hand closes around something vaguely smooth and he shoves it into Dream's armpit, where he knows several veins and arteries lay just under the surface. 

Dream laughs and laughs and laughs as he drives the object in his hand as he drives it again and again into the man's body, blood spurting out like a malfunctioning fountain. 

The masked man leans forward, and he can feel their putrid breath on his neck, "I'll see you soon, Tommy." The hands on his neck go slack and Dream slumps on top of him, limp. 

His vision distorts, like the heatwaves that come off black concrete on a hot summer day, and the obsidian cage fades away, replaced with a sunny sky and snow-covered houses and trees. 

His right arm is wet, something soaking into his shirt and clinging to his hands. A heavy weight rests on him, and when he looks down someone is laying on his chest. He instantly recoils, shoving their limp body to the side as he scrambles back, chest heaving. 

The figure has a trident buried into their armpit were no armor covers, and he recognizes the bloody hoodie and signature horns and tail. 

Badboyhalo. 

The fog clouding his mind broke, and everything came back. Ant, Ponk, Bad. Punz. 

Shit, Punz. 

Tommy scrambles to get upright, nearly screaming when he puts weight on his left arm and the bone simply snaps, but he doesn't dwell on it too much, simply chugging the rest of his health pot to numb the pain once he's standing again.

He scans the ground for his axe but Punz is upon him before he can find it. Their sword arcs through the air, slamming straight into his helmet, sending him to the ground once again. 

He lands hard on his stomach, head swimming and ears ringing. He looks up, and like a lighthouse in a thunderstorm, his axe lays on the ground, just a few feet away. He desperately crawls for it, but Punz stomps on his ankle just before he can reach it and swipes his sword across the back of his knee, cutting through his hamstrings like butter. 

Punz flips him over, planting an armored boot against his chest plate as he raises his sword. Tommy keeps his eyes open as they swing down at him, staring the mercenary in the eyes as he prepares to see Wilbur once again with a smile on his face. 

He hopes Tubbo forgives him for not getting them all. 

Just before the sword bites into his flesh and severs his head from his neck they pause, the tip of their sword hovering just above his Adam's apple. 

After a brief pause, Tommy speaks up, "Well, what are you waiting for? Getting second thoughts? Do it, kill me." 

Goading the person with a sword to his throat is probably a dumb as fuck idea, but he's long since lost his self-preservation instincts and more than enough blood to muddy his mind a little. 

The mercenary doesn't respond, simply looking at him with unnaturally red eyes, before lowering their sword. 

"It is the Eggs will to spare you for now. You will come with me, and you will not resist." 

Tommy grins at them, "They don't call me Tommy 'Complient' Innit for nothing. Now help me up, would you? Someone seems to have fucked up my leg." 

Punz scowls down at him, but reaches down anyway. His right leg is useless, as is his left arm, so Punz assumes he won't be able to put up a fight. 

He is wrong.

When Punz reaches down, Tommy grabs their arm and pulls with everything he has, sending Punz crashing on top of him. Tommy moves fast, twisting himself behind Punz and grabbing one of the gold chains around the man's neck, pulling it taut. 

Punz immediately drops his sword and grabs for the chain digging into his neck, fingers searching for purchase. Tommy kicks out with his one good leg, sending Punz’s sword skidding out of reach of both of them. 

He wraps his hands on the chain and continues to pull, cutting off the man's air supply and slowly choking them. Punz tries to elbow him in the gut in an attempt to shake him off, but he still has his armor on. 

What Tommy doesn't see is the hand that makes its way down to their boot, and closes on the handle of a blade. 

He doesn't notice until it's far too late, and the blade dips just below where the chest plate ends and just before his leggings begin, sinking up to the hilt in his stomach. 

A gasp forces its way out of his throat as what feels like lava is poured into his insides, but his grip on the chain never wavers, even as Punz takes the opportunity to twist the blade and open the wound even further, inflicting prime knows how much internal damage. 

"Go...to....hell..." Punz wheezes, grip growing weaker and struggling growing slower. 

Tommy grunts, even though it burns with the knife still in his gut, "Been there done that, big man." 

Punz kicks out on one last attempt to escape before they go limp, unconscious but not dead. Not yet. 

He considers simply not stopping, to keep strangling the man until they are well and truly dead and their body fades away as they respawn. 

But he remembers when Punz saved him from Dream, when he brought the cavalry and saved Tubbos life. He thinks of Purpled, who he hasn't been anything near friends with since before L'Manburg, but whose brother is already possessed. Even if Punz has two more lives, he can't do to Purpled what Wilbur’s death did to him. 

His grip on the golden chain slackens and he pushes Punz’s unconscious body away from him, the desperate rise and fall of their chest telling him they're alive, at the very least. 

Tommy slowly crawls backward, using his one good leg and arm to push him until his back rests against the wall of a building, and he's no longer lying on his back. He reaches up and yanks his helmet off, tossing it to the ground beside him.

"Well," He creaks, "That's it, then." 

His gaze falls to the dagger still lodged in his stomach and despite the voice in his head screaming at him to leave it, he slowly pulls it out and rests it on his thigh. Blood oozes from the now opened wound slightly faster than before, but it’s not much more than if he had left it in, Punz making sure of that. 

He debates taking the blade and running the cold metal down his wrists or across his neck, if nothing more than to hasten his passing and end his suffering. But he remembers that Tubbo would come back eventually, and he wouldn’t want him to see that. 

He leaves the blade be. 

His hands are shaking again, he notices. 

Time passes sluggishly as he lays there, simply staring at the sky. Twin pillars of smoke rise into the sky, and he hopes Tubbo won't be too mad at him for letting the houses be burned down. 

After what feels like an eternity, he hears something approaching. The crunching of snow and hushed voices preceded their arrival, and his mind instantly goes to the Eggpire. They must be coming back to finish the job. 

He tries to stand, but one of his legs is useless and the other, which has been screaming at him about the cold since the battle started, is far too weak to support him. 

He resolves to grip Punz’s knife and prepares himself to take out as many of them as he can. 

He lies and waits, as the footsteps grow closer and the voices get louder. Two armored figures come from around a bend and he instantly relaxes. 

Tubbo and Ranboo have returned. 

Exhaustion weighs down his whole body, so he simply waits until they come up to him. 

He watches as they scan the buildings, weapons drawn. He follows Tubbos gaze as he notices Bads empty armor, Punz’s unconscious body, and finally him, locking eyes with the older boy. 

He can see how Tubbo freezes, and when Ranboo follows his gaze and sees him as well, surrounded by red snow. 

"Tommy!" Tubbo screams, voice cracking in despair. 

They sprint over to him, deftly jumping over Punz and crouching next to him. Tubbo holds Tommy's head in his hands, and he idly notes how warm they are. 

"Hey, Tubso," Tommy forces out through numb lips and lead tongue, "Sorry 'bout the houses." 

Tubbo looks like he just slapped him, "The houses? Tommy, I couldn't give less of a fuck about the houses! What happened to you!" 

Tommy chuckles, and it doesn't hurt anymore, " I stopped them." 

"I..." Tubbo falters, before his face hardens, "Come on, we need to get you a potion, get you stitched up. I think I have one in the vault?" Tubbo trails off, murmuring beneath his breath as he mentally searches for where he stored them. 

"It won't help," Tommy tells him, voice soft, "We both know I'm not surviving this. I've lost too much blood, the shock of the potion would kill me." 

"I don't care!" Tubbo roars, "We have Totems! I haven't even apologized yet I'm! I'm not losing you! Not again!" 

He realizes Tubbo is crying. 

"It's ok," He tries to reassure them, but Tubbo shakes their head. 

"It's not ok! What am I without you?" 

Tommy gives Tubbo a bittersweet smile and answers simply, "Yourself." 

Tubbo’s head falls, resting on his shoulder, tears soaking into his already bloody clothes. Ranboo sits on his other side, cheeks steaming from falling tears. 

"I'll be back, you know," He tells them, eyes gazing at the sky, "Dream won't let me stay dead." 

Tubbo sniffles, raising his head to look him in the eyes, "Really?" 

Tommy hums in agreement, "Ask Jack. He knows." 

Tubbo frowns at the implications of that and mentally notes to give Jack Manifold a friendly visit. 

"Promise me you'll be back? Please?" 

"I promise, Tubbo." 

Tubbo squeezes his eyes closed and hugs Tommy tightly as his vision slowly fades and he greets the void with open arms.

__________________

"I see the one you mean." One diety says to another, high above the mortal plane. 

"Tommyinnit?" 

The first being hums, "Yes, him. He fought, even though he knew he would die in the end. I do not understand." 

"Mortals are often confusing, they are very different than you or I. You should know this more than most, Kristen." 

The first deity, Kristen, speaks, "Still, he died, and for what? A few buildings? It is illogical, even his companion acknowledges that." 

"Yes, it is illogical, but not to him. His value of self-worth is so little, he believes himself to be worth less than some wooden structures." 

Kristen frowns, "It would seem so. Perhaps it would help if we send Drista, they have gotten along well in the past." 

The second being smiles, "Indeed, a little mischief would do him good." 

There is a comfortable pause before Kristen speaks up once again, "I am aware you have plans for him, and know that should it come down to it, I will aid you in any way I can." 

The other diety nods, "I have a plan indeed, and your assistance would be much obliged." 

The two deities sit in silence for a few moments, before a crow flies in and perches on Kristen's shoulder, squawking quietly. 

The goddess of Death sighs, but does not seem surprised, "I'm afraid I must go. Duty calls and all." 

The second diety merely smiles, "As is natural. Goodbye, sister." 

As Kristen turns to leave, massive crows wings spreading, she bids goodbye as well. 

"Goodbye, Clara."

Chapter Text

When he dies this time, it's different than it was before. 

Before, it was like he fell asleep alive and woke up in the void. Now, it felt like he had just taken a long blink and was there. It was strange, but it didn't really worry him. 

He's standing a few feet from Wilbur, Schlatt, and Mexican Dream, who are in a roughly triangular shape. They're playing Uno, and Mexican Dream appears to be winning, based on how Wilbur and Schlatt are whispering to each other. There's also an enderman sitting next to Schlatt, looking curiously at his cards. 

He waltzes over to them and plops down between Schlatt and MD, nudging an empty bottle out of the way with his foot, which is still shrouded in netherite. 

"Ello, bitches. Deal me in, would ya?" 

The three go dead silent, staring at him like he just appeared out of thin air which, to be granted, he did. Then, they all speak up all at once. 

"Thomás?" Mexican Dream questions. 

"What the fuck." Schlatt deadpans. The enderman next to him warbles something that he knows is a question, and it doesn't take a genius to know it’s asking who he is. 

"Tommy?" Wilbur asks, his voice as soft as the seeds of a dandelion. 

"Hey, Wilbur." 

Wilburs face twists as he looks at his brother in all but blood, eyes wide but unseeing. 

"You're not here," Wilbur decides, shaking his head in disbelief, "I'm probably dreaming or something." 

Mexican Dream, Schlatt, and Tommy shoot each other concerned glances, the former two for more reasons than one. 

"I'm here, big man," Tommy says, slightly nervously, "You're awake 'n shit." 

Wilbur pauses for a beat, before he shakes his head once again, "No, I have to be asleep because if I'm not that means... Then that means you're...." 

Wilbur sniffles, seemingly on the verge of tears, "You're supposed to be happy, Tommy. You're supposed to be arguing with Tubbo and living life and helping raise Micheal and...." 

Wilbur lunges forward, catching him in an awkward hug as he is still wearing a full set of armor. One whiff of Wilburs breath and he can tell they're drunk. Wilbur always did get a little emotional after a few drinks. 

"You're not supposed to be here, Tommy." 

___________ 

It doesn't take long to settle back in, getting used to the old routine fairly fast. Wilbur, once sobered up, argues with him about dying again, but his temper dies down quickly once he says he was protecting Tubbo. 

He asks Schlatt about his new companion, an Enderman who is rather comfortable around them, and he tells him their name, Jambo. A strange name, but not the strangest in the grand scheme of things. 

Schlatt offers him some whiskey, and he reaches out to take it on instinct. Just before his fingertips touch the bottle, he pauses. He doesn't remember much of what happened when Tubbo visited him after his second revival, but his intoxication certainly hadn't helped things. Besides, it's not like withdrawal will kill him here. 

"I...I shouldn't," He lets his hand fall limply at his side, "Tubbo wouldn't want me to." 

Schlatt looks at him with an expression dangerously close to concern but retracts the bottle anyway. 

"Probably for the best," He thinks he hears Schlatt mutter. 

It's a few days later when an idea pops into his head while they're playing cribbage. He and Wilbur are on one team and are obliterating Schlatt and Mexican Dream. A music disk spins slowly on a record player, filling the air with quiet guitar. He wishes he could play like that. 

He straightens up with a gasp, turning to Wilbur, who looks rather confused. 

"Wilbur! Can you teach me how to play the guitar?" 

Wilbur nearly drops the cards in his hand he's so surprised, but to his credit, he gets over it quickly. 

"Of course I'll teach you guitar, Tommy." He coos, reaching over and ruffling his hair, which he internally melts at but swats the hand away anyway. He has a reputation to maintain Primedamnit. 

"But," Wilbur continues, "We don't have a guitar here, so we'll have to spawn one." 

"I'm sure it won't take too much to make one! We are big men after all!" 

Schlatt chuckles from where he's going through the deck, stealing all the good cards. Jambo tilts their head as they watch, curious. "We are big men alright, dunno about you, though." 

"Fuck you fuck you fuck you! I am the biggest man!" Tommy snaps, no heat behind the words. 

Schlatt grins at him, and reaches over to ruffle his hair as well, "I'm sure you are, kid." 

__________

He takes to guitar like tragedy to L'Manburg, which is to say he took it up fast. 

He spawns in the guitar the same way they get everything in the void, by focusing hard on a guitar until it poofs into existence in front of him. He proceeds to sleep for the rest of the day; it exhausts him soo much, but the moment he's up he's badgering Wilbur to teach him. 

Wilbur starts off with the basics, teaching him hand placement and how to hold it. It's a bit awkward to hold with his armor, but no matter how hard he tries to take it off, the buckles that hold it on seem glued shut. He wonders if it's the void spiting him or if Dream just got the last laugh. 

Once he gets comfortable holding it, Wilbur guides him through some scales. He's absolute garbage at first, but it’s not like he's going anywhere soon, and he quickly improves. 

Once Wilbur deems him ready, he leads him through some basic songs. Hot cross buns, as expected, is the first one he learns. He then moves into some more complicated songs, particularly some Wilbur wrote a long time ago, before L'Manburg. 

He particularly likes Since I Saw Vienna. 

His skills slowly improve, and so does his song library. He learns Wonderwall because the potential for jokes is too great to pass up. He teaches himself the L'Manburg national anthem while everyone else sleeps, singing the words under his breath. 

He plays songs as the others play cards, yelling at Jambo not to drink the alcohol, arguing lightheartedly over accusations of cheating. 

It's peaceful, far more than the world of the living could ever be. 

________ 

Tommy is laying with his head in Wilburs lap as they strum the guitar, humming lyrics to a song beneath their breath. The void has shifted into the original L'Manburg, tall Blackstone walls stretching into the starry night sky. It's the most pleasant of the ones he's seen, far better than Wilburs train station, Schlatts decrepit gym, or Mexican Dreams dirty alleyway. 

Schlatt and Mexican Dream are both fast asleep, and Jambo has disappeared to Prime knows where, but he isn't particularly worried. They always come back. 

There's a question on the tip of his tongue, one that's been floating around in his head since he stumbled into Technos cabin, half dead. He's not sure why he asks it now, perhaps it's the calm atmosphere, perhaps it's the cigarette perched delicately between his lips, but something implores him to ask. 

"Is it bad that I miss him?" 

The song falters for a moment as Wilbur wracks his mind for who he could be talking about, and none of the options are good. 

"You're gonna need to be more specific than that, Tommy." Wilbur cooly replies. 

"Dream." 

The music finally stops as Wilburs face twists. The man's dislike of the mask-wearing bastard was more than evident, ever since he let slip some of what happened during exile, and from what little he remembered through Ghostbur's rose-tinted glasses. 

Tommy, taking Wilbur's silence as judgment, rushes to elaborate, "I mean, he made it so easy, right? Exile was consistent, I was good at it. He gave me purpose, he was my friend when no one else was."

"Dream wasn't your friend," Wilbur points out.

"He was, though!" Tommy insists, "He was there for me when no one else was! He was my shoulder to cry on when no one visited my beach party! He stopped me from… you know."

"He wasn't your friend, Tommy," Wilbur insists, "He let you cry on his shoulder, sure, but he was the reason you were crying. He was the one who told people you didn't want visitors. He was the one who burned your party invites after taking them from Ghostbur. He manipulated you, Tommy."

Tommy sniffles, and when he meets Wilbur's eyes his own are brimming with tears, "Must be pretty pathetic that I still miss him then, huh." He chokes out a self-deprecating laugh as the tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

"No," Wilbur doesn't hesitate, "It's only natural to miss someone once they leave, especially if they hurt you." 

Tommy scrutinizes his face for any signs of dishonesty, and it feels as though a massive weight has been lifted from his chest when all he sees is honesty. 

"Ok," Tommy breathes and Wilbur brushes a tear from his cheek, "Ok." 

No more words are spoken as Wilbur continues to play some songs he wrote a long time ago. He gets through a handful more when Tommy speaks up one last time. 

"Thank you." 

Wilbur only smiles and ruffles his hair, "No problem, Toms."

___________

Tommy's body is long gone cold when Tubbo finally composes himself. He slowly unwraps his arms from Tommy, nearly crying again when he sees the expression on their face. 

He's smiling. 

Ranboo helps him to his feet, a comforting hand on his shoulder and tail curled around his waist. They don’t mention the glistening trail of frozen tears that streak down his face, and in turn Tubbo doesn't mention the burn marks on the hybrid’s cheeks. 

Tubbo bends down to pick up Tommy, looping an arm under his legs and another around his shoulders. He lifts the younger boys’ corpse, and immediately notices how light they are, even though they're still wearing most of their armor. He"ll have to bring it up if- when Tommy comes back, after killing him again for dying on him. 

Ranboo reaches out for Tommy, probably to help carry him, but every instinct in Tubbo’s head hisses as he clutches Tommy closer to his chest. It's like watching a toddler who doesn't want to share a toy, but instead, it's a teen who grew up too fast and the dead body of their best friend. 

Ranboo takes a hasty step back, raising his hands in surrender. Tubbo gives him a long look before jerking his chin at the still unconscious body of Punz. 

Neither of them speak as the duo stumble further into town, Tubbo carrying Tommy and Ranboo dragging Punz. They originally head to Tubbos’ house, but are quickly forced to change plans as all that remains is smoldering embers and half-burned scraps. 

They briefly consider using Jack's house out of spite, remembering what Tommy told them and the unspoken implications, but the side of his house is scorched so they settle on Puffy’s house instead. Ranboo debates sending her a message but decides against it for the time being. 

While Tubbo goes to find a few towels, not wanting to put a bloody, dead body on Puffy’s bed, Ranboo grabs some loose firewood and lights a fire in the fireplace, banishing the cold air from the house. 

Setting Tommy upon the blankets, Tubbo notes that he almost looks asleep, if one ignores the blood-soaked clothes and gash-littered body. He's no longer bleeding, at the very least. 

"We need to deal with Punz," Ranboo reminds him when he goes to sit next to Tommy's corpse. 

"Oh I'll deal with him alright," Tubbo growls, drawing a netherite sword from his inventory. 

"Wait!" Ranboo yelps, blocking the door, "Tommy left him alive for a reason, right? Why don't just lock him up? Let Sam put him in the Prison?" 

"Ah yes, let's trust the man who let Tommy die the first time to keep an eye on a dangerous individual!" Tubbo snaps, trying to push past him, white-knuckled grip on his sword. 

"Please, Tubbo," Ranboo begs, and the fire in Tubbos chest is snuffed. He slumps forward, resting his head on Ranboo’s chest as they wrap their arms around him. 

"Fine, but don't expect me to be nice." 

"I'll send him a message," Ranboo murmurs into his hair, carefully avoiding his sharp horns. 

The soft sound of typing fills the air as Ranboo sends the message, arms still wrapped tightly around Ranboo. 

Ranboo’s communicator buzzes at him as Sam replies, "He should be here in about half an hour," Ranboo relays. 

Relishing in the hug for one last second, the two husband's separate and turn to the elephant in the room. Tommy. 

"We should..." Tubbo swallows down a sob at the sight of his best friend, "We should get him cleaned up so, uh... When he comes back he's not all bloody." 

"Ok. I'll, uh, I'll tie up Punz." Ranboo stutters, beginning to rummage around for some rope. 

Tubbo’s hands shake as he reaches for the buckles on the one remaining gauntlet,  sliding it off and setting it aside. The chest plate is next, Tubbo shuffling to Tommy's other side to reach the buckles. The chest plates come apart fairly easily, the front of the chest plate lifting up like the hood of a car, attached to the backplate with leather. Tubbo lifts Tommy up and nudges the rest of the chest plate from beneath him with his foot, not wanting to ask Ranboo to help. Prime knows they've ready seem enough, and the chest plate was still bloody, and blood was mostly water after all. 

The leggings and boots are pulled off next, and Tommy is left in a once-white T-shirt and khakis, bandages wrapped up and down his forearms. 

Without the armor, he somehow looks worse. His shirt is soaked with blood, mostly his own, and there's a stab wound Tubbo hadn't noticed before just beneath the end of his ribcage on his left side. The gash on his stomach looked far bigger than he had thought and even worse than he had feared. 

Not that it matters much, he's dead anyway. 

While Ranboo wraps Punz’s hands and feet together in the corner, Tubbo finds a bucket of water and a washcloth. He sets the bucket aside and dips the washcloth in it, dampening it. Tubbo reaches for the base of Tommy’s shirt before he pauses. 

He's about to ask Ranboo to leave the room when there's a knock on the door. 

"Tubbo?" Sam calls, voice muffled by the door, "Ranboo? Puffy? You there?" 

The two teens share a panicked glance, and Ranboo rushes to open the door while Tubbo furiously drags Tommy into another room. 

"Heeeey Sam," Ranboo greets, leaning in the doorway. It looks casual enough, but it's tactical, not letting Sam inside yet and blocking his view of the room. 

"Ranboo," Sam sighs in relief, "I saw the burned houses and all the armor, what happened?" 

"Oh, you know," Ranboo laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "Stuff." 

Tubbo rolls his eyes at the awkwardness of his husband as he finishes dragging Tommy into an adjoining room. 

"Stuff?" He questions dryly. 

"What my husband is trying to say," Tubbo finally interjects, "Is that the Eggpire attacked here and we fought them off." 

"The Eggpire?" Sam nearly screeches, pulling out his trident, "Are they still here? Are they coming back? Did they hurt you? Are they-" 

"Sam," Tubbo cuts him off, "We're fine, calm down." 

Ranboo, seeing Tubbos return, steps out of the doorway and lets Sam in. They step in, knocking snow off armored boots on the threshold. They quickly scan the room, pausing briefly on Punz and stopping directly on Tubbo. 

"You're covered in blood!" Sam cries, eyes wide. He takes a step forward, probably to check him for wounds or something, but Tubbo takes a step back. 

"It's not mine," Tubbo replies vaguely, looking down at himself. Sure enough, his armor is coated with a layer of frozen blood, beginning to melt and drip onto the floorboards now that he's inside. Some of his clothes are similarly damp, blood soaking into the thick fabric and freezing. 

Sam’s eyebrows knit together in what Tubbo thinks is concern, but with the respirator, it's hard to tell. He places a regen potion, which had appeared in one of his four hands, back into his belt and shifts his grip in his trident so one of his lower hands is holding it. 

"So," He asks, "What did you need?" 

Tubbo stares at Sam for a long second as if asking are you dumb? He then flicks his gaze to the still unconscious Punz, then back. 

It takes a moment for Sam to follow his gaze, and they jump slightly remembering the third occupant of the room. If his cheeks flush, Tubbo can't tell. 

"Ah, right." Sam clears his throat. He walks over to their prone body and lifts them like they weigh nothing, tossing them over their shoulder like a sack of flour. 

"I trust there won't be any accidents this time around, right Sam?" 

The man flinches as if he had been struck, "I didn't think he'd... You know..." 

Tubbo scoffs, "You didn't think the man who had taken his first two lives would take his third?" 

Sam's head falls and he lingers just in front of the door, "I... I'm sorry." 

Tubbo shakes his head at the man, "Just leave, Sam" 

The door swings closed, and there are only two once again. 

______ 

It's not long after Sam leaves that the two return to Tommy's side. As Tubbo gazes upon the dead body of his best friend, all he can feel is numb. The shock of Tommy dying happy in his arms has faded into a cold indifference, and it scares him. 

Tommy's body is still dressed in the clothes he died in, and dried blood clings to much of his skin. He retrieves the bucket and washcloth he found earlier and reaches for the base of Tommy's shirt before remembering Ranboo is here as well. 

Tubbo is more than aware of Tommy's dislike of his husband, and would likely be mortified if he knew Tubbo undressed him in his presence. His platonic husband, who he has to remind himself hasn't seen nearly as much bloodshed as he has, is a light shade of green. Their hands shake and fidget with each other, and the burns on their face aren't getting any better. 

"Hey, Boo," Tubbo’s voice is soft as silk, "You think you can drop by Tommy's house and get him some new clothes? These ones are a bit, uh, ruined." 

Ranboo nods slowly, "Yeah, I can, I can do that." Ranboo shuffles out the door with one last sad glance at Tommy, and Tubbo is alone. 

He decides to start with the arms, and Tubbo carefully unravels the bandages that cover Tommy's forearms. He takes the left arm first, noting a shallow cut on the inside of his arm and a hole nearly the size of a quarter on the outside. He carefully unwraps the arm, careful to keep the shattered bone roughly in the right place. 

He dips the washcloth in the water and carefully scrubs at the dried blood, slowly washing it away. He twists the arm to reach another spot of blood and frowns when he notices something strange on the inside of his arm. 

Running across his wrist like stalks of wheat on a farmer’s field were little silvery lines. 

"Surely not," Tubbo murmurs to himself as he tries to scrub the marks away, to no avail. 

He desperately unravels the bandages on the other arm as well, and is met by even more tally marks, stretching up and down his arm. 

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realizes that the pillar stretching above the clouds in Logstedshire wasn't an isolated incident. 

"Oh, Tommy ," He whispers, voice thick with emotion. Tears well up in his eyes as he rests his head on Tommy's chest, and he tries to prevent that this is all just a bad dream, and that when he opens his eyes it will all be back to normal. 

He opens his eyes and nothing has changed. 

After taking a few minutes to calm himself, he finishes cleaning the arms and turns his attention to the torso. He snips the shirt off with a pair of scissors, not trusting his shaking hands with a knife. The shirt was too bloodstained to save, anyway. 

Had Tubbo been anybody else, it probably would have been extremely awkward as he cleaned Tommy's chest, but it wasn't for him. Back in the days of the revolution, there hadn't been enough space for everyone to have their separate rooms, so Tommy and Tubbo were put in one room. They'd had to change at the same time more times than he could count, and it was far from his first time seeing Tommy less than decent. 

And in Pogtopia,  after the incident , Tommy had patched him up. The burns had covered a good portion of his chest, arm, and face, so he'd had to go without a shirt for a few days until the regen pots finally healed the worst of it. 

He was Tommy's other half, and Tommy was his. They were partners in crime, best of friends until the end. 

Tubbo wonders when that changed. 

He wipes the last blood away from Tommy's chest, purposely avoiding looking at the scars that litter his skin or the purple bruises that spread across his sternum. He knows how most of the scars happened, such as the stab wound over his heart from the final control room or the scar from the lightning strike on doomsday that spreads over his back. 

But, there are many more he doesn't recognize. Old burns litter his skin like polka dots, and strange scars on his back, slightly hidden by the lightning scars. He takes a closer look and feels queasy when he realizes the scars are from a whip. There's something peeking out from beneath his ponytail, so Tubbo brushes the hair out of the way to get a better look. He is immediately forced to run to the bathroom as he is forcefully reintroduced to his breakfast at the sight.

On the nape of Tommy's neck, branded like a fucking animal , is a goddamn smiley face.

Tommy's legs are drenched in blood from the cut on the back of his leg, so Tubbo eases off his pants (leaving his boxers on, because that would be weirdchamp. He drapes a blanket over his waist as well, just to be safe.) 

Soon, all the blood is gone, and Tubbo sits back. The water in the bucket is a muddy red color, and he's pretty sure the washcloth is permanently stained. 

There's a knock on the door to the room and Ranboo quietly tells him he's leaving Tommy's clothes just outside the door. Tubbo forces himself up on numb legs and he opens the door a sliver, just enough to pull the clothes into the room. 

They were his classic red and white T-shirt and khakis, folded neatly in his hands. He sets them next to Tommy, writing a quick note and placing it on top of them. He wants to put the clothes on Tommy so he doesn't wake up half-naked, but rigor mortis has begun to kick in and he's as stiff as a board. 

Standing on unsteady legs, he stumbles into the other room like a newborn faun, Ranboo rushing over to make sure he doesn't fall. 

He collapses onto the couch, and Ranboo settles down next to him. 

"So, what now?" Ranboo questions, "We should probably tell Puffy we've stolen her house." 

Tubbo hums in agreement, "Ask her how Micheal is doing as well." With little time on their hands and the number of trustable adults countable on one hand, they had dropped Micheal off with Puffy before hightailing it back to Snowchester. 

As Ranboo types away at his communicator, a memory comes to the front of Tubbo’s brain. 

"I," He declares, "Am going to pay Jack Manifold a friendly visit."

_______

Wilbur asks the question a few weeks into his stay. What he thinks is a few weeks, anyway. Time is fickle and fleeting in the afterlife. 

"So, Tommy," Wilbur asks as the two play competitive solitaire. Schlatt and MD are playing something a few feet away, and he is more than aware they are listening intently to his conversation. 

"Why are you here?" 

Tommy rolls his eyes, "Those Egg bitches shanked me, I told you this. Why are you asking, bitch?" 

Wilbur levels an unimpressed look, "You know what I mean." 

Tommy raises an eyebrow, "I have no idea what you’re on about." 

Wilbur groans, but leans forward anyway, "Why do you let yourself keep dying? I know damn well you could have lived both of the last two deaths, but you decided to die instead. Why? Don't you miss Tubbo?" 

Tommy doesn't respond for a long moment, breathing out a cloud of smoke from around his cigarette. When he dies answer, it's simple, only four words. 

"I like the calm." 

Wilbur stares at him for a moment in what he thinks is disbelief, before finally speaking again, "Calm? You've been killing yourself for some calm? Why don't you, I don't know, move away? Leave the Essempi? Get a little cabin by a lake? Something?" 

Tommy shakes his head, "No, you don't understand. I like the calm." 

"Then explain it to me! We have all the time in the world." Wilbur implores, and Tommy notes that Schlatt and MD aren't even trying to hide the fact they're eavesdropping. 

Tommy scrutinizes Wilbur for a moment before sighing, "Here, I don't have to constantly keep on my toes," He explains, "Here, I don't have to watch over my shoulder to make sure no one stabs me in the back. Nothing can hurt me here, Dream can't hurt me here." 

"Life is full of people who hate my guts and want me dead. Here?" He spreads his arms, gesturing to them all, "I'm surrounded by my friends." 

_____________ 

When Tubbo returns to their snowy village on the beach, it is obvious to Ranboo that he is not in a great mood. He walks with the inflection of a defeated man, feet dragging and shoulders slumped. 

Ranboo ushers him inside, away from the light snow that has begun to drift down from the skies. He pushes him down on the couch and busiest himself in making a cup of hot chocolate, raided from Puffy’s cupboards, naturally. 

He presses the warm mug into Tubbos hands, worry growing when they barely react. They're hunched over, elbows resting on their knees, their whole body unnaturally still. He waves his hand in front of their face, eyes wide yet unseeing not even blinking at the movement. 

"Tubbo?" He tries, but to no avail. Not a single muscle moves, not a blink nor a change in breath. Too deep in their own mind to notice the world around them. 

Ranboo wants to help, to drag Tubbo into a nest of blankets and hold him until he's better, but he knows it won't do anything. Instead, he busies himself with keeping the fire in the fireplace roaring and texting Sam to make sure they had made it to prison safely. (They had. He'd dumped Punz in one of the lower security cells after confiscating all his items. Punz had, apparently, not taken that well.) 

Ranboo was a patient person. He could wait for Tubbo. 

It's nearly half an hour later when Tubbo finally speaks up. He's taking the empty mug from their hands when they finally speak. (They had been drinking from it, but it was probably more autopilot than conscious thought.) Their voice is rough with emotion and quiet enough that he has to strain his ears to hear. 

"He didn't fight back." 

"Sorry?" Ranboo’s ears pin back and his tail lashes uncertainly. Surely he had heard wrong? Tommy not fighting back? He literally killed three people today just to defend their little town! 

"He didn't fight back," Tubbo says a little louder, and Ranboo knows he didn't mishear him this time, "Jack came up to him and shot him in the back of his head. Tommy knew he was there, and he didn't fight back." 

"Maybe he didn't know Jack was trying to kill him?" Ranboo was grasping at straws here, and even he knew it. 

"Ranboo, Tommy knew why he was there." Tubbo sounds so defeated, like a man on his deathbed who's just come to terms with their mortality. 

Ranboo settles carefully next to Tubbo, who immediately curls into his side. 

"It'll be ok, Tubbo" Ranboo tries to reassure him, "It'll be ok." 

Both of them know it’s a lie, but he says it anyway. 

________ 

It's far sooner than he wishes when his time is up. 

He's in the train station this time, dim fluorescent lighting barely enough to see. He's playing some go-fish with Schlatt while MD and Wilbur perform Wonderwall very loudly. He's busy laughing at their awful lyrics when the intercom system screeches. 

"Jubilee Line to Snowchester arriving in one minute." 

He and Wilbur both freeze, the only ones who can hear it. Tommy's shoulders slumped and he tosses his hand to the ground. Schlatt, realizing what's happening, digs into his suit pocket and pulls out a neat envelope. On the front, written in cursive, looping script, is Tubbo. 

"I wanted to explain this to you, but there's no time," Schlatt rushes out, pushing the envelope into his hands, "Give this to Tubbo, please?" 

He pockets it cautiously, giving the man a strange look, "What makes you think this will come back with me?" 

Schlatt shrugs, "I have to try." 

Tommy sighs and he hears a train horn sound and the squealing of brakes as a train pulls into the station.

The train hisses to a stop and the doors shudder open. 

"Jubilee Line to Snowchester, now boarding."  

The thin red cords that wrap around his wrists and ankles lead through the open doors, and he knows nothing he does will change his fate here. 

"Well boys," He says, dusting off his shoulders as he stands, "Looks like my time here is up." 

Slowly, as if dreading it, he walks towards the open carriage. 

"I better not see you here for a while, Toms!" Wilbur calls out behind him, and Tommy only laughs. 

"No promises!" He calls out over his shoulder just as the doors slide shut, and the train begins to move. 

"Now departing from Jubilee. Next stop, Snowchester."

Chapter Text

Tommy's return to the land of the living was far from noteworthy. There was no shooting upright with a gasp, no coughing as his lungs heaved for air, nothing of the sort. 

The way his skin knit together was interesting, and the bone snapping itself into place was certainly peculiar, but once his heartbeat was even and true and his lungs filled with fresh air, it was as if he had simply woken up from a long rest. 

He blinks the void from his eyes, his pupils lightening a shade or two as black veins retreat from his sclera. Blood is slick on his tongue like oil, taste buds saturated with iron. His nose is in similar shape, as each breath in floods his nose with that sickeningly familiar metallic scent. 

Taking in his surroundings, he glances around, noting that 1.) he's now in a house, and 2.) He's only in his boxers. 

His cheeks flush in embarrassment and he instinctively covers up, pulling the blanket laid atop him up to his shoulders. It has the added bonus of hiding all the scars, which never fail to throw him down memory lane. 

He looks around the room once more, just to make sure nobody saw him, and he notices a pile of clothes sitting a few feet away. He drags it over to him, and sitting atop one of his shirts is a note. 

It's obviously Tubbos handwriting, the older boys dyslexia making his writing less than legible on occasion, especially when they're stressed or rushing. So, he isn't too surprised when it's hardly legible. 

From what he can make out, he's in Puffy’s house in Snowchester (had Tubbos burned down? He couldn't remember), and to message Tubbo or Ranboo as soon as he's awake. He tries to stand up and his blood pressure immediately tanks, forcing him back down to a crouch to avoid collapsing. Apparently, being revived didn't give him all his blood back. Fun. Serves him right for bleeding out, he supposes. 

Standing much more slowly this time, he reaches over and hastily pulls on the clothes. Tubbo thankfully left him a roll of bandages which he wrapped around his forearms, looking as little as possible. He knows that Tubbo knows about the scars now, and is most decidedly not looking forward to that conversation. 

He slides on his pants, then his shirt. He slips on a pair of socks and toes on the shoes. Lastly, he reaches into his inventory and pulls out his coat, draping it over his shoulders and slipping his arms in the sleeves. It does nothing to stave off the chill of the void, but it makes him feel just a little bit better. 

Once he's fully dressed, he notices there's something in his pocket. Expecting it to be another note from Tubbo or a pack of cigs, he pulls it out. 

"Well I'll be damned," He mutters, because in his palm is a neat envelope, and on the front, in a looping, cursive script, is Tubbos name. A letter from a dead man. 

The door to the room he's in creaks slightly and he immediately glances over. The door is pushed open, but there's no one at eye level. He looks down further and oh . 

" Micheal? " He questions, switching into piglin without much thought, " What're you doing here, kiddo? " 

He knows Tubbo had left with Micheal, and he hadn't brought the kid with him when they came back, so what was he doing here now? He hopes the kid didn't have to see his body. It wouldn't be easy to explain mortality to a kid, piglin or not. 

"Mimi?" They murmur sleepily, and his heart absolutely doesn't swell at the nickname, " Couldn't sleep. " 

He crouches down to their level and opens his arms, " C'mere ." 

The no longer zombie piglin rushes into his arms, burying their face in his shirt. The kid is warm, really warm, whether it's from them being from the nether or he's just so used to the cold of the afterlife he doesn't know, nor care. They sniffle slightly, and a pang goes through his heart when he realizes they're crying. 

" Oh, what's wrong kiddo? Bad dream? " Tommy was surprisingly good at dealing with children. He always blames it on helping raise Fundy when younger, even if they weren't a kid for all that long. 

"Bee 'n Boo told me you got hurt real bad 'n had to sleep for a while, " Micheal sniffs, clutching at his shirt with hooved hands. 

"Oh," Tommy whispers because Micheal is crying about him. They're crying for someone they've only ever met once. 

" Hey, it's ok, I'm all better now, ok? " He tries to calm the kid down, "Here, give me your hand." 

He takes Micheal’s hand and carefully guides it to his neck, his artery thrumming beneath their fingers. 

" As long as you can feel that beating, I'm ok. If it's not, all you have to do is get Tubbo or Ranboo and I'll be ok. " It's a gross oversimplification, but he doesn't exactly want to go into the fine details of death and resurrection with a kid. 

" Promise? " Micheal looks up at him, giving him the strongest puppy dog eyes (eye?) since Fundy was a kid. 

" Promise. " 

Despite no longer crying, Micheal refuses to let go of him, and he resigns himself to his fate. He carefully stands up, making sure he takes it slow so he doesn't faceplant and squish Micheal. Having never been inside Puffy’s house, he has no idea how to get out, so he decides to go through the door Micheal had come from and go from there. 

He pushes it open just enough to slide through, wincing as the door creaks. Puffy really needs to oil her hinges, geez. He steps into the room and immediately places it as the living room, a fireplace almost burnt out glowing in the corner. Pressed against one of the walls is a couch, upon which two figures sit. 

Tubbo and Ranboo are fast asleep sitting on the couch, Tubbo curling into Ranboos side who's arm wraps protectively around them. It doesn't seem to be a particularly comfortable arrangement, considering they're not even laying down, but it mustn't be too uncomfortable considering they're both fast asleep. 

There's a twinge of something in his heart and a twist in his gut as he looks at them, so comfortable in each other's presence, so safe . With Tubbo it always felt like they were both walking in a minefield, one misstep and they both explode. 

He trod on one a while ago, and he'd gotten a bloody nose and one hell of a hangover, compliments of an underhand comment he shouldn't have made. 

He walks over to the two, praying to Prime that the floorboards don't creak and wake them up. He can see its dark outside still, and he knows Tubbo always hated waking up early. Or, he did, before his presidency. 

He tries to set Micheal down on Tubbos lap, but the kid just clings to him tighter. He isn't quite sure why, because he's pretty sure he smells like death and cigarette smoke. 

" C'mon kid, don't you wanna go back to your dad? " Tommy tries to reason, but they just shake their head and bury their face further into his shirt. He briefly entertains the idea of prying them off, but he doubts Micheal wouldn't immediately latch back onto him. Besides, it would be rude. 

He heaves a great sigh, mostly to make Micheal giggle, and resigns himself to his fate. With no other choice than the floor, he plops down on the couch, staying as far away from the other two as he can. 

Despite feeling as if he's just woken up, he can already feel sleep calling to him, tugging at his eyelids and singing its sweet song. Sleep is as close to the void he can get without dying, so he allows his eyes to slip shut and lets his consciousness drift into the blissful abyss. 

_________ 

Tommy's eyes flit open and he's standing in the isle of Church Prime. The pews are packed for the first time since it was built, and he recognizes nearly everyone. Technoblade, Wilbur, Fundy, Quackity, Niki, Jack Manifold, Sam, Ghostbur (why was there Wilbur and Ghostbur?) Bad, Skeppy, Antfrost. The entire server was here. 

He looks to the altar, and there stand two figures, decked in fancy suits. Tubbo and Ranboo. Philza himself stood behind the lectern, an easy smile on his face as he observed the grooms-to-be. (Didn't Tubbo say they hadn't had an actual wedding?) 

"...and unless there are any objections?" 

Tommy wants to scream. He wants to scream that you forgot me! He wants to charge the altar and fall to his knees in front of Tubbo and beg for him to remember him. To clutch his lapels and plead not to leave him behind. 

But alas, his feet are nailed to the floor and his jaw is sewn shut. Philza's eyes scan the silent crowd and meet his for a brief moment. The old man's smile widens and shifts into something more sadistic, but then Philza looks away and it's back to its normal, carefree grin. 

"Then I find these two forever joined in platonic marriage. You may now hug the groom." 

The crowd erupts in cheers as Ranboo and Tubbo embraced, increasing in volume when Tubbo lifted the taller boy and twirled with them in his arms. They were both laughing in pure glee, happiness oozing from their very being. 

Happy without him. 

After a moment, Tubbo sets down a slightly dizzy Ranboo and Turns to address the crowd. Ranboo stands at his side, tail curling around Tubbo's waist. 

"I propose a toast," He announces, "A toast to new beginnings, a toast to new friends," Ranboo grins at him, "And most importantly, a toast to Tommyinnit." 

All the air is forced out of his lungs as Tubbo raises a wine glass, "Tommyinnit, always the bridesmaid, never the bride!" For the first time in the ceremony, Tubbo looks him in the eyes and sneers. 

The crowd cheers loudly, erupting in applause. Wilbur rises and he begs his older brother to stand up for him, please . 

Wilbur raises his own glass, "Always the vice, never the president!" 

Techno stands as well, "Always a bother," He sneers, "Never a brother." 

Jack stands as well, "Bastard should have just stayed dead!" 

The entire church erupts into cheers, and everyone turns to face him. The cheers quickly turn to jeers and glasses shatter at his feet. 

"Get him out of here!" Someone shouts, and he can't tell who. 

An ice-cold hand grips his shoulder and drags him out of the church as more bottles shatter at his feet and the crowd roars like an angry mob. 

He twists his head to see his savior and is met with the porcelain mask and Green hoodie of none other than Dream himself. 

He finally manages to loosen the sutures that seal his jaw and stutters out a very confused and scared, "W-What?" 

"What?" Dream mocks, "Did you think I would just leave you there? We're friends, Tommy. Friends look out for each other." 

"You're, You're not my friend." He bites, stumbling back. 

"Oh? Then who is? From what I saw, they all wanted you dead, Tommy." Dream takes a step forward. 

"We're friends, Tommy." The very earth begins to shake beneath their feet, great rents opening in the ground. 

Dream sighs, "But if you don't want to be friends, that's fine." He grabs Tommy by the hair and begins to drag him along, closer to one of those great ravines in the earth. 

"Wait no Dream please we can be friends please don't drop me please please please ." He grabs at Dreams hand but his grip is made of iron and he doesn't let go. 

"It's too late to say sorry now Tommy," He snaps, "Maybe you'll learn this time." 

With one last yank, Dream pulls him forward and he topples into the cavern, screaming all the way down. 

_______ 

Tommy is awakened by someone frantically shaking him awake. He groans, cracking open an eye to glare at Tubbo, who continues to shake him. 

"M up, I'm up." He bats at Tubbos hands as he blinks away the last dregs of sleep, heart slowly slowing down from a nightmare that refuses to fade from his mind. Micheal shifts from where they're curled against his chest, slowly blinking as they too awake. 

"Look at what you've done, you've woken the child!" Tommy teases. 

"Two children," Ranboo corrects from somewhere to his left, and he shoots them a glare as they reach over and pick up Micheal. 

"Ranboo you are incredibly lucky I refuse to swear around Micheal." Tubbo snorts and Ranboo merely grins at him, insufferably smug. 

Tommy rolls his eyes and turns back to Tubbo, going to ask why they woke him up. Were they going to ask about his scars? The burned houses? Did they want him to leave? He wouldn't be surprised if they did. 

Before he can ask, Tubbo lunges forward and grabs him in a bone-crushing hug. He headbutts Tommy's head as he does so, something he's long since learned is how some hybrids, particularly horned hybrids, share their affection. 

The hug is warm, and he lets himself sink into the touch, wrapping his arms around Tubbo and pulling him closer. In the void there's no warmth, only an even, almost numbingly so, chill. It permeates everything, and even when he brushes hands with Schlatt or hugs Wilbur or when Mexican Dream tosses an arm over his shoulder, they’re just as cold. 

"If you ever do that again," Tubbo mutters, head buried in the crook of his neck, "I'll kill you myself." 

Tommy laughs nervously, unable to tell if Tubbo is joking, "Noted." 

Tubbo clings onto him for a moment longer before letting go, helping Tommy stand with an outstretched hand. He takes it, and Tubbo hauls him off the couch easily. He makes a mental note to not challenge Tubbo to an arm-wrestling competition anytime soon. 

Now upright, his vision swirls for a moment and he nearly falls forward, directly onto Tubbo, who yelps in protest. He can't tell the exact moment they realize he's not joking around, but he can pinpoint when Tubbo grasps his shoulders and steadies him until enough blood gets back up to his brain and he can stand. 

"You ok?" Tubbo sounds concerned, but Tommy just waves him off. 

"I'm fine, just got up too quick s' all." 

"Are you sure?" Tubbo presses, "It could be a side effect of the revival or-" 

"Tubbo." Tommy cuts off them before they can start rambling, "I'm fine, just some lingering blood loss, nothing major." 

Tubbo frowns at the answer and offers to get him a regen pot, but he declines. He's been through worse with less, he explains. Tubbo doesn't like that explanation much, but Tommy continues before he can get a word in. 

"Anyways, I should probably head out. I don't want to bother you." 

Tubbo gasps like his entire family lineage has just been insulted, "No! Can you stay for breakfast at least?" 

It's phrased like a question, but Tommy knows Tubbo well enough that it's anything but. 

"Fine, I'll stay for now. Where'd Ranboob run off to by the way?" Tommy glances around the room and sure enough, Ranboo has disappeared somewhere. 

"He's probably making breakfast." 

He then groans, as if remembering something and begins dragging Tommy to where he assumes the kitchen is, "C'mon, we need to make sure he doesn't put spaghetti in the fucking pancakes." 

When they do reach the kitchen Ranboo is, sure enough, holding a bag of spaghetti over the pancake batter. Not a box, a bag . Micheal is sitting on the counter next to them, hand buried in a bag of chocolate chips. Tommy is utterly repulsed (at Ranboo. He couldn't be prouder of Micheal.) and Tubbo lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

"Ranboo." 

The hybrid jumps, not having heard them approach, and hides the spaghetti behind their back. Micheal looks up, plastering an innocent look on their face. 

"Tubbo! My darling husband! I didn't see you there! I was just making some chocolate chip pancakes!" Ranboo laughs nervously. 

"Give me the spaghetti, Ranboo." Tommy suspects this isn't the first time this has happened. 

"Hmm? Spaghetti? I don't remember having any spaghetti, right Micheal?" Ranboo looks at Micheal, who giggles and shakes their head. 

Tubbo groans, holding their face in their hands. Tommy looks up and meets Ranboos eyes, who flicks an ear but doesn't look away. 

"Ranboo, if I bite into a pancake and taste spaghetti, I will personally saw off your legs." 

Ranboo frowns, tail drooping in an exaggerated display of sadness. They are still maintaining eye contact. 

"But I need those? I need those to walk?" 

Tommy steps closer to Ranboo and pats him on the shoulder, "Then keep the spaghetti out of my pancakes and we'll be fine." 

Tommy finally breaks eye contact and turns back to Tubbo. 

"Tubbo," He announces, "You have married a wrongin and a fool," He holds out a bag of spaghetti, "Who has horrid grip strength." 

Ranboo chirps in surprise and looks at their hands, which turn up empty. Tubbo cheers and claps him on the back, taking the bag and tossing it in the trash for him. 

"What? How?" Ranboo alternates looking at their padded palms (like a cats, he snickers) and Tommy. 

"I've got sticky fingers, big man." He wiggles his fingers at the taller teen and flips him off for good measure. 

Ranboo looks affronted, and Tubbo cackles. Micheal just sneaks another handful of chocolate chips. 

____________ 

In the end, it takes at least five more attempts at sabotage by Ranboo until the pancakes are finally done, spaghetti-free. Micheal sneaks him a few handfuls of chocolate chips as they watch Tubbo forcibly climb Ranboo to snatch another bag of spaghetti from where he holds it over his head. Why Ranboo has several bags of spaghetti, he doesn't know nor does he want to know. 

He ignores the ache in his heart as he watches the two argue and butt heads, literally and figuratively. The two are so domestic it hurts, they mesh perfectly together in a way he never could. 

He isn't an idiot, he can tell the way they're always careful around him. Making sure to not bring up exile or Dream or the prison or his death. He hates it. He isn't going to shatter because someone mentions that green bastard. 

It hurt so much why won't he stop Prime it hurts so bad and the obsidian is so cold please stop please please please. 

He sits down at the table and snags a pancake, waiting for Tubbo to finish drowning his pile with maple syrup before he drizzles some on his own. 

He manages to finish only one pancake, it tasting too much and too little at the same time. He bites in and all he can taste is sugar and sweet, and when he swallows ash lingers in his mouth. He eats the whole thing anyway, mostly for Tubbo. Dying and being brought back didn't exactly work up much of an appetite, but he knows Tubbo’s already worried about him, so he eats anyway. 

"Tubbo screamed when he saw you, you know." Ranboo brings up conversationally. 

"Ranboo!" He hisses, face beet red. 

"Tubbo!" Tommy gasps theatrically, "I am offended! And here I thought we were friends!" 

Tubbo huffs, still blushing, "Well next time you wake up next to a formerly dead person cuddling with your kid, give me a call." 

The moment the words leave his mouth, Tubbo freezes. He probably thinks that Tommy's still sensitive about his death, but he honestly couldn't care less now. 

He pretends to think about it for a moment, rubbing his chin, "Nah, you're just a wimp." 

Ranboo’s shoulders fall in obvious relief and Tubbo lets out a breath. Tommy just rolls his eyes. 

_______ 

When they're finished eating, Ranboo collects the dirty dishes and hands them over to Tommy, who in no uncertain terms told them he would wash the dishes. Payment for them keeping an eye on him while he was dead and giving him some breakfast, not that he tells them this. 

While he washes, Tubbo tells him what's happened in the past day or so he was gone. Sam took Punz and locked him in the prison, Puffy lent them her house until further notice and brought Micheal back once the threat was over, and Foolish had been working like a man possessed on their new mansion. 

"I don't think he's stopped since he got here," Ranboo nervously adds, "And that was a good twenty hours ago." 

No-one's seen hide nor hair of the Eggpire since he gave them one-way tickets out of Snowchester. He's assuming they’re licking their wounds and preparing for another attack somewhere else, but who knows. 

"Oh!" Tommy jolts when he shifts and the letter in his pocket presses into his side, "I got a letter for you, Tubso." 

Tubbo raises an eyebrow skeptically as Tommy fishes out an envelope from his jacket after drying his hands, "A letter?" 

"Yup, a letter from a dead man," He agrees, "You're eyes only." 

Tubbo cautiously takes the letter as if it's a stick of dynamite, paling when he sees the writing on the front. He still knows Jschlatts handwriting by heart, even after all this time. 

"Right." He agrees stiffly, "A dead man." 

A few minutes later, Tommy places the last dish onto the drying rack and drys his hands on his pants. 

"Well, I should probably be heading out now." He announces, rolling his sleeves back down and putting on his coat again. 

"What? Why?" Tubbo frowns, "Is it because we're at Puffy’s house? I can promise you she's fine with us being here." 

Ranboo, likely sensing an incoming argument, quickly ushers Micheal out of the room. 

"No, Tubbo, it's just, I," He sighs, "I'm not good for anyone here." 

"Bullshit!" Tubbo snaps, "Do you know how much Micheal adores you? He's always asking how 'Mimi' is doing, and he begs me to tell stories about you every night, and he's only met you twice!" 

Tommy tries to interrupt, but Tubbo keeps talking, "And do you know how much it hurt when you died in my arms? And when I had to lie to Micheal that you were ok, knowing damn well you were dead?" 

"You said you'd 'buy us some time,' not fucking die on us! You promised us you'd be ok!" Tubbo screams, and Tommy realizes that he's crying. 

"You promised." He says softly. 

The two are silent for a minute, Tommy studying his shoes and Tubbo angrily scrubbing at his teary eyes. 

When Tommy finally speaks it's hardly above a whisper, "I thought you didn't care anymore." 

Tubbo looks up, eyes wide, "What?" 

"I thought you didn't care anymore," He admits, slightly louder, "I thought you'd moved on, forgotten about me." 

"Why would you think that? You're my best friend!" Tubbo argues, and Tommy laughs a mirthless laugh. 

"Then why did you never visit me in exile? Why did you marry someone as soon as I was out of the picture?" 

Tubbo can't meet his eyes and the spark in his heart snuffs out when he sees tears drip to the floor. He wraps an arm around Tubbo’s shoulder and guides him down to the floor, so they're both sitting next to each other. 

"Prime, we're a mess, aren't we?" Tubbo laughs wetly. 

"Yeah, I suppose we are." Tommy agrees. 

"I'm sorry for exiling you." 

"I'm sorry for making you exile me." 

"I'm sorry for not visiting you." 

"I'm sorry for teaming with Technoblade." 

"I'm sorry for blaming all my problems on you." 

"I'm sorry for saying you were like Schlatt." 

"I'm sorry for making you think I moved on without you." 

"I'm sorry for putting the disks before you." 

"I forgive you." 

"I forgive you too. To a new beginning?" Tommy holds out his hand for Tubbo to shake. Tubbo just laughs and pulls him into a hug. 

"To a new beginning." 

And so the two finally right their wrongs, not on the bench that they love so, and not to the music of the disks they almost lost everything for, but on the kitchen floor of a house neither of them own. 

___________ 

The walk home is quiet, with no one to bother him as he walks the wooden path home. He lights a cigarette as he walks, smoke trailing behind him like wake off a boat. He keeps his gaze firmly on the ground in front of him as he passes the prison, and he waves at Sam Nook as he passes the hotel. 

Tubbo had only let him return home after he promised to move in when the mansion was finished and threatened to drag him kicking and screaming if he didn't come peacefully. Tommy knew Tubbo well enough to know he was dead serious. 

When he pushes open the door to his home, he instantly knows something is off. He wonders if the Eggpire has trapped his house, waiting in the shadows to ambush him. 

He doesn't bother to take out his axe as he steps inside, snubbing his cigarette out on the earthen wall and tossing the butt in an ashtray. He meanders into the kitchen and takes out a glass, pouring himself a glass of water, acutely aware of the eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. (He longs for a glass of something stronger, and there's still some in his fridge, but he holds himself back.) 

With his visitor showing no sign of introducing themselves first, he speaks up first. 

"If you're here to kill me, just get it over with." He takes a sip of water, not even bothering to turn around as someone steps out behind him. 

"Tommy," They flatly greet, and it takes a moment to place their voice. 

"Purpled," He greets, "You get paid a lot to kill me?" 

"No, I'm here to ask why." 

Tommy snorts, turning around to look at the teen mercenary. They're decked in full Netherite, antennae poking out from holes in his helmet. 

"You're going to have to be more specific than that, big man. I've done a lot." 

"Punz. Why didn't you kill him." It's less of a question and more of a demand, and Tommy doesn't see the harm in answering honestly. 

"I didn't want to do to you what Wilbur dying did to me," He answers, "I couldn't in good faith ruin anyone's life like that." 

"But why?" Purpled presses, "Why spare someone who has all three of their lives and is actively trying to kill you, for the benefit of someone you aren't even friends with?" 

"Because it's the right thing to do," Tommy answers simply. 

Purpled scrutinizes him with glowing purple eyes and eventually nods, turning to leave. Just before he steps out the door he pauses, turning back to Tommy. 

"Thank you." And just like that, the teen mercenary disappears down the prime path. 

_________ 

Meetings between the gods were far from rare, but they weren't the most common, either. Most often, they were just to talk, catching up with old friends. 

More rarely, however, we're meetings of a far less friendly intent. Meetings that ended with weapons drawn and golden ichor spilt. Meetings that started with a charge of two armies and ended with fields watered with the blood of mortals and immortals alike. 

So to say Drista was nervous when Clara herself asked to meet her. She frantically wracked her brain for anything she'd done wrong. Pranking random mortals wasn't too bad, right? 

When Drista finally arrived at their meeting point high above the clouds, Clara is already there, waiting for her. 

"Drista," The goddess greets with a warm smile, "Glad you could make it." 

"Lady Clara," Drista bows her head slightly in respect. She is not normally one for formalities, she would rather not risk it. 

"Please, just Clara is fine. No need for formalities, either." Clara assures, waving a hand. 

"Clara, then," her heart rate slows ever so slightly, "May I ask why you called me here?" 

Clara hums then turns to face her, "You've become acquainted with Tommy Innit, have you not." 

Drista's heart rate shot through the roof immediately as she began to panic. While yes, she knew some gods thought of humans as little more than vermin to squish beneath their boot, they rarely left their dwellings, much less sent to meet others. 

Was she brought here to be made an example of? Drista may not be particularly old, especially by godly standards, she was not going to go down with a fight. 

Noticing her panic, Clara frowns, "Oh dear, I could have worded that better. I have no quarrel with your dealings with mortals, quite the opposite in fact." 

Still very suspicious but less worried about being attacked she asks, "Then what do you mean?"

Clara avoids the question, "From what I've seen, you two have gotten along well in the past, am I wrong?" 

Tommy got along like a house on fire, she would even consider them friends if such a thing could exist between a goddess and a mortal. He was unlike most mortals, not screaming and begging for whatever when they realized she was a god, instead shrugging and saying it wasn't the weirdest thing he's heard. 

"I'd say we're friends, yes, why?" 

Clara sighs, as if what she is about to say pains her, "I am... worried about him. I have been watching him for a while now and he has not been... Himself, if you understand what I mean." 

And Drista did know what they meant. She had seen the shell of who he had used to be during exile, she had seen the emptiness in his eyes and the apathy in his heart. She had visited once to try and help him, but that damned admin had put up wards the moment she turned her back. 

"And you want me to go make sure he's ok?" It isn't too difficult to realize where the older diety is going with this. 

They nod, "More or less. I would go myself, but I fear that it would attract undue attention." 

She doesn't hesitate to answer. 

"I'll do it." 

Clara grins at her, as if she had just made their day, "Thank you, I truly mean it. And if, for some reason, you wish to stay for a while, well, you have my blessing." They wink at her, "Now, I needn't hold you any longer. Goodbye, Drista" 

Drista bows her head one last time, "Goodbye, Lady Clara."

And so the younger goddess spreads their wings and departs for the mortal plane, with only one location in mind.

The Essempi.

Chapter Text

Tommy is busy working at the hotel when a visitor arrives. He's digging a hole next to the walkway just in front of the hotel, planting a row of rose bushes, as per Sam Nook’s request. He'd already cleared away some vines that had crept over the border fence and had to gather the rose bushes as well. 

He hums a song as he works, finishing digging a hole as he kneels down to place a rose bush, not bothering with gloves and not caring that the thorns dig into his palms. He places the roots delicately in the hole, pushing the rest of the dirt atop them. He steps on the dirt, making sure it's nice and compact, before grabbing his shovel and poising it over the dirt a few feet to the left. 

"Never took you for the gardening type." 

Tommy certainly doesn't yelp, and he definitely doesn't spin around, clutching the shovel as if it's a sword. 

Floating a good foot off the ground is Drista. They're in their more mortal form, wearing a green hoodie a few sizes too big, a healthy forest green as opposed to Dream's sickly lime green. Paired with boots and plain brown pants, they don't look like the old statues made by civilizations past, rather like an average teenager gone out to the market with some friends. 

A pair of pure white wings sat folded on their back, a nod to their godly heritage. Their hair was blond, so similar to his own it was almost strange. They no longer wear a mask, ditching it in favor of a hair tie pinned on their right temple. It was a simple white circle with a :3 face on it, a nod to XD, her brother. 

"Prime, don't scare me like that Drista!" Tommy breathes, clutching his racing heart with one hand and lowering his shovel with another. 

"But where's the fun in that?" Drista laughs. 

"The fun is not giving me a damn heart attack," Tommy snarks, "I gotta finish planting these roses before we can go mess around." 

Drista rolls her eyes, "Lame." 

Tommy grumbles under his breath about how flowers are not lame, fuck you, and turns back to the rose bushes, burying his shovel into the ground. Drista floats beside him, watching curiously. 

"You can help, you know," Tommy grunts sarcastically as he kneels down to put the plant in the hole. 

Drista hums, "I could," she agrees, "If you ask nicely." 

Tommy shoots her a deadpan glare, but Drista just grins cheekily at him. 

He sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, "Oh Drista, all-powerful goddess of Chaos, could you please help me plant these roses?" 

Drista’s grin widens and she snaps her fingers. From the ground sprouts roses, which quickly grow into full-sized bushes, with not a dead branch in sight. 

Tommy whistles, impressed, "Remind me to give you a call next time I need to do some gardening." 

"Sure, now come on, let's go!" Drista practically shoves him towards the exit. 

He waves goodbye at Sam Nook as they leave, the friendly robot waving back. Drista’s waiting for him at the gate, frowning slightly. 

"Lemme see your hand," she demands. 

"Okay?" Tommy holds out his hand and Drista grabs his wrist, immediately noticing the cuts on his palms. 

"You're bleeding." She sounds strangely concerned, as if they were more than a few scratches that did little more than sting. 

"Yeah? Rose bushes are pretty thorny?" Tommy was just confused. Did Drista not know roses had thorns? Maybe the godly ones didn't? 

Drista hums, and she pulls out a golden apple from wherever it is that gods get their things. She presses it into his hand and releases his wrist. 

"There," she grins, "That will help." 

Tommy looks at the gapple in awe. He hadn't had one since he was with Techno. 

"Drista you are the only woman ever." 

"I'm not giving you another one." She rolls her eyes. 

"Aww, come on! Please?" 

"No." 

__________ 

Tommy scarfs down the gapple as the two wandered down the Prime path, scheming and plotting various crimes. The magic of the Golden apple begins to kick in, a tingling in his hands as the cuts on his hands slowly knit together. 

"Well," Drista starts, rubbing their hands together like a cartoon villain, "Who should we prank first? Philza Minecraft?" 

"I think his old man heart would give out if we pranked Philza," Tommy jokes, then after a moment, "Let's do it." 

"That's the spirit!" Drista cheers, "Here, take my hand." 

She holds her hands out and Tommy doesn't hesitate to take it. The world around them begins to spin and the colors shift and fade from green grass and trees to white snow. A frigid gust of wind cut through his coat and sank into his flesh. 

The world screeches to a halt and Drista lets go of his hand. He stumbles forward, collapsing onto his hands and knees in the snow as his brain tries to tell him he's still moving. He heaves as his stomach protests his very existence, mentally chanting to not throw up, don't throw up, please don't throw up. 

"A little..." Tommy gasps, once he's moderately sure he won't immediately throw up. "A little heads up would have been nice." 

"Sorry," Drista tells him, not sounding particularly sorry, already turning away and walking towards the pair of houses. 

There's a tickle in the back of his throat, forcing his eyes closed he hunches over, and coughs wrack his body. When the tickle finally subsides and the last of his coughs peter out, he reopens his eyes. 

Bright red against the white snow, steaming against the cold arctic air, blood is splattered against the snow. 

He quickly brushes more snow over it, hiding the red from sight. He doesn't have the energy to get fussed over, and he's fine, it's probably nothing. 

"Fuck you," Tommy groans, standing up once his legs no longer feel like cooked spaghetti. Drista just snickers. 

He brushes the snow off his pants and notices they're only a few dozen feet away from Techno's house. There have obviously been some recent renovations, as his and Ghostbur's half-finished house has been torn down and a new one erected in its place. It's connected to Technos house with a bridge porch thingy, and a small pond sits beneath it, somehow not frozen over in the sub-zero temperatures. He assumes it's Phil's, not wanting to have to stay in the guest room for the foreseeable future. 

Sneakily, or as sneakily as one can be when walking in snow, they creep closer to the houses. Drista floats up and peeks through one of the windows and flashes him a thumbs up. The coast is clear. 

"So, what's the plan? Classic bucket of water over the door? Glitter bomb in the chest? Replace his shampoo with olive oil? Ooh! We could move all the furniture an inch to the left so he bumps into everything!" 

"Drista you are an evil, evil person," Tommy pauses, "Let's do them all." 

They cheer, and with a single flap of their wings, they shoot up and land on the porch, quickly pushing in the door to Phil's house and leaving him to enter the old-fashioned way. He grumbles under his breath that not all of them can fly, Drista , and makes his way around the house to where he hopes is a way up. 

When he makes his way to the other side of the house, he isn't all that surprised to see a trio of polar bears at the base of the porch steps. Techno had always had a soft spot for animals, especially fluffy ones. 

The snow crunches beneath his sneaker and one of the bears raises its head, blinking sleepily at him. It stands up and begins to lumber over to him, the other two perking up and watching as well. Tommy lets it approach, knowing well enough that turning around would be practically asking to get attacked, and slowly extends his hand. His left hand, just in case it decides it doesn't like him. 

The bear carefully sniffs at his hand, not quite touching but still very close. He really hopes it doesn't attack him, because while he's pretty sure he could kill it, it wouldn't be fast enough to save his hand and maybe forearm as well.

The bear, after a moment's hesitation, huffs and presses its head into Tommy's hand. Tommy internally heaves a huge sigh of relief and scratches at the bear's ears. The bear makes a deep rumbling noise and pushes its head further into his hand. 

Tommy laughs lightly, reaching out and taking the bear's collar in his other hand, feeling around for the name tag that's surely there. Etched in gold on the tag is the name Baba. 

"Baba," Tommy repeats, amused. What a name, Baba. 

A window opens and Drista leans out if it, "You gonna help or not?" 

"Sorry! Sorry," Tommy shouts back, frowning at Baba, "Sorry buddy, gotta prank an old man." 

The bear whines, but doesn't stop him as he pushes past it and races up the porch, stepping into Philza’s house. A blast of warm air slaps him in the face as soon as he steps in, a cracking fireplace blazing in the old man's living room. 

"Finally," Drista huffs, pouring out a bottle of shampoo into the sink, "Was wondering if you got cold feet." 

"Never! I am the biggest man and never get cold feet!" He proclaims, desperately puffing his chest with false bravado and voice with mock arrogance. Drista notices, because of course she does, eyes narrowing slightly as she looks at him. 

"Sure," They decide, looking away, "Fill up a bucket and put it over the door." 

Tommy wanders over to a chest and pries it open, rummaging around for a bucket, or even just some iron. He gets lucky, pulling out a bucket like a sword from a stone. He quickly walks over to the sink, playfully elbowing Drista out of the way, and shuffles over when she threatens to dump the olive oil on him. 

While Drista fills the now empty shampoo bottle with olive oil, he turns on the sink and fills his bucket. He carefully carries it over to the door, hissing a curse as Drista purposely bumps into him, spilling water onto the ground and soaking into his coat. He very carefully perches the bucket on the edge of a shelf just above the door and realizes he needs string. 

"Oi Drista!" He calls over his shoulder, "Could you hand me some string!" 

"Heads up!" She shouts, a good few seconds too late, and just before something nails him in the back of the head. 

"Ow," He mutters, mostly out of principle, bending down to pick up the little bundle of string that had been chucked at his head. 

"Thanks," He tries to fill his voice with as much sarcasm as possible, and based on how Drista snorts, it worked. Either that, or she was about to throw something at him again. 

"You're welcome Tommy," She says, voice sickeningly sweet. (If he flinches because they sound far too similar to Dream, Drista doesn't say anything. If he notices she never uses that tone again, he says nothing as well.) 

He pushes the memories into the back of his head and begins to tie the string to the handle of the bucket. His hands keep shaking as he tries to make a loop and his hands keep sweating and slipping on the smooth silk and oh come on Tommy, it's just a knot. Quit making a scene and just tie it already!  

"Tommy?" Drista’s voice is soft, but he still jumps as if she had just shouted into his ear. The string slips from his grasp and clattered on the ground as he whirled around, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. 

"Drista!" He stumbles out, "Sorry! It's just, the... the uh... String! The string won't knot! I figured a literal god would have better string!" The words are about as sure as a house of cards, one strong breeze and they'll all topple. 

Drista pauses for a moment and holds out a shampoo bottle, one he knows is filled with olive oil. 

"Can you go put this in his bathroom? I'd do it myself, but I'd rather leave Philza Minecraft's bathroom to the imagination." They shudder, wrinkling their nose. 

"I- Yeah, I can do that." Tommy nods, taking the bottle and stepping past Drista. He pushes open the one door on this floor and steps into the bathroom, carefully setting the shampoo in the shower next to a bar of soap. The door behind him clicks closed and he crumbles to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. 

His lungs spasm, forcing air out of his chest in short, sporadic bursts. His hands fly to his head and his fingers curl into strikingly white strands, the pain desperately trying to drag him back to lucidity. Nevertheless, his mind drifts away like a stray balloon, slowly floating further and further out of reach. 

A memory slowly surfaces, like a bubble rising through lava. It was from long before they came to this server, before everything went to shit. He had just skinned his knee and was bawling his eyes out as Wilbur tried to calm him down and patch him up. 

"Hey, come on, it's gonna be ok," Wilbur comforted him, "Can you take a big breath, Toms? Like this." Wilbur took an exaggerated breath in, and slowly breathed out. Younger Tommy sniffles and looks at Wilbur with large watery eyes. 

"Come on, Toms, big breath in-" Wilbur takes a big deep breath in and Tommy tries to copy him. It's far shallower than it should be, but it's progress. 

"There you go, big man!" And breath out-" He takes a steady breath out and Tommy follows shakily. He continues to lead Tommy through the breathing exercise until his heaving breaths soften and his sniffling dies out. 

"There you go. Now let me patch that knee of yours up." Wilbur reaches over and ruffles his hair. Tommy whines indignantly and tries to slap his hand away while Wilbur coos. 

Tommy drifts back to the present, sitting curled up in the bathroom of his estranged sorta-father's house with a literal deity in the other room helping him prank them. He lets his eyes flit back open (when had they closed?) and jumps back in surprise because Wilbur is kneeling in front of him. Not Ghostbur, Wilbur. 

He's practically frozen in place as Wilbur leans closer to him, reaching out a hand. He feels the hand tangle itself in his hair, the sleeve of his trench coat brushing against his forehead. They give him a brief smile and when Tommy blinks they're gone, leaving him with a lingering feeling of a hand in his hair and more questions than ever. 

__________ 

Above the clouds, on an invisible platform, Tommy and Drista sit. His legs dangle over the edge as he clutches onto a cigarette, smoke drifting from his lips. Drista had given him a strange look when he pulled it out but said nothing, which he's thankful for. 

The wind this far up is cold and unforgiving, buffeting him and sending stray hours into his eyes as he pulls his coat closer. Drista doesn't seem to be bothered by it in the slightest, as not even a hair on her head moves. Perks of being a god, he supposes. 

He was listening as she complained about her brother, XD, another God. Her feathers are ruffled in annoyance as she paces, ranting about how he was a hypocrite and a simp. 

"...and he says not to interact too much with mortals, as if he doesn't spend half his time flirting with one! Then he berates me for giving you bedrock, then gives out Netherite like they're party favors! It's just, ugh!" They throw their hands up in exasperation. 

"What a piece of shit." 

She snorts, "He'd smite you if he heard you say that, you know." 

Tommy just shrugs and looks back out to the clouds and the vast swathes of land beneath them. If he focuses, he can see his house from here, as well as the great scar in the earth that was L'Manburg. 

The wind brushes against his hair and he leans forward a little further, teetering on the edge of the invisible platform. He wonders if the clouds would catch him if he fell, or if he would pass straight through them. There's no water to catch him if he falls this time, and the thought is strangely comforting. From this height it would be instant, every bone in his body would be pulverized before he could blink. 

He shakes the thoughts out of his head as Drista turns to him, "So, what's been happening with you? I noticed you have a hotel now!" 

Tommy claps his hands, "Right! Uh, when was the last time we talked?" 

"Just after you put Dream in prison." 

He tosses the butt of his cigarette off the edge, watching as it tumbles down to the earth, wondering if he could do the same. He stands up and turns to Drista, already preparing for a rant he's surely going to have. 

"Oh, right. So I figure, not that L'Manburg's gone, what's there to keep the people together? So I decided to build a hotel!" 

And so he begins to rant. He talks about the start of the hotel, the commissioning of Sam Nook, and moans about how much grinding for resources he had to do. He briefly mentions the near-death experience with the nuke, noticing how Dristas eyes narrow suspiciously when he mentions Niki lead him there. 

He paces as he talks, walking back and forth and back and forth on the invisible platform. He's not being careful in the slightest, practically dancing on the edge of falling, and if Drista notices, she says nothing. (And if she creates another, larger, platform just below them, well that can be her little secret.) 

He tells her about Snowchester, the idyllic little town that's cold year-round and the water far too cold to swim in, not that it would stop Tubbo from trying. He tells her about the mansion they're building, and how Tubbo had coerced him into living with them. 

Soon enough, he starts to talk about the prison. How he had just wanted closure, how he had just wanted to start a new chapter in his life. His hands start to tremor as he talks. So, he shoves them in his coat pockets. He tells her about the paperwork he had to sign, and about the dozens of safety measures he had to go through to even get to the main cell. 

His pacing grows more frantic as he tells her about the explosions that shook the prison, and how Sam had just left him there. He skips over most of the torture that was the first week, telling her that when the allotted week was up, Sam had refused to let him out, and it had gone to shit from there. 

"He killed me," He tells her, voice just barely audible over the wind, "Beat me until I couldn't move and split my skull open on the obsidian floor." 

Drista says nothing, whether from disbelief or shock, he doesn't know. 

"Did you know that limbo, the afterlife, whatever you want to call it, appears to everyone differently? To Wilbur, it was a subway station that trains never stopped at. For Schlatt, it was a decrepit gym filled with the lingering scent of burnt toast. Mexican Dream saw a dirty alleyway filled with dirty needles and empty bottles." 

"For me, it was nothing, at least at first. Endless void stretched from horizon to horizon, inky black nothingness everywhere I looked. Wilbur was there, Schlatt, and Mexican Dream, too." 

"I spent two months there until Dream dragged me back to the land of the living. Apparently, I had only been dead two days. It took another five days before Sam did his job and realized I wasn't dead, and finally let me out." 

"And you wanna know the funniest part?" He chokes out a laugh, "When I finally get out and see my best fucking friend? I found out he got married and adopted a kid while I was fuckin six feet under! Sure, it's platonic or whatever, but still!" 

"He said it was originally for tax benefits, but they don't even pay taxes!" Tommy fumes, "I can get behind tax evasion and marriage fraud, but I..." He falters. 

"I just-" Tommy sighs, the anger fizzling away, "I miss the old days, back before everything. I miss what we used to be." 

Tommy plops back down on the edge of the platform and buries his head in his hands, sighing wistfully. Drista floats down next to him and pats his back, obviously very out of their depth. 

"Oh!" Drista blurts, "I have an idea!" 

She turns to him, a mischievous grin on her face, and Tommy prepares himself for whatever half thought out prank Drista has cooked up, "Let's get married!" 

Out of everything Tommy was prepared for Drista to say, that was most certainly not on the top of his list. Prime, it wasn't even on the list. He takes it in stride though, absolutely not making a fool of himself by choking on his own spit. 

"I beg your pardon Drista?" He manages to choke out, looking at the goddess as if she had grown an extra head. 

"Let's get married!" They repeat, and any hope that he misheard them drains away, "You're mad at Tubbo for getting married without you, right? So get married without him to get payback!" 

"Drista," He starts, carefully thinking his words through so she doesn't push him off the edge, "I don't...like you like that? I mean, I'm flattered that you like me and all but-" 

"What?" 

"-I already have so many applications to look through, so many hot women throwing themselves at me, and I just don't think-"

She cuts him off, cheeks flushing bright red, "Tommy! Platonically! Platonically !" 

"Oh," Tommy blushes, "Well how was I supposed to know that!" 

"It was implied!" She gestures, "Tubbo got platonically married, and I never said anything that implied it would be different!" 

"You're gaslighting me, aren't you?" He jabs, to which Drista groans. 

"That's it, marriage canceled. You're doomed to live forever wife-less." 

"No no no, I have many wives. The women flock to me, Drista. I am a chick magnet ." Tommy informs her, and, Drista merely looks back and raises an eyebrow. 

The two are silent for a beat before breaking into pearls of laughter. He wipes tears from his eyes as the laughter eventually dies out, and the two sit in comfortable silence for a minute. 

"So," Tommy starts, "You really want to get platonically married?" 

Drista just shrugs, "Why not?" 

Tommy snorts, "We could have it at Church Prime. Sam Nook could officiate it. I'm pretty sure he's programmed to do that." 

"The robot?" 

"Don't trash talk my man Sam Nook. He is the only man ever and I will not stand while you slander his name!" Tommy points at her. 

"I thought Philza Minecraft was the only man ever?" She teases.

".... Sam Nook is the second man ever." 

Drista raises her hands in surrender, "Alright, noted. Well, if Sam Nook can officiate, then let's get going. But, first," she points an accusatory finger at him, "You need to take a shower. You stink of smoke." 

__________

Tommy glared at the bathroom door as he finished drying off, still damp hair brushing against the base of his neck. Drista had practically shoved him into the room and locked the door behind him, as if he had to be forced to take a shower. 

They'd already discussed what they were going to wear, Tommy awkwardly telling her that he didn't have any fancy clothes that fit anymore. His old revolutionary suit he hadn't worn in a year and Prime knows where his old Business Bay suits went to. He could make a new suit himself, but that would be way too much work for him to cope with. 

The solution was embarrassingly simple, Drista simply materialized a new suit out of thin air and tossed it at him. As he pulls the black dress pants on, he begrudgingly admits they're well made. 

As he reaches for his white button-up, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. The first thing he notices is his hair, the white having spread even further and gotten even brighter, glinting a stark bone white. It no longer neatly blends in, sticking out like a sore thumb. There's a new scar carved into his jaw as well, a painful reminder of his skirmish at Snowchester. 

He drags his eyes away from the reflection and throws on the shirt, fumbling buttons with shaky hands. He picks up the light purple tie and begins to tie it around his neck, shaking away memories of when Wilbur taught him how to tie them so many years ago. 

The knot is a noose around his neck, pressing against his skin whenever he swallows. He pulls it a little tighter. He shrugs on the suit jacket, the tails brushing against the back of his knees. It's a deep navy blue color, and the tails had been added at his request (it reminded him of his old L'Manburg Uniform). 

He wipes a towel over his hair again to try and try it out and drags a comb through it to try and get all the knots out. It, obviously, doesn't work and he only manages to snap a tooth off of his comb. 

He sighs, setting the comb down and turning around, pushing open the door to the bathroom. Drista is waiting for him, floating a foot off the ground as they always do. They're wearing a royal purple suit with a light blue tie and a white undershirt. They had insisted on wearing a suit, saying that dresses were "unwieldy" and that she was "an Alpha Male." Tommy didn't dispute either claim. 

"Well?" Tommy asks, spreading his arms out, "How do I look?" 

Drista hums, giving him a once-over. She snaps her fingers and he can feel his hair dry and get pulled back into a loose ponytail. 

"Well, you no longer look homeless, at least." She quips, and Tommy just rolls his eyes. 

"You don't even live anywhere, Drista. If anyone is homeless here, it's you." God's usually didn't stay in one place long, and many didn't bother making houses that would only be abandoned when they left. 

"Whatever," Drista waves him off, "Let's head down to the church."

_____________

Sam Nook is already there when they push open the tall church doors. The robot is standing behind the altar, dressed in a dapper suit and tie instead of his regular construction equipment. Tommy raises an eyebrow at Drista and she just grins at him.

"AH TOMMYINNIT!" Sam Nook babbles, "IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU!I HAVE BEEN INFORMED YOU REQUIRE MY MARRIAGE SERVICES?"

"You know it, Nook!" Tommy grins at the friendly robot, "Getting married out of spite! Spite marriage!" Drista snorts next to him.

"LUCKILY FOR YOU, IT SEEMS AS THOUGH MY SERVICES HAVE ALREADY BEEN PAID FOR! WHEN YOU ARE READY, PLEASE STEP UP TO THE altar."

Tommy looks over at Drista, who shrugs innocently. He mutters, "simp" under his breath and she elbows him, hissing to shut up.

"Well, ladies first," Tommy jokes, gesturing forward.

"Don't be sexist, Tommy,” Drista chides, “But yes, ladies first!” She laughs as she pushes him up to the altar. Tommy grumbles under his breath as he steps up, Drista floating next to him.

They take their places in front of the altar, Dristas shoes clacking on the ground as she stands beside him.

"WE ARE ALL GATHERED HERE TODAY," Tommy glances at the empty pews, "TO CELEBRATE THE PLATONIC JOINING OF TOMMY DANGER KRAKEN INNIT AND DRISTA XD IN HOLY MATRIMONY."

"TOMMY INNIT," Sam Nook calls, and Tommy stands up straighter, "DO YOU TAKE DRISTA XD TO BE YOUR PLATONIC PARTNER, IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH, TILL DEATH DO YOU PART?"

"I do," Tommy nods at the robot construction worker turned priest. 

"DRISTA XD, DO YOU TAKE TOMMY INNIT TO BE YOUR PLATONIC PARTNER, IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH, TILL DEATH DO YOU PART?"

Drista pretends to hesitate, grinning when she sees him scoff and roll his eyes, "I do."

There's a brief whirring of gears and Sam Nook produces a box out of Prime knows where. Tommy gingerly takes it from him, carefully opening it, half expecting a face full of confetti. Instead, sitting on a velvet pillow is a pair of necklaces. They both have netherite chains with a single gemstone attached to the bottom, Emerald and Ruby respectively. 

"Rings are overrated," Drista supplies, like that explains anything.

"Sap," Tommy mutters under his breath, but drapes the Emerald over his head anyway, handing the Ruby to Drista.

"I HEREBY PRONOUNCE YOU TWO JOINED IN PLATONIC MARRIAGE. YOU MAG HUG THE SPOUSE."

Drista opens their arms and Tommy embraces her, careful to not touch the wings that sprout from their back. When she wraps her arms around him, the touch is warmer than anything he can remember. If he holds the hug for just a beat too long, no one says anything.

The two separate, and Sam Nook grins at him, "MAZEL TOV! CONGRATULATIONS, TOMMYINNIT! I'M AFRAID THERE ARE URGENT MATTERS AT THE HOTEL THAT REQUIRE MY ATTENTION, BUT SHOULD ANY ISSUES ARISE I DO HAVE DIVORCE SERVICES. GOODBYE TOMMYINNIT!" With a goofy wave, Sam Nook is off, marching down the Prime Path towards the hotel.

"...Did he just...?" Drista’s voice borders incredulous. 

"Offer to divorce us should we need it? Yup." Tommy finishes her train of thought, "That's my man, Sam Nook."

Drista shakes her head, exasperated, and turns to him, "Well, we're married now, what next?"

Tommy grins, rubbing his hands together, "Same way we celebrate anything good here. Arson!"

_____________

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Drista asks him as they stand in front of the abandoned Targay.

"Trust me Dris, no one's even gone in this place in months, much less done anything with it. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?" Tommy reassures her, gesturing to the broken windows and corners full of spider webs.

"Don't call me 'Dris.'" She frowns at him, "Didn't you get exiled last time you burnt down something?"

He falters for a moment, "I mean, yeah, but it's not like I'm going to be exiled again. Where would I even be exiled from? L'Manburg's dead."

"If you say so," Drista hesitantly agrees. "So, how do you want to do this?"

Tommy turns to her, eyes glimmering, "Do you know what a Molotov Cocktail is?"

Drista slowly nods, beginning to grin back at him, "I like how you think, Theseus."

He frowns at his full name, but waves it off when two bottles appear in Drista’s hands. She hands him one before popping the cap off of hers. They're simple, label-less brown bottles, and as he opens it up it smells strongly of alcohol.

"Is this vodka?" He questions, sniffing at the top.

"Yeah, it's like, 80% ABV, should burn real nice," she pulls out a pair of rags and hands him one, pouring alcohol over the rag.

"80% huh?" Tommy mutters to himself, swirling the clear liquid around. He's never had that high a proof before. Surely one sip couldn't hurt?

"Prime that's strong," Tommy coughs as the liquor goes down, the sweet burn of alcohol coating his throat.

"You drank it?!" Drista shouts, scandalized.

"...Maybe?" Tommy weakly grins. She just sighs and swipes the bottle out of his hand, replacing it with her already completed one.

"That's it, you've lost Molotov making privileges." Tommy crosses his arms and grumbles about how this is so unfair and it was only one swig, Prime.  

"Alright, let's light these bad boys up!" Tommy pulls his lighter out of his pocket, sparking a small flame with practiced precision. He holds the lighter beneath the wet cloth, watching intently as the flames greedily lick the rag and begin to climb up towards the neck of the bottle.

He holds out the lighter and lights Drista’s as well, and soon both bottles are ready to be used for some light arson.

"Throw on three?" Drista nods, "Alright, one, two, three!" The two hurl their Molotov's at the building, embers trailing behind the flying bottles like the tail of a comet. Drista’s sails through a broken window and shatters on an empty shelf, engulfing it in flames. Tommy's tumbles through another window and breaks behind a long looted cash register.

They take a few steps back as the fire begins to rapidly spread, climbing over dust and crawling up spiderwebs. After only a few minutes, most of the building is on fire, flames peeking out of shattered windows and walls.

Tommy watches the flames as they dance and flicker, mesmerized by the hues of red and orange. The building groans and a support beam falls from the ceiling, sending embers shooting every which way as it slams to the ground.

"I'd say this is a pretty good honeymoon, huh Drista?" He elbows her as the flames spark and crackle.

"Yeah," she snorts, "Ten out of ten."

"Oh, I have a gift for you," Drista turns towards him, and something materializes in her hand.

She's holding a trident, but this one is different. Instead of the aquamarine metal of the ones the drowned use, this one is made of pure Netherite with braided leather grips. Gilded runes spiral around the haft and curl around the prongs, and the multicolor sheen of magic swirls around the metal. Running vertically along the haft are the words, "Drista's Fork," carefully carved and gilded.

She holds it out to him and he carefully takes it, brushing his fingers lightly over the enchantments. Mending, Unbreaking, Channeling, Loyalty, and a few more he doesn’t recognize. 

"Holy shit," He whispers, "Holy shit."

"Holy indeed," Drista grins at him, "You like it?"

"Drista, I... I can't take this," He tries to hand it back, but she just takes (floats?) a step back.

"Nope!" She grins, "I gave it to you, it's yours!"

"Drista, I'm not... I'm not taking your fuckin pity gift," He bites, "I don't want this just because I died."

"It's not a pity gift Tommy," She tries to reassure him.

"Then what is it?" He pushes.

"It's," Drista pauses for a moment, "You know how I said my brother was a hypocrite?"

"Yeah?" Tommy questions, unsure how this is related in the slightest.

"Well, he gave a mortal some Netherite armor, so I'm getting back at him."

"Oh," He blinks, "Well why didn't you tell me? We're like partners in crime, Drista!"

"Yeah yeah," Drista waves her hand at him, "I'm sad to say, but I've got to go. Some loser king has been trying to summon me and I'm worried he might start sacrificing people soon."

"Asshole," Tommy grumbles, "Well, I'll see you around?"

"You know it!" Drista winks, clapping him on the shoulder, "Stay safe, got it?"

"No promises!" He cheekily replies, "See ya Drista."

She snorts, "See you, Tommy."

And with a flash of light Tommy is alone in the parking lot of a burning store, holding a weapon forged by the gods themselves.

________________

"You knew something like this would happen, didn't you," Kristen asks Clara, amused.

"I had a feeling," Clara replies, not bothering to hide her smile, "But I did not expect it to go that far."

"I don't think anyone could have, to be fair. Those two have always been unpredictable." Kristen hums.

"I do hope Phil isn't too bothered by the traps they left." Clara frowns, but Kristen only seems amused.

"Trust me, he won't mind," Kristen reassures her.

"Now, all we can do is wait."

______________

When Tommy arrives at his home, something is already waiting for him. Pinned to his door was a bright red envelope, with his name addressed on the front. The paper on the inside is, thankfully, regular paper, but it's written in blood-red ink. Written in a fancy script that tempts him to just burn the letter and be done with it, is an invitation. 

Dear Tommy Innit,

You have been invited as our guest of honor to the Red Banquet! In light of recent events, we have decided to come together and solve our disputes peacefully instead of fighting. The Banquet will be held on April 5th in the Egg chamber, and formal attire (suit, dress, etc) is required. Red items of clothing are not required, but are heavily encouraged. No weapons and/or armor are permitted at any time. We hope to see you there!

Sincerely,

The Eggpire

Chapter Text

Tommy was absolutely not procrastinating, and anyone who implied otherwise was a liar and a wrong’un. He had been meaning to give the Axe of Peace back to Techno for ages, and now that he had Drista's Fork? He had no excuse not to.

But, because his brain is a shitter, he's been avoiding going anywhere near the arctic duo, gathering flowers for Sam Nook, tending to his small farm, collecting soul sand, and drafting plans for a new suit. (Those eggheads want fancy? He'll give them fancy.)

So when Ranboo shoots him a message, practically begging that, “Tommy, the best and only man ever, could you please go feed my cats? I am utterly lost mining and oh so terribly incompetent.” Tommy considers just replying that he's busy. But then he'd have to deal with the reply Ranboo would send, and no matter how nicely worded it would be, he would still feel the disappointment oozing between the letters.

He groans, shooting Ranboo a reply. Originally, he was saying that he'd go by now, but added a few curses for good measure. Before he can talk himself out of it, he grabs the Axe of Peace and rushes out the door, tossing Wilbur’s his trench coat over his shoulders.

______________

The arctic doesn't feel cold anymore Tommy realizes, as his feet sink into foot deep snow and a breeze sends the tattered tails of his coat fluttering. Even as his fingers stiffen and his teeth chatter around the cigarette between his lips, the chill in his bones is the same it always is.

He doesn't know why he's only now noticing this. Maybe it's because he's trying to keep his mind off the destination of his winter march, maybe it's because he's well and truly alone now, with no Drista or Tubbo to keep his mind occupied.

A cluster of spruce trees gradually creep closer and closer to him with every dragging step he takes. As he gets closer, he hears the telltale clattering of bones and watches as a Stray shifts from beneath the shadow of the trees. 

He freezes, mostly out of instinct more than anything. The Stray shuffles around in the shadow of the tree, careful not to stray into the burning light. He breathes out slowly, warm breath mingling with cigarette smoke as it leaves his mouth, turning to mist and floating into the sky . The sudden cloud draws unwanted attention, however, and the stray turns, empty eye sockets boring into his own. For a second, he sees himself, bruised and battered, blood dripping from his hairline. He blinks.

The Stray turns to fully face him, skeletal hand shifting on its worn bow. Tommy didn't bother running, he was in a wide-open field with a foot of snow coating the ground, he wouldn't be going anywhere fast. Besides, the burning pain as the arrow bit into his flesh would be a welcome reprieve from the all-encompassing chill. (The still open cuts and blood-soaked bandages remind him of that.) His hand absentmindedly rubs the scar on his throat and wonders if it would let him take ten paces first.

But no arrow comes, no whooshing of stake in flight and no stinging pain of a fresh wound. It merely stares at him with hollow eyes and a skeletal grin.

Tommy slowly walks past the trees, keeping an eye on the Stray out of curiosity rather than fear. Sure enough, the skeleton merely watches as he trudges past, not raising its bow nor drawing an arrow. He walks past it, not even ten feet away, and it doesn't move an inch, dead eyes burning into the back of his skull as he leaves the cluster of trees behind him.

Tommy tries not to dwell on why it didn't shoot him, but his mind twists and turns away. Maybe the sun reflecting off the snow blinded it, he tries to tell himself, maybe whatever animated it glitched.

(He ignores the voice that whispers that he’s no more alive than the Stray was, a dead man walking.) 

__________________

Eventually, he reaches the residents of the local "book club." He skirts around the twin houses, trudging over to Ranboo’s first, that way if things go to shit when he tries to give the axe back he doesn't have to awkwardly text Ranboo and tell him he couldn't feed his cats.

He pushes open the door and slumps a little as a blast of warm air caresses his face. He carefully closes the door behind him, glancing down to make sure none of the cats had sneaked outside. Thankfully, none did.

He wanders around the house trying to find the kitchen, because while this is not the first time he's been in Ranboo’s house, he isn't the kind of person to memorize the layout of someone's house.

After a minute of wandering, he eventually stumbles into the kitchen. It's pretty basic, with only an oven, fridge, and some cupboards. For such a rich bitch, Ranboob has a very simple kitchen. Some may call it ‘Minimalist’ or ‘Modern’ but Tommy calls those people bitchless cowards who can't handle having a cramped kitchen. 

He opens up the fridge and peeks around some assorted food, (He doesn’t know why he’s surprised that Ranboo eats like a college kid, and why the fuck is there so much spaghetti?) before pulling out a container of what he thinks is shredded chicken, labeled "cats." 

"This better not be actual cat meat," He frowns, setting it down on the counter and reaching down to pick up the cat bowls.

He rummages around some more trying to find a spoon, and scoops a healthy portion into each of the bowls. He sets them down on the floor, and can hear the scrambling of paws as the cats rush into the room. They skid around the corner, briefly pausing when they notice he's not Ranboo, but scramble towards the food bowl anyways.

The cats scarf down the food like they were on the verge of starving, and Tommy gently pets one as it eats. Tommy had never been much of a cat person, but as the cat begins to purr and lean into his always-shaking palm, he thinks he may have a change in opinion.

Sadly, as the cats finish eating, they dart away and return to do... Whatever it is that cats do all day. He now has no more excuses to delay the inevitable. He drags his feet as he makes his way back to the front door, desperately hoping that one of the cats will show back up and give him a reason to procrastinate just a moment longer, but to no avail.

Cold air embraces him like an old friend as he steps back into the arctic, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stares at the house of his brother Technoblade. Snow crunches beneath his feet as he slowly wades to the porch, feeling not unlike a prisoner marching towards a chopping block.

(He knows the feeling well enough. Memories of rowing for hours and scaling cliffs that reached into the clouds fester like an open wound in his head.)

The stairs creak as he steps up them, and he can't help but feel like they're laughing at him. Each step feels like a mountain but he climbs them anyway, and soon enough the front door towers over him.

He reaches a shaking hand up and knocks three times on the solid spruce door, a dull knock knock knock echoing in the dead silent arctic. For a long second, silence only greets him. He considers just leaving the Axe at the door (He pushes aside the thought in his head that screams to split open the stupid door). After what feels like years, there’s a shuffling inside the house.

The door is thrown open and Technoblade stands in front of him, a twin axe held limply in one hand. He's decidedly human today, in a simple white poet shirt and brown pants. There's a pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose and bubblegum pink hair pulled into a neat braid. Nerd. 

Techno regards him for an uncomfortable second before slamming the door in his face. Tommy blinks in surprise before barking out a laugh. At least he didn't try to kill him. Yet.

"Tech-no-blade! My friend! Open the door!" He calls out, trying to hide the tremor in his tone.

(He doesn't know why he's scared, the worst Techno could do is kill him, and Death is nothing more than an old friend with the embrace of a mother.)

"Nope, no one's home," Technoblade responds, "Come back never."

(Maybe killing him isn't the worst thing Techno could do.)

"Come on, Blade, open up! I'll only be a second, promise!" There's a loud groan behind the door and it creaks open slowly, Techno giving him an unimpressed look.

"You have exactly one minute to explain yourself, starting now."

Not waiting a moment longer, Tommy begins to rant, "So the other day I got a trident! Which is pretty pog because I can stab people -possibly even three at a time- but then I got thinking and I realized I already had a weapon and I couldn't have two weapons because that would be simply unfair to everyone else-"

"Thirty seconds" Techno interrupts, looking vaguely amused.

"-and I couldn't have that because I am far too generous and kind and honestly plain good-willed to let myself have such an unfair advantage, I need to get rid of one of my weapons, and I know that we haven't really been on the best of terms but-"

"Fifteen seconds," Techno warns.

Tommy panics as the timer bears down like a runaway train. "I wanted to give you this back," he rushes out, pulling out the Axe of Peace. He doesn't miss the way Techno’s knuckles go white on the off-brand, but he can't bring himself to care too much.

He holds the Axe just below the head and holds it out to Techno, handle first. He tries to ignore how terribly it shakes, the end of the haft shaking like a hairless cat caught in a blizzard.

Techno regards him for a long moment, narrowed eyes flicking over his face and down to the Axe. Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find it, and loosens his grip on his bootleg axe.

With a careful, steady hand, Techno reaches out and grasps the handle, and Tommy's own falls away. He raises the blade to his eyes, scanning the edge for any chips or dents, and finds none. 

Now, Tommy may not know Techno the best, but he lived with the guy off and on for most of his life. He knew his tells, the faces he would make when he was annoyed, the slight curl of his lips when he was amused. He was most familiar with his human form, but he still knew the slight flick of his ear whenever he was deep in thought and the deep chuff he would make when amused.

And so when he looks at Techno right now, he can see the surprise that paints his features, plain as day. He debates pretending to be annoyed that Techno thinks he wouldn't give it back, but decides it would take too much energy, and Prime knows he already has none to spare.

Techno is quiet for a moment too long, and Tommy’s anxiety rears its ugly head. Was it not polished right? Did he get some dirt on it? Did he not sharpen it enough? Did he sharpen it too much? Did it have a spot of rust? Could Netherite rust? What if he was just imagining the whole thing? What if Techno never gave him an Axe and the memories were just yet another thing that Dream had lied to him about?

The Emerald necklace is warm against the base of his neck, the polar opposite of the burning chill of the compass that rests upon his sternum. He wonders if Drista is watching him from the clouds, snickering as he tries to rebuild bridges long left to smolder.

(She's just happy he's trying)

Techno continues to stare at the Axe in silence and Tommy begins to backpedal, literally and figuratively. 

"Well big man, I guess I'll, uh," He laughs nervously, "I'll get out of your hair, big T, Tech-no-blade."

He awkwardly takes a step back, turning around to leave as fast as he can. He hardly makes it two steps before he's interrupted. 

"Wait."

Tommy halts mid step, slowly turning around to look back at Techno, who looks vaguely conflicted, based on how his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

"Come inside, I'll make you some hot chocolate," He decides, stepping out of the doorway, "You've gotta be freezin."

Out of all the things Tommy expected to hear, that was not even on the list. He’s vaguely aware that it wasn’t a question, yet, he finds himself agreeing, and steps inside the cabin in the arctic.

______________

Had someone told Tommy a month ago that he would be sitting in Technos living with a blanket around his shoulders and a mug in his hand, he would have called them crazy. But here he was, bundled up on the man's couch as he pressed a mug of hot chocolate into his palms before settling down in an armchair across from him.

Neither of them make any move to talk, so Tommy regards the mug in his hands instead , idly wondering if it's poisoned. He takes a small sip and the liquid is scalding, what feels like lava boiling his taste buds and burning his throat.

He takes another sip.

Techno folds first, clearing his throat, "So, uh, what have you been up to?"

Tommy snorts. Succinct as always.

"Well, little bit of this, little bit of that, little bit of shanking brainwashed cultists, the usual."

Techno raises an eyebrow at that, "I did hear about an attack on... Snowchester, was it? Everything ok over there?"

He thinks of himself, cold and bleeding out in the snow, and nods, "Yup, they didn't break anything important, nothing that couldn't be replaced."

Techno nodded slowly, taking a sip of his tea or coffee or whatever it is that he brewed for himself. He glances over at Tommy's coat, which had been set by the fireplace to dry, melted snow having soaked it through.

"I see your wearin’ Wilburs old coat." He doesn't bother to mince his words.

"Yeah, I put it in my ender chest after Pogtopia, but I didn't wear it much until after the prison. I had to practically sew the whole damn thing back up by hand. It's never going to be what it used to be, but I couldn't stand to see it just gather dust and bittersweet memories." He doesn't mention why he started to wear it, how it reminded him of the calm embrace of the afterlife and the warm voice of his brother. He didn't need to know.

Techno blinks at him, "You sew?"

Tommy laughs a little bit, “Yeah! Yeah, I do. I actually- Wilbur showed us the design he had for the L’Manburg flag, and asked if anyone could sew, so I lied and said yeah. It was a pain to learn when the most we had was scraps, but I managed. Made pretty much everything we wore back then, from the hats to the tailcoats, everything.”

Techno stares, whether from confusion about what the hell he was ranting about or he just didn't know Tommy knew so much about sewing, he doesn't know, “Wow, so you learned during the revolution?”

Tommy shrugged, “Yeah, I did. I didn’t want Wilbur to know I lied, so I practiced on patches and mending and shit when he went to sleep.”

Techno laughs under his breath at that, “Been there, done that. One time some nerd challenged me to a potato growing contest, and I accepted, despite knowing absolutely nothing about potatoes, so I spent the next week at the local library learning everything I could about gardening.”

Tommy whistles under his breath. “Did you win?”

Techno rolls his eyes, “Course. Guy never stood a chance, not once I used child labor.”

“I love to see the sibling resemblance.”

“Hey now, I didn't make ‘em fight anyone, just farm potatoes in the midday heat.”

“Sorry, sorry, I forgot. I’ll make sure to make a note of it- ‘Technoblade Destroyer of Worlds Watson-Innit-Soot’ is a-okay with slavery.”

“They don't call me the orphan obliterator for nothin.”

Tommy let himself sink into the familiarity of the conversation. If he drowned enough in it, he could ignore the fact that he didn’t deserve this, not anymore.

Techno shifts, and looks back at Tommy with what seems to be the barest hints of a grin, “Say, the other day Phil got dunked in water and covered in glitter, you wouldn’t happen to know anythin about that, right?”

“Of course not. I never come out here, actually- I’m sure it was just the crows.”

Techno snorts, “Sure, sure, whatever you say, Theseus.”

The shock of the old name was identical to how Phil must have felt with the stupid water bucket. His brain was conflicting, wanting to lean forth into the warmth that the memories of greek myth bedtime stories gave him and summer games of dragons and monsters and stupid paper crowns. But memories of words spoken in anger whispered in his ear, tales of cliffs and three-headed beasts, and the tragic end that befell any hero who slew his monsters.

Techno must have noticed the slight discomfort, because he cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing, “So- Wilbur’s jacket. How’d you end up with it?”

Tommy shakes himself out of the trance as the afterimages of explosions fade from his eyes, “Well, I took it from his room when we left Pogtopia. I didn't take the one he was wearing when he died, because that would have been a bitch to fix. Not to mention getting blood everywhere, that shit’s impossible to wash out.” 

Techno nods, “Why do you think I wear so much red? Much easier to clean.”

“Okay, edgelord.”

“Bruh. Gettin bullied in my own house.”

There was an awkward silence that suffocated them both.

“I- I tried fixing the one he died with. It was beyond saving, though. The sword had ripped through most of the jacket and all the seams were fraying and burning from the fire. I- I got there too late, I think. When I decided I wanted to sew it up, it felt like I wasn't… I couldn’t accept that I could’ve done something earlier, and so gave up on it”

Techno hummed, thinking about his words before he responded. “I get it. I used to have this sword, back before we moved. I loved the thing, felt like it was a part of me. I could slice a grape in quarters before it hit the ground with that thing. But one day, it cracked, and I knew I had to get rid of it, or hang it up somewhere, whatever. I just couldn’t use it the same way I used to. It hurt, yeah, but it would hurt more if I refused to let go, kept using it till it shattered. It didn’t deserve to be broken because I couldn’t move on.”

“Have you ever used a sewing machine, Techno?”

He shifts in his chair, “Can’t say that I have, no.”

“Don’t. I had this old one, I got it from some flea market or stole it from someone, I don’t really remember. But this thing was trash. It sped up the sewing process, yeah, but not by a whole lot. It hurt just as much as it helped.”

The older of the two hummed softly in lieu of a response, urging him on.

“One time, I was sewing some sort of armor-padding bullshit? I think I was trying to sew some thin leather on, like a dumbass. The needle broke in the leather and I spent a day trying to get it out without hurting the machine. It kept getting caught on stuff and was just- annoying.

“When I finally got it out, the needle still wouldn’t come out of the leather. I even cut the side of my finger just trying to get the damned thing out. Anyways, my point is, don’t try to force sewing leather on a regular sewing machine. It's better to leave the armor to the blacksmiths and just. Trying to force something to happen, whether it be leather or… peace, just… It doesn’t work out well.”

Techno looks mildly impressed, “Never in a hundred years did I think you of all people would say something that poetic.”

Tommy scowls, “Fuck you! I will make the best poetry and woo all the women!”

“Aaaand we're back to normal.” Techno relaxed into his chair, as if the strings of stress had been cut from him. “If you need help makin armor, my door’s open. Don’t want you breaking any more needles.”

Tommy slowly nods, “Yeah, ok. And I guess if you ever tear that god awful cape of yours, I suppose I could fix it for you. Don't expect it to be free though, bitch. I have many taxes to pay.”

Techno laughs, “Wouldn't expect anything less, you raccoon.”

“Word of advice, if you ever do end up sewing something, don’t use a shit thread. It’s a fuckin pain to use shitty thread on something you want to last. There’s actually…” Tommy rushed over to the fire, grabbing the coat that was only a little damp now. He flipped it inside out, pointing to one of the breast pockets. “See? The thread’s already pulling apart, right there.”

Techno wasn’t paying attention to the thread, though. In the small hole that Tommy was rambling about, was the corner of what he could swear was a box of cigarettes. 

“Are those cigarettes?” Techno interrupts his rambling. Tommy glances at the pocket, and sure enough, his half empty pack is barely visible beneath a hole.

“I, uhhhhhh,” Tommy flushes red, “Maybe?”

“I thought I told you that stuff kills, Theseus?” 

Tommy ignores him, continuing with his previous train of thought, “So, the sewing machine still hasn’t kicked the bucket yet, despite everyone's best efforts. Every time I use it it’s out for blood. I check the tension and the threading, I take it apart, oil it, change out the bobbin, and it's still the same useless piece of shit it was before. “

“I… have you tried turning it off and back on again? I don’t really know how else to fix that?” Techno says, letting the cigarette conversation fade away, for now. 

A dry laugh crawls from the younger boys throat on bruised knees and scraped elbows, "Yeah, three fucking times. Turns out temporary death isn't a fix-all for people, either.”

Techno falters, whatever he was going to say dying in his throat, “...What?”

“I died, Techno,” Tommy deadpans, “I died in that prison when Dream caved my fucking skull open on the fucking cell floor. I died, and you didn’t even fucking notice.” He isn't angry, just tired. So fucking tired.

Once again, there was a silence so loud it would make you go deaf. It wrapped around the two of them in a stranglehold, like some sort of fucked up “Get along sweater.”

“Ranboo was telling the truth,” He wasn't asking.

“If the truth means my brains being scattered against obsidian, then yes, he was.” Tommy didn't even care anymore, talking about how the man finally snapped and sent him packing.

“I… I didn’t think you could die.”

Tommy laughs ruefully, “I'm not the one whose catchphrase is ‘Technoblade Never Dies.’”

Techno doesn't have an answer to that, slumping forward in his chair and burying his head in his hands. Tommy just takes another sip of hot chocolate. 

"Wilbur’s doing ok, by the way," Tommy mentions, and Techno looks up at him, "A bit bored sometimes, and with a few more bad habits, but he's ok."

Techno shifts forward, "....Are you?"

Tommy merely smiles, "A little bored sometimes, picked up a couple bad habits, but ok."

Tommy's communicator chimes and he frowns as he pulls it out. Hardly anyone messaged him nowadays, only Tubbo and Ranboo bothered. Yet, floating across his cracked screen is a message from none other than Niki Nihachu, simply asking if they could talk, and some coordinates.

"Afraid that's my sign to leave, Blade," Tommy announces, standing up, "I've got women to woo and wives to please."

Techno snorts as Tommy puts back on his coat, "Sure, sure. See you later, Theseus."

Tommy pauses just before he opens the door, "Later, Lycomedes."

___________

When Niki texted him, he figured she'd lead him to another nuke testing site or some other poorly hidden plot to murder him. Instead, as he passes down the last step, he finds himself in a city, carved into the very earth. Lanterns hang from the high ceiling and buildings line the walls.

(It's so different, but he can almost smell the gunpowder and cigarette smoke that sunk into the walls of that gods forsaken ravine.)

It's isolated here, he notes. There's nothing nearby, no one to hear any calls for help or pleas for mercy. Not that he thinks anyone would come anyway, but it's the thought that counts. 

As he steps further into the city in the earth, he smells something baking. Is that... cake ? He thought Niki stopped baking a while back.

He follows the scent of pastries, not bothering to check if he's walking into a trap, and he finds himself outside of a small shop. A bell above the door chimes as he steps in, the sweet smell of pastries caressing his cheeks as the door swings shut.

A head of pink hair pops up from behind the counter, and Niki grins at him (he doesn't miss the tinge of sadness and regret that flickers across her face). He manages a smile back and absentmindedly scans the room for traps. He notices a few knives sitting behind the counter, and a sword rests on one of the tables. Maybe she's going for simplicity this time, he thinks to himself as he steps further into the store.

"Ayup Niki," Tommy greets warmly.

"Tommy!" Niki smiles, "I'm glad you could make it! Please, sit!" She gestures to the array of empty tables and chairs. 

Tommy pulls out a chair and sits down, watching with muted curiosity as Niki bustles around behind the counter. Pulling trays from an oven and setting them aside, fishing out piping bags full of frosting and shakers full of powdered sugar.

After a minute or so, she piles a few of whatever she was making onto a plate and steps out from behind the counter, setting the plate on the table in front of him and taking her place in a chair across from him.

On the plate are about a dozen cinnamon rolls, steam still curling from the tops and fresh icing still dripping from the sides.

"Please, try some! I want to know if I got the recipe right this time." Niki grins at him, a tinge of something else just beneath the surface.

Ah, he knows what she's doing now. 

"I didn't know you baked anymore," Tommy quietly comments as he plucks one of the rolls from the plate.

Niki’s smile softens, "It's a long story, but I decided to try again recently."

Tommy just nods, taking a healthy bite of the cinnamon roll. For the first time in what seems like years, something actually tastes good. There's no aftertaste of iron or ash, no overbearing sweetness or underwhelming nothingness. It reminds him of sunny days back in L'Manburg, when he would sneak into her bakery and she would sneak him the rejects and leftovers. 

"It tastes really good, Niki!" He grins wide enough that it hurts and she hesitantly smiles back, her grin still tainted with something he doesn't quite parse out.

"Thank you! I've been trying to perfect them for the last few days but I keep messing them up and I just," she sighs, cutting herself off.

"I... I need to apologize to you, Tommy, and you told me once that baked goods are the best apology." She studies the table, refusing to meet his eyes, and Tommy realizes this is the moment. He wonders what she put in the rolls, be it cyanide or pufferfish toxin or harming potion. He just hopes it's fast.

"Yeah?" Tommy prompts, taking another bite of the cinnamon roll. It's a pretty good last meal, all things considered. Certainly better than raw potatoes.

"I haven't been exactly... honest with you, Tommy. After L'Manburg, I was bitter, and I pushed a lot of my problems onto you. Me and Jack, we tried to, well, the nuke incident wasn't an accident." She admits, shifting in her seat.

Tommy blinks, "Yeah, I know? You weren't exactly, uh, subtle about it."

She balks, "You... You knew? How long?"

"Uhhhh," Tommy wracks his mind, "Probably once we entered the forest and you told me to keep going? I knew you didn't like me longer than that, but I didn't really think you'd do anything about it till then."

"Then why did you come here! I could have been trying to kill you!" She gestures incredulously.

"To be honest Niki, I figured you poisoned the rolls." He admits, taking another bite, "And besides, it's not like death would be anything new. Dream would just revive me and we'd be back at square one."

Her mouth opens and closes for a few moments as she tries to form words, "Why aren't you mad?" She settles on.

"You're like a big sister to me, Niki, I don't think I could be mad at you," He softly replies, and the dam breaks.

Unshed tears glisten in the corner of her eyes as she whispers, "Oh Tommy."

She scoots around the table and pulls him into a hug with shaking arms, burying her face into his jacket. He pats her on the back, albeit slightly awkwardly, as she silently sobs into his shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric of his coat.

"Wilbur would be proud of you," she tells him, once her chest stops heaving and her breaths become steady once again.

Tommy only smiles ruefully, "I know."

(He doesn't mention that he can feel himself walking in the footsteps of Wilbur, wearing the man's shoes as he dances with death. He was always one to follow his big brother, after all.)

______________

Tubbo couldn't stop thinking about that damned letter. He stared at his name on the front until it felt burned into his brain, etched into his corneas. Schlatt had apparently written it. Why? He has no idea. Tommy had said he was his father, so maybe it was some shitty "Sorry for executing you, son" bullshit.

He had yet to open it, studying the envelope like it contains the secrets to the universe, and maybe it does. He doesn't know why he still has it, having contemplated throwing it into the fireplace and letting the last memories of that damned man burn away and turn to ash, but he hasn't. 

He tucks the envelope away and tells himself he'll open it tomorrow. 

(He's told himself that every day since he got it.)

___________________

Tommy is sewing late at night when he hears something outside the front door. He tries to ignore it, but as the minutes tick by it seems as though they aren't going anywhere. He sighs, sets down his needle and thread with a groan, and makes his way to the front door.

He yanks open the door, words already tumbling from his mouth, "Look, buddy, I get that I am so incredibly popular, but it is way too fuckin late so could you put off whatever evil scheme until the morning thank you very- Ranboo?"

Tommy, having finally looked at who was lingering in front of his house at one in the morning, is rather confused to see Ranboo. His normally red and green eyes are a brilliant purple, and when he meets their eyes, there’s no flinch that Tommy has grown accustomed to.

"Uhh, Boob boy? You ok? What are you doing outside my house like a creep? Are you a peeping tom? Or peeping boob, in your case," He lightly teases, receiving no response other than a slight head tilt.

Ranboo chirps out something and disappears in a flurry of purple particles. Tommy startles, because since when could Ranboo fucking teleport? He glances around at the dimly lit surroundings, but there's no sign of the suit wearing enderman. 

He shrugs, closing the door and turning around, only to almost have a heart attack when he sees Ranboo poking at the fabric he was just working with.

"And here I thought you weren't going to try and kill me," He jokes under his breath as he marches back into the living room, pushing Ranboo away from the half put together suit.

"Now big man I know you like suits and all but I will kill you if you touch it," He pushes Ranboo down into a seat away from all the sharp objects.

Ranboo warbles what sounds like a question but stays down, thankfully. He did not want to wrestle a suit away from the hybrid, even if he was built like a twig. 

"You alright Boob boy? You aren't exactly acting like yourself," He questions, only to be met with no answer.

Like a lightbulb appearing over his head, a conversation he had with Tubbo a while ago bubbles to the surface, "Right! You're sleepwalking!"

He had dealt with sleepwalking, back in Pogtopia. Wilbur, on the few occasions he slept longer than a few minutes, had a tendency to wander the ravine, and Tommy always was there to bring him back to bed.

"Well boob boy, I'm not taking you back to Snowchester, so I guess you can stay here for the night." He huffs, already turning his attention back to his suit, the crimson cloth spilling over his fingers.

It's quiet, Ranboo watching with muted curiosity as he dips the needle again and again into the fabric, barely noticing when he jabs his thumb and blood begins to slowly ooze out. The fabric's red anyway, what would a little blood do?

"I want to hate you," Tommy blurts when the silence presses a little too deep, "You took everything from me. You stole Tubbo, Phil and Techno replaced me with you, you're everyone's 'golden boy.'"

Ranboo merely blinks in surprise as Tommy forces the words out that he could never say if Ranboo was aware, "And I want to hate you for it, I really do, but I can't, because you're just so much better than me."

Tommy wheezes out a laugh, "You're everything I'm not. You're polite, kind, a genuine good person. You can talk to people without cussing them out, you can tell people you love them without insulting them. You don't burn down houses and make shit decisions. You're just..."

Tommy sighs, "You're everything I'm not."

Ranboo warbles something, sounding rather concerned, and when Tommy looks down he realizes his needle is lodged into his finger.

He slumps his shoulders, plucking the needle out and setting the suit to the side, "I guess I should call it a night," Tommy gives Ranboo a shaky smile, "Come on, let's get you to bed."

Chapter Text

Tommy's shoes click loudly on the stone as he walks through the twisting tunnels carved beneath the surface. The tails of his suit brush against the back of his dress pants and his tie is slightly too tight around his neck.

He'd made the outfit himself, based on a fella on one of the more famous servers. GoodTimesWithScar, he thinks their name was. Strange name, but a killer sense of fashion.

He wore a long, crimson tailcoat over a teal vest and a white button up. Paired with some dark gray dress pants and sneakers (Because he loathes dress shoes. Fuck dress shoes. Only bitches and misogynists wear dress shoes.) He feels pretty damn fancy.

He'd used the same pattern on the tailcoat as the uniforms from the revolution, mostly because he couldn't be arsed to find a whole new pattern, but some part of him missed the memories of sewing beneath the shade of those Blackstone walls.

He turns down the last hallway to the banquet room, the soft sound of jazz music echoing down the hall. Red vines line the walls and cling to the ceiling, but thankfully the floor is mostly untouched.

Bad stands at the end of the hallway, just in front of the entrance to the banquet hall, where he can already see figures mingling. The demon perks up as he approaches, giving him an easy grin that spelled out trouble.

"Tommy!" Bad greets cheerfully, as if the last time they'd met hadn't ended in both of them dead, "Glad to see you could make it! Love the suit!"

Tommy allows himself to smile at the compliment, "Thanks, made it myself."

"Now I just gotta make sure you aren't trying to sneak any weapons or armor in. Wouldn't want any accidents to happen, after all," Bad explains, and Tommy pulls out his communicator, swiping over and showing Bad that his inventory is truly empty.

"Alright! Looks like you're good to go! Have fun, muffinhead!" Bad practically pushes him into the room before leaning back against the doorway.

They're in the old statue room, the Egg tucked neatly into the corner of the room. They've obviously done spring cleaning, replacing the floors and generally making it less hazardous. In the center of the room is a massive dining table made out of crimson wood, with red chairs and a shoddily-sewn tablecloth to match. 

There's another table, loaded with everything edible, and then some. He spies a bowl of punch, a red velvet cake, fruits, cheeses, crackers, and a few bottles of wine and champagne. Most of the party goers seem to be hanging around near this table, which makes his master plan slightly harder.

As he looks around, something moves in the corner of his eye, on the far side of the room. He catches a glimpse of a suit, a flash of black and white, and then it ducks behind a vine and disappears from his view. He frowns and tries to get a better look, but whatever it was is long gone.

Brushing off the sense of unease, he puts his master plan back into action and tries to sneak over to the food table. Sadly, his outfit isn't exactly subtle, and someone calls him over.

"Tommy?" He hears a voice question, and when he turns he realizes it's Puffy, with Sam right next to her.

"Cap'n Pussy!" Tommy greets, flushing red and immediately correcting himself, “I mean Puffy! I meant to say Puffy not Pussy!”

Puffy shakes her head in exasperation, “Tommy…”

He plows on anyway, ignoring the Warden standing beside her, "Love the dress!" In his defense, it is a really nice dress, flowing vermillion and ruby. It's not overly loose, but not too tight either, the perfect compromise of looks and practicality.

Puffy grins at him, previous misgivings forgotten, "Thanks! Your suit is lovely as well."

Tommy scoffs, "Course it's lovely, made it myself!"

"I didn't expect to see you here, figured you'd spend the day with Tubbo and Ranboo," Maybe he would have, had things gone differently. But things had not, and here he was.

"Figured I'd come for the free food, at least," He jokes, "Ya think they're serving eggs?"

Puffy snorts and the pair continue to joke, ignoring Sam as he slowly edges away from them. He didn't want to talk to the man anyway, even if he probably should ask how Punz is doing. 

"And Tommy?" Puffy brings her voice down to a whisper, barely audible above the soft music and the rabble of the others, "Be careful, I don't think they invited us here to make peace."

Tommy laughs, "Don't worry Puffy, careful’s my middle name."

He steps away from Puffy and continues back over to the food table. He nods at a few people, accidentally bumping shoulders with HBomb, who he hasn't seen in at least months, and waving at Hannah, who he hadn't seen for far longer. (He ignores George, memories of a man in green flooding his mind.)

He eventually makes his way to his destination, the punch bowl. He hums inconspicuously as he reaches into his jacket, producing a metal flask hidden within a secret pocket. He glances around, making sure no one's watching before unscrewing the cap and reaching out to pour it in.

He looks around one last time, only to be met with a pair of eyes. Fundys gaze flickers from his eyes down to the flask in his hand, then back up to his eyes, foxlike ear flicking. He shoots them an uneasy grin, that this isn't what it looks like?

Fundy just gives him a cheeky grin and a subtle thumbs up, which he returns. He should have known Fundy would find spiking the punch funny.

Without waiting any longer, he pours the flask into the punch bowl, quickly tucking it away once it's empty. It's not nearly enough alcohol to get anyone actually drunk, just enough to make them a little tipsy if they manage to miss the taste. A prank, not anything malicious. 

He grabs a plate, mostly to ease any suspicion if he went up to the food table and didn't take anything, and puts some cheese and crackers on it, along with a handful of strawberries. He briefly wonders if they're poisoned, but ultimately doesn't care, popping a strawberry into his mouth as he steps away from the table.

Fundy's waiting for him as soon as he steps away, an amused look painting his features. He's wearing a regular suit with a bright red tie and handkerchief. The white streaks in his ginger hair are as vibrant as ever, and Tommy realizes they match now. Thankfully, not for the same reason. But then again, Dream did have that obsession with them that one time, but he's fairly sure Fundy never died.

Things hadn't been exactly smooth between the two. They were supposed to be family, but he had hardly exchanged a sentence with the man in months. Fundy had visited him once during his exile (or was it twice? He isn't sure), staying for a few hours before having to leave. He thinks that's the longest they've talked since the revolution.

Their relationship is one of a bridge long forgotten and left to the elements, wood rotting and metal rusting. One wrong step, one misspoke word, and they both go tumbling onto the river below.

"So," Fundy starts the conversation like keys in a beater, "Spiking the punch, huh?"

Tommy shrugs, "Why not? It'd be boring if no one did anything fun."

Fundy nods in agreement, "That's why I put a whoopee cushion in Bads seat."

"That's my nephew!" Tommy cheers, "Knew I raised you right."

Fundy rolled his eyes, but the hint of a smile plays on his lips, "Mhm, sure you did."

"You say that like you didn't call me 'mommy' for years."

"It's not my fault I couldn't pronounce my T's!" Fundy hisses, ears flattening to his head.

"Mhm, sure," Tommy mocks lightheartedly, "Just admit your Uncle Mommy is your favorite."

They groan, shaking their head, "I would rather die," They gravely tell him, barely holding back snickers. The two desperately try to hold back laughter, but the dam breaks and the two burst out into cackles, ignoring the looks the others shoot at them.

"You're an idiot," Tommy wheezes.

"It runs in the family!" Fundy quips back.

"Oh that's it!" Tommy growls, lunging for the shapeshifter. Fundy yelps and twists out of the way, ‘accidentally’ hitting Tommy in the face with his tail.

Tommy spits hairs out of his mouth and goes to lunge again, but someone interrupts.

"Boys," Eret calls out, looking vaguely amused, "What's going on?"

"Fundy called me an idiot," Tommy dutifully reports.

"You called me one first!" Fundy complains, slapping Tommy's arm. Tommy just grins at him.

"Boys, boys," Eret holds his hands out placatingly, "You're both stupid."

Fundy gasps theatrically and Tommy holds a hand over his wounded heart.

"Eret, you have wounded me," Tommy shakes his head, "I have been utterly and completely betrayed."

Immediately after the words leave his mouth he winces, cursing himself for his less than optimal wording. Thankfully Eret takes it in stride, merely rolling their eyes.

"Just try not to kill each other, would you?" Shaking their head amusedly, Eret turns back to her conversation with Hbomb.

Tommy makes a mock salute and Fundy gives a very reassuring thumbs up. The two of them are silent for a moment before Tommy breaks the silence.

"I started sewing again, you know."

"Yeah?" Fundy prompts, "Making uniforms for more child revolutionaries?"

"Fuck off," Tommy bites without any heat, "Nah, I mean, I made this suit and patched up Wilbur’s old trench coat."

"I thought I recognized that pattern from somewhere. Hey, remember back during the revolution, when you were making our uniforms?"

"And ran out of the right color fabric just as I got to yours?" Tommy scoffs, "How could I forget? You badgered me to make you a new one constantly."

Fundy throws his hands up in exasperation, "Well excuse me for not wanting to wear a baby blue uniform!"

"Simply cope, king."

Fundy shakes their head in amusement, a grin poking at their cheeks "It's good to see you again, Tommy."

Tommy smiles back, "You too, Fundy."

____________

Tommy is trying to escape the crowd when George corners him. They're not even wearing a suit, looking as if they had just rolled out of bed and shown up.

"Tommy," They greet him somewhat awkwardly. 

"George," Tommy tensely replies, hand twitching for a weapon he doesn't have, "I'd say it's good to see you, but that would be a lie."

They shift their weight from one foot to another, "Do you mind if we talk?" Tommy raises an eyebrow, "In private?"

Tommy glances around briefly before nodding, "Sure."

The pair of them walk away from the crowd, just far enough away to where their words blend together into a soup of incomprehensibility.

"Well," Tommy prompts, leaning against the wall, "What did you want, Gogy?"

George sighs at the nickname, "I wanted to say I'm sorry. For what Dream did to you."

Tommy blinks, taken aback by the man's words, before bursting out laughing, "Oh, that's a good one. Now, what did you actually want?"

George furrows his brows, confused, "I...What?"

The chuckles slowly fade out and the smile slips from his face, "Wait, you're serious?"

"Yeah, I-"

"Didn't you try and break him out a few months ago?" Tommy cuts him off, voice sharp.

"I was-"

"Why are you really apologizing, George?"

"I wanted to-"

"Are you genuinely sorry about what he did?"

"Please just let me explain-"

"Or do you just think it is the right thing to do?"

George is silent now.

"Do you honestly regret standing to the side and saying nothing when he threatened to slaughter us all for a fucking prank?" Tommy sneers, "Or do you just want to apologize so you can feel better about how much of a shit person you are?"

Tommy finally pauses to let the man speak, but they just stand there, eyes glued to the floor.

"Fuckin figures," Tommy laughs, "Why am I not suprised? Go shove your shitty apology up your ass and fuck off."

Tommy turns his back on them and tries to leave, but a hand desperately clamps on his arm and stops him in his tracks. 

"Tommy, just please let me explain," They practically beg him, fingers tense in the sleeve of his tailcoat.

"George," Tommy warns, a dangerous tinge to his voice, "If you want to keep your hand, I'd suggest letting go."

The hand falls away, and Tommy doesn't look back as he returns to the crowd.

___________

It isn't much longer until the Red Banquet officially begins, Bad steps away from the entranceway after letting in the last guest, who happened to be a slightly disheveled looking Foolish.

"Now that everyone is here, we can start the banquet in earnest! Please, everyone, take your seats, which should be labeled for convenience." Bad announced, gesturing to the incredibly obvious table.

Tommy looks around, noting as everyone filters over, pulling out chairs and reading nametags. With no other choice, Tommy shrugs and joins them. 

His seat is, surprisingly, at one of the heads of the table, directly across from Bad. Puffy takes a seat to his right, and Ponk pulls out a chair to his left. He is well aware why the Eggpire chose to put one of their own next to him, but why they chose the one with one arm, he has no idea.

When Bad sits down, just as Fundy said, the classic sound of a whoopee cushion fills the room, causing everyone to giggle. It takes Bad a few minutes to fix his seat, during which he accidentally sets it off more than once, sending everyone into stifled laughter once again.

Tommy picks at his napkin as they begin to pass appetizers around, politely shaking his head when Ponk offers him a plate of shrimp, but he does pass it to Puffy when she asks for it.

It isn't until he reaches for his water that he realizes that someone had put a champagne glass in front of him. Evidently, someone had forgotten that he wasn't technically allowed to drink, or just didn't care. 

He reaches for the glass but his fingers halt just before they can touch the glass. He'd been trying to stay sober for Tubbo, and he had been doing a pretty good job of it too. Did he really want to throw that all down the drain?

It's only one glass , his brain whispers in his ear, what harm could it do?

Fuck it, he thinks, picking it the glass and downing the contents with a single swig. He isn't as used to champagne as he is to other drinks, as no one in the afterlife particularly liked it, so he coughs slightly as the drink burns his throat.

This sadly draws the attention of Puffy, who nearly chokes on her own drink.

"Tommy!" She hisses, scandalized.

"What? They gave it to me," He defends.

Puffy just sighs and shakes her head, "Doesn’t mean you should drink it, Tommy." 

"Didn't your parents teach you never to turn down something your host offers you?" He jokes.

Puffy rolls her eyes, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips, and lets the subject drop. When she turns away to talk to someone else, Ponk nudges his arm and slides him a bottle of wine underneath the table.

"If anyone asks, you didn't get it from me," Ponk winks.

_______________

There's some basic conversation as the appetizers are passed around, how's it going’s and how are you’s. Tommy sips away at a glass of wine he hides whenever Puffy glances over and he picks at some salad drenched in dressing.

"So, Ponk," Sam starts, gesturing at the man sitting to his right, "How's your arm?"

Tommy shifts slightly in his seat as Ponk glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

"It's alright," They answer, "I should be able to start with a prosthetic by the end of the week, should everything go smoothly."

Sam nods, "Maybe I could make you one? They're not exactly my Forte, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

"Sure!" Ponk readily agrees, "It's a date!"

Tommy gags, "Quit flirting, some of us are trying to eat."

Puffy snorts, so he figures someone liked the joke, even as Sam and Ponk vehemently deny any allegations.

It feels almost normal, as people bicker and argue good naturedly. He can almost let himself relax, shouting curses across the table as Bad hisses "Language!"

Almost.

He can still see the glances the Eggpire folk shoot at each other when they think no one is watching, the way their eyes are still the same, even red. He notes the way Puffys hand toys with her steak knife just a little too much to be considered normal, the way everyone tenses when someone moves a little too fast, and eyes sharp as daggers when someone reaches for something out of sight.

The room is a powder keg just waiting to blow, and Tommy just sips his wine and waits for something to spark.

_______________

It doesn't take Puffy long to catch him drinking again. He was taking a rather large sip of his wine after shouting "fuck" across the table at Bad, simply to annoy him, when Puffy glances over.

"Tommy," she says, voice deceptively calm, "What was that?"

Tommy hides the glass beneath the table, "What was what? I think you're seeing things, Cap'n, for I have absolutely nothing. Nothing to worry about, nope."

Puffy sighs, shaking her head, "Tommy, give me the wine glass."

He looks over to Ponk, "Ponk, mind giving me a hand?" He hisses.

Ponk looks away, "Sorry Tom, don't got any left to spare." Bastard.

Tommy sighs, begrudgingly handing the nearly empty glass over.

"And the bottle," She demands. He grumbles a little, but picks up the now half empty bottle from its spot next to his chair and hands it over.

Ponk, who had been watching out of the corner of his eye, frowns beneath his mask, "Wasn't that bottle full when I gave it to you?"

Tommy's cheeks, already red from the alcohol, flush even more, "Uhhhh, maybe?"

"Tommy!" Puffy admonishes, "You, young man, are cut off."

"Puffy!" Tommy whines, "Come on, it's just a little wine!"

"Nope," she deadpans, "Cut. Off."

Tommy tries his patented puppy dog eyes, but Puffy pointedly looks away. He looks over at Ponk, who shakes his head.

"You heard the lady," He tells Tommy, "No can do."

Tommy groans and slumps down into his chair. He wasn't even drunk, for Prime’s sake! The audacity. And he'd already emptied his flask into the punch, so he was left high and dry.

A damned shame, Tommy thinks, sipping bitterly on his water.

_____________

It doesn't take long for everything to go down..

It starts when Bad stands up, knocking his glass with his fork.

"I just wanted to say before we begin, thank you all for coming to the Red Banquet, and a special thank you to the guests of Honor, Puffy, Sam, Foolish, Eret, and Tommy."

"And so, without any further ado," Bad spreads his hands out as lava begins to pour from the ceiling. 

"Let the Red Banquet begin!"

Several things happened immediately after.

First, the members of the Eggpire leapt out of their seats, swords and axes glimmering in their hands.

Half a second later, everyone else dove for cover, with Puffy sending her plate into Ponk’s face as she ducked beneath the table.

The tablecloth was unceremoniously ripped off, sending silverware flying and glasses toppling. Eret hits a button on the underside of the table and Tommy is briefly lost in memories as pistons fire and a chest emerges from the table. 

Someone darts over and throws open the chest, crying out after a brief silence that it's empty. 

Someone shouts that they've been betrayed, and as the Eggpire regains their bearings, everyone turns to look at him.

Tommy, the only one still sitting.

Tommy, who has a bottle of wine in his hand that he reclaimed from where Puffy hid it and a bored expression on his face.

"You know," He drawls, taking a sip straight from the bottle, "I'd say I don't expect this, but that'd be a lie."

He catches the heart broken looks that they shoot him and he rolls his eyes, "I'm not your damn traitor or whatever, I didn't mess with your shitty chest or conspire with egghead over there," He gestures loosely at Bad.

While they're all focused on him, he watches Hannah pull out a sword, the cold metal tip settling at the back of Erets neck.

"And congratulations to one Hannah Ex-Rose!" Tommy announces, raising his bottle as the monarch stiffens, "Our very own turncoat!"

______________

At the points of swords and the edge of axes they force everyone to line up, like cattle to the slaughter.

"The Egg needs sacrifices in order to rise," Bad explains cheerfully, "And you all are the perfect subjects!"

The demon’s face falls and he can parse out genuine regret on their face, "I am truly sorry it turned out this way, but this is the last chance we have to let the Egg grace us with its presence."

"But!" Bad grins, "None of you are on your last lives, so you can be here to watch the Egg spread its holy influence to this server!"

"What about Tommy!" Puffy cries, "He's on his last life, are you going to spare him?"

Tommy almost laughs. As if.

Bad grins at him, cheeks pulled a little too tight and teeth a little too sharp, "Well, he's a special case, isn't that right Tommy?"

A muscle in Tommy's cheek lurches as the room goes dead silent, eyes flickering between the two.

"It's because he's immune, right?" Someone hesitantly asks, but Tommy is far too tired to figure out who.

Bad ignores the question and addresses Tommy once again, "They're going to find out anyway, you know. You can tell them now, if you want, or you can let them find out the hard way."

"Suck a dick," Tommy blurts, because what else can he say to that?

"Language," They frown, "Ant, Hannah, grab him."

The pair step forward, each taking one of his arms in an iron grip and pulling him towards the Egg looming in the corner of the room.

"You know, Hannah," Tommy brings up conversationally, "This server has never been kind to traitors." He doesn't need to turn around to know Eret flinches.

"Yeah?" She questions absentmindedly, tugging him over shattered porcelain and broken glass.

Tommy hums, "Yeah. I'd say good luck, but I figure you'll need more than luck."

They reach the Egg and they shove him forward, twisting him around to stare at the scared faces of the rest of the banquet members. Puffy looks half a second away from charging at Bad, but Eret’s grip on her arm keeps her in place. He gives the monarch a quick nod.

"Do you have any last words?" Bad questions, Antfrost brandishing an axe made of diamond.

Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but a shout cuts him off.

"Wait!" Foolish shouts, pushing himself forward. The members of the Eggpire tense around him, and he briefly wonders what the Demigod did to make the Eggpire scared of him.

"Can your Egg withstand a dozen lightning strikes?" 

The Eggpire glances up warily, grips tightening on their weapons as if they expect the cave roof to cave in and rain holy justice from the heavens.

A beat passes, then another, and another.

Nothing happens.

"Well," Ponk grins beneath his mask, "Looks like we won't need to find out."

"No," Foolish whispers, face falling, "No no no no no! Wait! Please! Take me first!"

They try to take a step forward, but Hannah levels her sword until it sits right on the man's throat, and he begrudgingly backs up, sending Tommy a panicked look.

Tommy winks.

"So," Bad restarts, "As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, any last words?"

"A few," Tommy chuckles, "Did you know we had a phrase, back in L'Manburg?"

It's a rhetorical question, so he didn't wait for an answer, "A pretty famous one, if I do say so myself. Niki said it."

He can see as Niki’s eyebrows furrow, wracking her mind for what he could be talking about. He sees her face pale as he realizes what he means.

"Wilbur said it."

Most of the former L'Manburg denizens now realize what he means. Fundys eyes are wide and Eret is desperately shaking their head at him. He doesn't listen.

" Eret said it."

Erets face loses any color it had and Tommy feels adrenaline rush through his veins. For the first time in oh so long, Tommy feels alive. He wonders if this is what Wilbur felt like when he pressed the button, or what Schlatt felt standing on that podium when he exiled the two of them. He thinks he understands now.

"What I'm trying to say, Bad, is that," He pauses for dramatic effect.

He spreads his arms wide out to his sides, finally lacing his brother's shoes.

"It was never meant to be."

Tommy smiles.

Tommy hits a button sewn into the cuff of his suit.

The ground shakes as a massive explosion wracks the room, blue instead of red flames erupting from beneath the Egg itself.

The force throws Tommy forward, and as his head hits the floor, his vision goes black. 

___________________

When Tommy comes to, he expects to see the void greeting him, Wilbur ready to shout at him for dying yet again. When he forces his eyes open to his head throbbing and one of his legs screeching in pain, he knows he's still alive.

Dust is thick in the air and as the ringing in his ears slowly fades into shouting, he realizes he should probably get up.

He forces himself up onto his forearms, blood steadily dripping off his nose and splattering onto the floor. Soot coats the inside of his nose and he coughs, sending even more blood painting the ground.

He tries to get up, but the moment he even thinks of moving his leg, mind numbing pain that paints spots in his eyes. His mouth tears itself open as a silent scream drags itself from his lungs.

Well, that's not normal.

He knows he should look down at his leg, Techno’s voice drifting in his ears. Whenever you're in a bad situation, they whisper into his ear, take stock of your situation. Anything you have, any injuries you may have, anything that could help or hurt you. The thought of whatever happened to his leg to make it burn like the deepest pits of the nether scares him, he will admit it, but he forces his gaze down anyway.

His leg is half obscured, rubble obscuring everything from the knee down, but what he can see doesn't paint a pretty picture. Based on how his upper leg is no longer a straight line, his femur is broken in at least one place, and a massive shard of wood has lodged itself deep into his flesh.

Well, that's not optimal.

He tunes into the ongoing argument that echoes around him just in time to hear a new voice join the fray.

"...but I brought my greatest enemy." Someone announces, and Tommy immediately places the voice.

"Big-" He coughs, blood dripping from his lip, "Big Q?"

"Tommy?" Quackity questions at the same time another voice speaks up.

"Theseus?" Technoblade.

"Where are-" The rubble shifts on his leg and he bites back a whimper, "I can't- Where are you?"

"Just- Hold on, kid, you'll be ok," Quackity sounds desperate. Why, he isn't quite sure.

The debris around him shifts and a hand wraps around his shoulder. It's too large to be Quackity’s and the claw-like nails rule out Technoblade.

A scream tears its way out of his throat as he is yanked out from beneath the rubble, the bones in his leg shifting and pulling as the debris refuses to release its grip on him.

Another strong yank and his leg is free and Tommy is held up, the point of a sword digging into his back.

"Any closer," Bad grits out, "And Tommy dies."

He can see them now, Quackity, Techno, and Purpled, glimmering armor donned over fancy suits. They are standing protectively in front of the other members of the Banquet, most of whom seem to be in varying stages of shock.

The corner where the Egg is, or rather, was, is a massive crater. The TnT he had set had worked far better than he had hoped, and based on how the Egg itself was covered in cracks, burns, and leaking a red, watery liquid, he knew its time was limited.

"And lose your only bargaining chip? Your chance of getting out of here alive?" Tommy quips, "Not the sharpest crayon in the box, are you?"

"Shut up," Bad hisses, digging the blade deeper into his spine.

"Or what?" Tommy pushes, "You'll kill me? 

"Tommy," Quackity warns. He doesn't listen.

"The Eggs beyond saving, we both know that." 

The soul sand explosives had been a pain in the ass to make, as apparently soul sand is a bit different then regular sand. But, with a bit of luck and godly interference (that he was completely none the wiser of), he managed to gather a good stack or two of it. Soul fire completely destroyed the vines, so who knows what soul explosives would do?

A lot, apparently. 

"Or what about what happened back in Snowchester?"

"Theseus I don't think-" Tommy cuts him off.

"Don't you want revenge?"

"Shut up,"

"Payback?"

"Shut up."

"Come on, do it! Kill me! Fucking kill me!" He's shouting now, "Look at them all! They all want it! They all want a reason to have your head on a fuckin’ pike!"

"Shut up!" Bad screams, and Tommy feels as a blade finally slides between his ribs.

Blinding pain sprouts from his chest and his breath catches before it can even enter his throat, caught on the sword that runs him through. His head dips and his eyes meet the tip of the sword, jutting out of his chest and into the air, slick with his blood.

A single bead builds on the tip and tumbles to the ground, splattering on the floor. 

Someone shouts his name, but his vision is tunneling and everything sounds like he's underwater. The sword is unceremoniously pulled from his chest with a sickening pop , and some part of his brain notes that it doesn't hurt anymore.

Without anything to hold him upright, Tommy collapses, his bad leg crumbling beneath the slightest weight. Warm liquid seeps into his vest as his eyes slip closed, and he's pretty sure it's not from his flask.

________________

Tommy doesn't know when he loses consciousness, but he does know when he comes back to. He's laying face down on the ground yet again, and something is soaking into his suit.

Strong hands clasp onto his shoulders and he is unceremoniously flipped over. The light blinds him briefly and when his eyes adjust, he meets the panicked gaze of none other than Technoblade himself. The man's outfit is splattered with blood like he had just murdered someone, which wasn't outside the realm of possibilities. 

"....mon kid you gotta show me the wound!" His hearing slowly fades back in and he realizes his hands are clutching the hole in his chest that the sword left as it turned him into a Tommy-ke-bob.

His hands fall away to his sides and based on the pained inhale Techno makes, it's not good.

"Ok, it's ok, you'll be ok, Theseus," Techno says, reassuring himself more than Tommy, "I've got Totems, it's going to be ok."

Techno shuffles around and pulls something small and golden from inside his cloak, quickly pressing it into Tommy's numb hands. Whatever it was, it was unnaturally cold, like it had been submerged in liquid nitrogen before he had been handed it.

For a moment, everything seemed to pause, as if the world itself were watching them as Techno closes Tommy's fingers around the effigy.

Nothing.

He can see the moment it clicks in Technos head, the moment his eyes widen and lips part.

"No," He whispers, " No no no no NO!" They seem desperate, for some reason. Didn't they want him dead? Wasn't this enough of a hero's death for him? Maybe they wanted to be the one to do it. 

Techno reaches up to his own neck and rips off his necklace, the leather cord snapping as he pulls it off. There's another totem laced through the leather, and Techno desperately presses it into Tommy's other hand.

"Come on!" Techno growls, "Work, damn it!"

It doesn't.

"Kristen! Blood God! XD! Chaos! Anyone! Please !" Tommy had never thought he would see the day Technoblade begged, but here he was. Tommy thinks the Emerald on his chest heats up slightly, but he's lost far too much blood to be sure. 

Tommy just grins sadly, blood painting his teeth red, "Totems don't work on the dead, Technoblade."

Techno recoils like Tommy had struck him, "Don't say that, Theseus, you're going to be fine. Someone! Get me some potions! Bandages! Anything! "

The crowd of onlookers, shaken from their paralysis, scramble to try and find anything of use, ripping the tablecloth into straps for makeshift bandages and rooting through an ender chest that somebody throws down.

As everyone rushes around, Tommy lifts a hand and slowly brings it up to his chest. His fingers feel like they've been dipped in lead, so he uselessly paws at his pocket, unable to open it.

Technoblade evidently decides to take mercy on him, opening up the pocket and pulling out its contents: a lighter and a lone cigarette.

After a moment of hesitation, Techno takes the cigarette and places it between Tommy's lips.

The lighter sparks, and the cigarette burns.

_____________

Time moves sluggishly and all at once, and before he knows it there are makeshift bandages pressed to his chest and packed beneath him. Techno is still kneeling at his side, putting pressure on the gaping hole in his chest, while Puffy and Fundy are crouched on either side of him. Puffy’s cradling his head in her lap and Fundy is clutching his hand like it's the last thing on earth.

Techno is muttering something under his breath, and he thinks it sounds like a prayer. The cigarette in his mouth is half burned, and the puffs of smoke that signal his breathing grow further and further apart.

Distantly, he can hear the distinct noise of a train approaching, and he can almost feel the ground rumble as it approaches the station. His eyelids feel like stone, but he forces them open for just a little longer. 

"The trains comin," Tommy manages.

"What train?" Puffy prompts, running a hand through his hair.

"The Jubilee Line."

Techno pushes on his wound hard, but Tommy's far too tired to flinch, "Don't get on that train, Theseus. Whatever you do, don't get on."

Tommy doesn't know how Techno knows what that means, but as his eyelids grow heavier by the second, he finds he doesn't care.

"M' sorry."

"Don't apologize, Theseus, you're gonna be fine. You'll be back up and prankin’ Phil in no time, just hold on."

The last thing Tommy sees before his eyes finally lose the fight and slip closed is Technos determined expression, holding bandages more blood than cloth to his chest. The cigarette slips from between his lips, all burnt up.

"Goodbye, Lycomedes."

Jubilee Line pulls screeching into the station.

Chapter Text

Hey nerds, it's your boy Turtlemeats.

As some of the more astute observers may have noticed, this is not a chapter, but instead an author's note (Because no-one actually reads the regular authors notes)

Before you panic, no, I am not canceling the story. In fact, I'm getting close to being done with the next chapter, but that's besides the point. I have gathered you all here today to simp.

You see, my beta author has recently been working on a fanfiction of their own, a modern au where Tommy does not have a good time, to put it lightly. They just posted the first chapter, and I figured I could give them the exposure they deserve, so here I am, telling you all.

The fic is called, It's Hard Enough to Talk About It by maliciousspirit and maplelynn, and I highly encourage (Threaten) you all to go read it now and leave nice comments. In fact, for every nice comment they get, I'll write more of the next chapter.

And if I see a single mean comment from one of you? I'm canceling this story.

Deadass

Well, I'm sure you all know what to do! Later, nerds!

Chapter Text

Looking at his own dead body was rather strange, Tommy decides,  standing over his limp body. The familiar cold of death greeted him like an old friend, caressing his cheek and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

His body looked awful, for lack of a better term. His suit that he had worked so hard on was coated in soot and blood, a massive hole in his chest leeching his life essence. One of his legs was an absolute mess, bent in ways that shouldn't be possible in at least three places.

Yet, despite all that, his body looked content, a small smile trailing blood from the corner of his lips. His eyes were still open, however, ruining the perfect image as his glassy eyes stared unseeingly into the ceiling.

He turns away when Technoblade starts to shake his body, shouting something that sounds a hundred miles away. The doors to the train shudder open and he begins to hobble over, his still broken leg twisting and bending as he tries to put pressure on it.

It doesn't hurt per say, but it certainly doesn't feel great.

The train doors slide closed the moment he steps in and the brakes release with a hiss. Tommy turns and watches out of the window as the world grows fuzzy and distant like a TV with no signal as the train pulls out of the station.

"This train terminates at Jubilee," The speakers announce as the last afterimages of the living world fade from the windows, "Estimated time of arrival is in One Hour."

He settles into one of the uncomfortable chairs as the train steadily chugs along, leaving the Red Banquet behind. With barely a thought, a cigarette appears in his hand, which he puts between his lips.

He reaches for his lighter, frowning when his pockets turn out empty. Realizing that Techno had his lighter when he died, he just sighs and a replacement appears in his other hand.

He breathes out a cloud of smoke, slipping the lighter into his pocket for later. He wonders what's happening back at the Red Banquet, if Techno’s painted the walls red yet.

Oh well, he'll find out sooner or later. Now all he can do is wait.

___________

When Niki had been invited to the Red Banquet, she hadn't thought it would end this bad. Sure, she had known it was likely to turn ugly, but they'd had a plan. A very flawed plan in hindsight, but it was a plan. But Hannah betrayed them, and Tommy... God's, Tommy.

Just thinking about it made her feel sick, the image of him, arms spread and the words of his brother slick on his tongue, replayed over and over in her head like a broken record.

She had told him Wilbur would be proud of him last time they saw each other, hardly a few days ago. She had been confused when he simply smiled and said I know. 

She thinks she understands now.

Her consciousness drifts away like a loose balloon as she watches Bad punch a blade through his chest, when Techno cuts down the demon like a farmer cleaves through wheat, collapsing at his side and begging the boy (because even after everything, he's still exactly that) to respond. 

She is forcibly thrown back into her body when Techno snaps for someone to get potions and bandages. Her soul settles like concrete in her body but she forces herself to move anyway, cutting strips of fabric from the tablecloth with a steak knife.

It's far from sterile, but from a quick glance at Technos blood stained hands as they desperately try to stop the bleeding, it will have to do. She passes the bandages to him with numb fingers and gags as she almost slips in a puddle of blood. His blood.

She steps back, Fundy and Puffy taking her place. She wonders if he's going to see Wilbur, if there even is an afterlife.

His red tailcoat flickers brown and wire rimmed glasses perch on his nose, one lense cracked and the other clouded over. Smoke and gunpowder fills her nose as one brother fills in for the other, Wilburs dead body grinning at her from the floor.

"Come on, Niki," Hbomb urges, carefully guiding her away from his body, "Let's get out of here."

She doesn't look back as they leave.

____________

Whoever decided on the music to play on the train was a bastard and Tommy will stab them given the chance. If he has to hear another repeat of the same fucking song about Piña Coladas and getting stuck in the rain he is going to rip the speakers out of the wall and throw them out of the damn window.

Thankfully for his sanity and the integrity of the train, the music dies down and the announcer perks up again.

"Now approaching Jubilee Station. Please keep clear of the doors until the train comes to a complete stop."

The brakes screech as the train shudders to a stop, the dimly lit train station looming through the windows. The doors slide open noiselessly as Tommy stands, limping on his one good leg. Through the doorway he can see the trio of dead men (and an endearing enderman) look up from their card game.

"Ayup boys," Tommy grins, "Who's winning?"

Tommy tries to step out of the train but his broken leg finally gives out and he crumbles onto the cold concrete. Someone curses, and cold hands clasp him on the upper arm.

"Oh Toms," Wilbur murmurs once they see that state of him, "What happened to you?"

"I did." Tommy lets Wilbur carefully pull him over to the others. It's certainly better than trying to walk.

Wilburs pauses for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, "What did you do, Tommy?" His voice is one of forced composure and calm, but Tommy knows him well enough to see through it like glass.

"I followed in your footsteps, Will." He doesn't need to see their faces to see them all recoil from his words, "We always were like brothers, after all."

"Don't say that, I will cry," Tommy doesn't think he's just talking about him calling them brothers.

"What, you blow up something?" Schlatt cuts in from his place kneeling at Tommys side, blunt as ever. Wilbur and Mexican Dream shoot him glares out of the corner of their eyes, but Tommy finds it funny at least.

"Yeah, blew that shitty cultist egg to fuckin smithereens. Good riddance, if you ask me."

Wilbur lets out a shaky breath and holds Tommy a little closer, "Fuck, Tommy, dont scare me like that! I thought you blew up Snowchester or something."

Tommy jerks back, staring at Wilbur with wide eyes, "What? I would never! It means too much to Tubbo! Too much to me!"

Wilbur just smiles but Tommy can see the sadness clouding his eyes, " And I thought the same about L'Manburg."

__________

Quackity was not a sinless man, he knew this well enough. He refused to let go of grudges, bloodying his hands holding onto things that he should have long forgiven. It had taken a pickaxe to his teeth and the loss of his eye for clarity to hit him, and hit him it did.

He tries to make up for it, building a city in the desert for him and his fiancés. Sure, it's practically sin city, chock full of gambling and alcohol, but there's no rules, no taxes, no leaders . 

He offers a place to those who have none, a family to those who've lost theirs. He invites Fundy, who lost their father, Purpled, who's UFO had been torn down by the Crimson, Sam, who began to lose himself in his work, Foolish, the lonely Demigod in the desert, and Slimecicle, a slime that masquerades as a man.

(He tries not to think about the last invite, forever unsent.)

It's still not enough. Karl and Sapnap leave him and making their own country without him with naught but a call. The rejection stings, and Sam has to walk him home after he drinks enough to make Schlatt blush.

So when word reaches him about a Banquet that reeks of a setup, he's only slightly ashamed that he immediately thinks that he could use it to redeem himself. Purpled agrees to help without much fuss, but Quackity knows that he's going to need more than just him. Thankfully, he knows just the person.

Frankly, it's a wonder that Technoblade doesn't gut him the moment he knocks on his door, giving him thirty seconds to explain himself before he takes his other eye. They seem rather opposed to the idea, only begrudgingly agreeing when they learn that Tommy's going to be there. It's a shaky truce, neither trusting the other as far as they could throw them, but it's a start.

Their grand entrance is drastically delayed when they reach the tunnel that's supposed to lead right to the banquet room, only to find it full of vines. They painstakingly carve their way through them, netherite blades splitting the red sea. 

They realize something isn't right when the dust rains from the ceiling and the vines retract back to wherever they came from. With an unsettling chill in their bones they make their way to the end of the tunnel, emerging into a chaotic scene.

Ash hung in the air like a thick fog, the distinct stench of gunpowder assaulting his nose the moment he dropped in. The Egg itself is barely holding itself together, more cracked than intact and blue fire still smolders in the crater.

Quackity hesitantly launches into the speech he had prepared, placing himself between the bedraggled party goers and the Eggpire. Purpled and Techno emerge from the tunnel behind him, weapons bared and armor glimmering. 

A pile of rubble shifts, and a raspy voice echoes through the room. He catches a glimpse of a red coat and his stomach knots when he realizes someone's under it.

"Big-" A wet cough interrupts them and Quackity’s heart drops when he realizes who it is, "Big Q?"

"Tommy?" He had known that Tommy was going to be here, but he had hoped that the kid would keep his head down and stay out of trouble.

He should have known better.

"Where are-" Quackity flinches as the rubble shifts around them and a barely audible whimper slips from their lips, "I can't- Where are you?"

"Just- Hold on, kid, you'll be ok," Quackity promises, feet already moving without him even thinking.

They're too late when they realize that they're not the only ones trying to reach Tommy. Bad wraps a clawed hand around Tommy's shoulder and yanks him out from beneath the debris, holding him out like a human shield.

"Any closer," Bad warns them, sword held to Tommy's back, "And Tommy dies."

"And lose your only bargaining chip? Your chance of getting out of here alive?" Tommy grins, and Quackity’s breath hitches, "Not the sharpest crayon in the box, are you?"

Bad mumbles something under his breath and Tommy rolls his eyes, "Or what? You'll kill me?"

"Tommy!" Quackity jerks back to reality, finally taking a good look at Tommy. They look like shit, to put it bluntly. One of their legs is useless, bent and twisted beyond what could possibly be normal, and blood drips from where splinters of wood stick into his flesh and cuts from stone shards.

Tommy continues to poke the bear with a smile on his face, and Quackity can't bear to watch anymore, the family resemblance far too familiar. He turns to his companions, lowering his voice to naught but a whisper.

"Techno," He hisses, "On three, you charge Bad while me and Purpled hold the rest off."

Techno grunts in agreement, eyes boring into Bad's very soul.

"One..."

Every muscle in his body tenses as he scans the Eggpire members, taking in all the information he can get.

"Two..."

"Come on, do it! Kill me! Fucking kill me!" Tommy's voice is a shout and Quackity startles, a brown tailcoat flickering in the corner of his vision, "Look at them all! They all want it! They all want a reason to have your head on a fuckin’ pike!"

Quackity hesitates for barely a second, and Tommy pays the price.

"Shut up!" Bad screams back, and Quackity watches in horror as a sword juts out from his vest.

Puffy screams Tommy's name as he crumbles like a marionette with their strings cut, and Quackity is thrown back into the present.

"Fuckin- Three! Go!" Techno doesn't need any encouragement, bearing down on Bad like a runaway train. As much as Quackity wants to help, he knows he and Purpled have their own job to do, and he charges at Hannah.

The fight doesn't last long, but it's still far too long. Hannah is a good fighter, but Quackity is wearing full netherite, so it's only a matter of time until she slips up.

Her guard slips a little too high for a moment too long and Quackity snaps into action, his sword dragging a bloody line across her stomach. Hannah gasps, bringing a shaking hand down to clutch at the wound as entrails begin to spill out, bloody intestines glimmering in the light.

Quackity doesn't hesitate to drive the tip of his sword up through her chin, putting her out of her misery as she falls to her knees, pain fading from her eyes.

He glances over to see Antfrost and Ponk, pretty badly wounded, fleeing from Purpled, who doesn't look particularly interested in chasing them.

"Tommy!" Techno shouts behind him, "Don't you dare die on me!"

When Quackity turns around, the image of Technoblade shaking a limp Tommyinnit paints itself across his eyes.

Puffy is next to Techno, trying to calm him down with soft words and a hand on his shoulder. She meets Quackitys eyes for a split second and shakes her head sadly at his unspoken question.

Tommy was dead.

____

"So," Wilbur prods once Tommy's had a bit of sleep and a few drinks. (He'd already had some wine at the banquet, surely a little whiskey couldn't hurt?)

"What happened?"

"Huh?" Tommy looks up from his cards, half drunk and barely paying attention. 

"What happened at the Banquet?" Wilbur elaborates, leaning over and plucking a cigarette from between Schlatts fingers. 

"Ah," Tommy knocks back the rest of his glass and sets it on the concrete floor, "S' a bit of a story."

"We've got time," Wilbur assures him.

"Ok, so after I kicked their asses at Snowchester, they decided to have a Banquet for 'peace talks.' The whole thing reeked of bullshit, so I started to plan."

"The Eggs resistant to normal explosives and fire, but soul fire burns them completely. And soul sand makes soul fire, and you need regular sand to make TNT, so I just substituted soul sand for regular sand and made some egg-scrambling explosives."

"Wait, hold on a sec," Wilbur makes a time out signal with his hands, "You made TNT with soul sand? That's...That's impossible, Tommy."

"Well, I fucking made it, didn't I?" Tommy huffs, "Now if you'll let me continue my story?"

"Yeah, c’mon lover boy, let him continue," Schlatt elbows him, uncaring about the glare that Wilbur shoots his way.

"So I put the explosives below the Egg like a day before the banquet, so they don't have much time to find it. The day comes and I show up, wearin my own suit." Tommy gestures at the clothes he's wearing, and even as soot covered and dirty as they are, the quality is evident.

"Reminds me of our old revolutionary uniforms," Wilbur smiles, memories of days long past bubbling to the surface.

"Yeah, used the same pattern and everything," Tommy softly agrees, "Just red instead of blue."

"So I show up, talk with Puffy a little, spike the punch, say hi to Fundy, basic shit." Mexican Dream cackles and slaps him on the shoulder, Schlatt grins at him, and Wilbur just shakes his head.

"And the Banquet starts, lava falls from the ceiling and locks us in. I, the incredibly intelligent man that I am, saw something like this happening, and so did the other guests, who activate a hidden switch and a chest pops out, but it's empty cause Hannah was a turncoat."

Wilbur frowns as he continues, "So they force us to line up n shit, right? And Bad starts preaching about how the Egg needs sacrifices blah blah blah, and someone mentions I was on my last life, and Bad..."

Tommy takes a shaky breath in, "Bad knew. I don't know how, but he just knew. He fuckin looked at me and grinned, said I was a 'special case' or some bullshit."

He huffs out a laugh, "Doesn't matter anymore, I guess. So they take me up to the Egg, ask if I have any last words. I say that 'it was never meant to be' and kick off the explosives, sending the Egg to fuckin kingdom come, and now I’m here!"

Wilbur groans, burying his head in his hands, "You really had to say that?"

"I had to!" Tommy argues, "It's practically tradition at this point!"

"So, you blew it up and that killed you?" Schlatt questions, "Doesn't explain the stab wound, kid."

"I don't know what you mean? What stab wound? You are simply seeing things," Tommy tries to gaslight him, but Mexican Dream butts in.

"Yeah man that doesn't look like a shrapnel wound," MD agrees.

"Ok, fine, I may have been held hostage by Bad after the bombs went off," Tommy relents.

"...And?" Wilbur pushes.

"And I may or may not have told him to kill me?" Tommy winces as the words leave his mouth.

"You fucking what?" Wilbur's voice reminds him a little too much of Pogtopia, of the man who he used to be.

"I... I told him to kill me?" Tommy's words are somehow even less sure.

"You-" Wilbur laughs, bordering on insanity, "You told him to kill you? What, did you call him killza too? You start spewing bullshit about 'my L'Manburg?’"

"Wilbur I-" Wilbur doesn't give him the chance.

"You promised Tubbo you wouldn't be the next me," Wilburs tone is as cold as the void itself, "I may not remember much of what happens through Ghostbur's rose tinted glasses, but I know you promised him that."

"It wouldn't have fucking changed anything!" Tommy snaps, "Even if I didn't tell him to kill me I was dead anyways! My leg was fucked and I was surrounded!"

"And here you are," Wilbur’s resigned now, "With nothing but a broken leg and a shattered promise."

____

Techno would not call himself a very emotional person. He was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, broadcasting his every emotion to the winds. He was closed off, holding his cards close to his chest and only showing his hand to the select few he trusts.

So he doesn't know why he cares so much about Tommy.

They had betrayed him, turned their back on him after everything he did for them, fighting for a country who didn't give a shit about him. Techno had every reason to let the bridge stay burned, to let the beams smolder and turn to ash.

But when Tommy turns up at his doorstep, axe in one hand and olive branch in another, he can't help but accept. Perhaps he thinks of days spent teaching him how to fight, nights full of myths and tall tales.

The voices in his head can't seem to agree on what to do, some screaming to leave him to freeze to death, that he betrayed them and that he would do it again. Others protested that he was just a kid, that he couldn't have sided with Dream.

Dream, the voices mentioned him a lot. Whispered words of "Exile" and "Put your items in the hole, Tommy." He knew Dream had done something to Tommy, even before they had told him they killed him, but exactly what continued to elude him.

When Quackity of all people approaches him, asking for help, he's about to slam the door in his face and let the bastard freeze. At least, until he mentions Tommy might be in danger. 

Techno finds some sick amusement in that. Quackity sure wasn't wrong.

He's pressing a wad of rags that could barely be considered bandages to Tommy's chest, desperately trying to staunch the blood that pours from his chest like a waterfall. He looks so wrong, skin far too pale and leg twisted in ways that shouldn't be possible. The voices chant in his head that this is, wrong wrong stop this SAVE HIM , but as the bandages continue to soak through he knows it's too late.

The cigarette in his mouth tumbles to the ground as his lips form one last sentence. 

"Goodbye, Lycomedes."

(Lycomedes, in the myths, was the one who took Theseus in after he was exiled from his country. They offered Theseus a place to stay when he had none, a home when he could return to his.)

(Lycomedes was the one who cast Theseus off the cliff.)

Technos heart stops dead in his chest as the implications of what he just said sink in. Tommy had called him Lycomedes once before, but he had said "Later."

This time he had said goodbye.

It doesn't take him long to realize Tommy's heart stopped too.

"Tommy?" Fundy whispers from beside him. No response. 

"This isn't funny, Theseus," Techno growls, shaking Tommy's shoulder as if he's only asleep, "Quit joking' around."

"Techno," Puffys voice is soft, like they're talking to an animal about to bolt, "He's gone."

"No, he's just pretending," Techno insists. Tommy had always pretended to be asleep to get out of chores when they were younger.

"You have to close your eyes if you're pretending to be asleep, Theseus," Tommy's eyes were still half open, glassy and unseeing. If Techno didn't know any better, he'd say they were the eyes of a dead man, but that was just impossible. Tommy Danger Kraken Innit didn't die, it was just another rule of nature. Grass was green, the sky was blue, and Tommy couldn't die.

More whispering drifted around him, snippets of "Phil" and "Tubbo" reaching his ears, but he was too focused on Tommy to think much of it.

"Come on, kid," Techno pleads, "Get up."

"Please."

Tommy doesn't get up, and the voices in his head begin to scream.

______

A guitar rests in Tommy's hands as he strums a sad tune. He's leaning against Wilburs back as the man plays solitaire with MD while Schlatt and Jambo play go fish. He can feel the wings folded beneath the man's trench coat, but he doesn't say a word. A question for another day, maybe.

With one more strum, Tommy begins to sing.

"The cute bomber jacket you've had since sixth form,

Adorned with patches of places you've been,

Is nothing on my khaki coat I got

From a roadside when I was sixteen."

Tommy thinks of Tubbo's Snowchester jacket, crafted with care and hope for a better future. He thinks of the uniforms of the Revolution, hewn from the hopes and dreams of a fledgling nation.

He thinks of Wilbur's old trench coat that feels like a second skin to him now, made from apologies and addictions, cigarette smoke and gunpowder stains.

"My boots are from airports,

My backpack's from friends."

Once upon a time, Tommy had been one of the richest people on the server, ender chest full of diamonds and netherite. Not anymore, though. 

Not since exile. 

"I'm not a man of substance, and so I'll pretend,

To be a wanderer, wondering,

Leaving ascetic belongings in hostels and restaurant bins."

Tommy leeched of the kindness of his friends, Tubbo offering him a place in Snowchester, Sam offering to build him a hotel. Dream visiting him every day in exile.

"The roads are my home, horizon's my target,

If I keep on moving, never lose sight of it.

Treating my memory of you like a fire, let it

Burn out, don't fight it, and try to move on."

The memory of the disc's festered like a long forgotten wound in his mind, ruining his relationships and nearly his life because he couldn't let go. 

"It's been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna

A bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face."

Tommy thinks of the last time he saw L'Manburg, bandaged and bruised from his fight with Tubbo. The two had spent the day wandering the abandoned streets, paying their last respects to a doomed country.

"I'll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready,

And I'll put down my roots when I'm dead."

Tommy had never felt as at ease as he did in the afterlife, no worries about sudden assassination attempts or assholes with God complexes.

"The distance is futile

Come on, don't be hasty

You'll get that feeling deep inside your bones

I'll be gone then, for when you must be alone."

He strums out a few more chords, then sets the guitar down.

_____

Phil is busy reading a book when his communicator beeps at him. He frowns, putting a finger to keep his page as he plucks the device up, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

His frown deepens when he realizes it's Quackity who's calling, who had taken Technoblade a few hours ago and disappeared to some Red Prom or something, he couldn't really remember.

He sighs, hitting the accept call button, "Quackity I swear to fuck if you've hurt Techno I will-"

"Phil," Quackitys voice is strangely fragile, and Phil pauses, "Phil, you need to get over here ASAP."

"What? Why?" Phil's feathers ruffle against his will, "Did something happen? Is Techno ok?"

Quackity huffs out a laugh, muttering something he can't quite catch, "Uh, physically? Yeah. I think he's in shock, though."

"He's what?" Phil stands, already reaching for his jacket, "Where are you? I'm leaving right now."

"We're by the spider farm, in the Egg Chamber. I'll send you the co-ords." Phil's communicator beeps again as the coordinates flash on his screen.

"Ok, I'm on my way." 

Phil steps out of his house and into the cold arctic air. The crows are waiting for him the moment his door opens, perched on the gutters and railings and regarding him with eyes black as coal. He gives an absentminded tip of his bucket hat as he rushes down the stairs, chuckling slightly as one of the bigger birds, lovingly named Brian, lands on his shoulder. 

"Do you know what happened?" He asks, trudging through the snow towards their nether portal.

"So, uh, about that..." Quackity laughs awkwardly, "So you know Tommy?"

"I am more than well acquainted with the kid I raised, Quackity." The flock goes mad, squawking Dadza and Father Minecraft. He ignores them.

"So he uh, kinda.... Died?" He can practically hear them flinch over the line, expecting shouting and vehement denials.

Instead, Phil laughs, "Again? Come on, if you're gonna make a joke, at least make it original, mate."

"I- What?" Quackity sounds genuinely confused, and Phil might have believed him had he not known better, "I'm not messing around, Phil."

"Sure, mate, sure," Phil brushes it off with a laugh, "I'll believe when I see a body."

Quackity laughs harshly, "Well, we've got his body right here, old man."

The immortal man falters, the smile dropping from his face, "...I'm sorry?"

"Well, I'm just saying, I'm looking at his fucking corpse right now," They spit, "With a fucking hole in his chest."

The world around him goes silent, the squabbling of his crows ceasing as the words sink in.

"Oh," Phil breathes, "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Quackity heaves a deep sigh, "Just- Get here soon, ok?"

The line goes dead.

The world around him is silent, naught but a breeze of wind disturbing the stillness.

Tommy Innit is dead, and Phil feels nothing.

________

Tommy waits until Wilbur has had a bit more than a little to drink before he asks the question. It's not the most moral thing to do, he's more than aware, but he doubts Wilbur will hold it against him.

"Hey Will," They hum around their bottle in lieu of a response, "Why do you always hide your wings?"

Wilbur freezes, and Tommy idly wonders if he crossed a line. Even if he did, it wouldn't matter. Wilbur could never stay mad at him for long, even in Pogtopia and especially not here.

"It's... It's a long story," They decide, setting their bottle down heavily.

"Well, we've got the rest of our lives, big man," Tommy's attempt at humor falls flat as he's met with metaphorical cricket's. Tommy looks up and sees the sullen expression painted on Wilburs face, and a twinge of regret pulls at his heart.

They lapse into a very tense silence, Schlatt and MD giving them sideways glances from the other side of the deck of cards.  Tommy debates apologizing, but every time he opens his mouth his words stick in his throat.

"They remind me of Phil," Wilbur eventually grits out, "All I can see when I look at them is Phil."

It's the answer Tommy was expecting, but he winces anyway. He's more than aware of Phil and Wilburs tense relationship, Wilbur getting more and more bitter the longer the man spent away from home. He remembers how Wilbur promised to be better than Phil with Fundy, that he wouldn't leave them alone to fend for themselves. 

"You're nothing like Phil, Wilbur," Tommy tries to reassure him, but the man just barks out a harsh laugh.

"Am I not? I left both you and Fundy behind, just like Phil did to us. We both blew up L'Manburg," Wilbur sneers, taking a swig of his drink, "Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?"

Tommy wants to assure Wilbur that he's not, that he was better than Phil ever was, but Wilbur isn't exactly wrong. Wilbur had killed himself (Because that's what it was, even if Philza was the one to stab him) and left Tommy and Fundy alone, and they'd both blown up L'Manburg in the end. 

"You were sick, Will," Tommy argues, "Pogtopia drove you over the edge, made you do things you never would have if you were sane." Schlatt finds a sudden interest in his cards.

"That's not an excuse," Wilbur shakes his head, "I still did it."

"It's not," He agrees, "But it's an explanation. An explanation that Phil doesn't have."

"...I don't want to talk about this anymore," Wilbur says after a moment, and Tommy lets silence overtake them once again.

_______

Fundy didn't quite know what just happened. He gets invited to some dumb banquet and he decides "why not" and goes. Shit hits the fan, his slighly estranged uncle blows the place the fuck up, his other estranged kinda uncle shows up with Quackity, and he proceeds to lose another family member in the span of twenty minutes, tops.

At least he got to hold Tommy's hand as he passed. It was more than he could say for Wilbur.

His relationship with Tommy was strange, to say the least. They had been thick as thieves once, Tommy distracting rude shopkeepers while Fundy and Tubbo snatched sweets and shiny things. They'd begun to drift apart, and by the time the election and Pogtopia came around, their relationship was in tatters. He'd tried to mend it afterwards, but Tommy's second exile hit like a sledgehammer and it was left to rot.

His ears are firmly flattened against his head as he reaches a shaky hand to close Tommy's eyelids. Their skin is as pale as porcelain, but heat still lingers beneath the pallor.

As he reaches out, Techno stiffens and Fundy nearly yanks his hand back, but Techno makes no move to stop him as he slowly pulls down Tommy's eyelids.

His relationship with Techno was far less defined then Tommy's was. They’d had few big interactions, Fundy getting a sparring lesson or two after some transphobic assholes gave him a black eye. (He pretended not to notice when Wilbur and Techno came home late that night, clothes scuffed and knuckles bloody.)

He had never gotten to know Technoblade all that well, as by the time he came around Phil had begun to bring them along on their adventures, disappearing for half the year.

Speak of the devil , Fundy thought as Phil rushed into the room, wings fluttering nervously. The man immediately rushed over to him and Techno, the pair of them still hunched over Tommy's still body.

Him and Phil had never been particularly close either, so it doesn't surprise him all that much when they ignore him, kneeling at Techno's side. He doesn't miss the fact that Phil avoids looking at Tommy. 

"Hey mate," Phil's voice is soft as he carefully lays a hand on his shoulder, "You with me?"

"He's gone, isn't he?" Technos voice is hollow, devoid of anything, "He's actually gone."

Phil winces, "I'm afraid so. Come on, let's get you home." They wrap an arm around Techmos shoulders, gently ushering him to his feet.

"Can't you do something?" Techno practically begs, "You're the Angel of Death, can't you fix him?"

"It's too late for that, mate," Phil shakes his head sadly, "I'm sorry."

The two leave the room in silence, and Fundy nearly laughs at the fact that Phil never even looked at his grandson. Granted, they weren't on the best of terms after the Butcher Army and everything, but he can still be bitter damnit.

Fundy is left at his uncle's side for a few more minutes until footsteps echo around the room and Quackity appears in the corner of his vision.

"Tubbo should be here soon to take him back to Snowchester," They explain awkwardly, "I'll meet you back at Las Nevadas, I'm going to help Tubbo carry him."

Fundy nods, accepting an outstretched hand and pulling himself to his feet. If he brushes away a tear from his eyes, Quackity says nothing, and in turn Fundy pretends not to notice Quackitys bloodshot eyes.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," The avian sounds genuinely distressed, "If I'd just been a few minutes quicker-"

"There's nothing you could have done," Fundy tells him, "The same way you couldn't have stopped Wilbur."

"...Maybe," Quackity begrudgingly agrees, "Maybe."

_____________

"I married a goddess, you know," Tommy casually brings up over a game of go fish. Mexican Dream, who had been taking a sip of Rum, spits it all over Schlatt, who seems just as startled.

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard you," Wilbur chuckles, "You fucking what?"

"I said that I married a god. Platonically of course."

"Ah, yes, because that makes it so much different," Schlatt dryly comments, the after a moment tentatively asks, "What god?"

"We wouldn't know them, they go to another school!" Mexican Dream quips, and Tommy flushes.

"No! She is very much real and not fake!" He protests, "It's Drista, God of Chaos and Mischief."

Wilbur nods after a moment, "Yeah, I can see that."

"Fucks that supposed to mean!" Tommy squawks. 

"You ain't wearing a ring. You just choose not to wear it or did you do some other object like earrings or something?" Schlatt points out.

"No rings, I'm simply too big of a man for a mere ring," he reaches under his shirt and pulls his necklace out, "She got me this for our 'wedding,' she's got another one with a ruby instead of an Emerald."

Schlatt whistles, impressed, "That's one helluva necklace, kid."

"Course it is," Tommy scoffs, "It's made by a god. If you think that's impressive, you should see the trident she gave me."

"The fucking what? "

________

Tubbo is halfway through eating when he gets the call.

He frowns at his communicator, setting his plate to the side as he answers, "This is Tubbo speaking, to whom do I owe the pleasure?" His old presidential habits kick in, forcing a polite tone even as he wants to scoff and tell them off.

"Hey Tubbo, it's Quackity. I've, uh... I've got some bad news." The speaker is tinny and worn out, but it's unmistakably Quackity.

"Oh?" He isn't sure how he feels about the man, after their borderline manipulation during his presidency, but he forces himself to be neutral even as an uneasy feeling bubbles in his gut.

"Yeah, I just- Are you sitting down?"

"Yes?" The uneasy feeling grows as his knee anxiously bounces beneath the table.

"It's- Tommy’s- He's dead, Tubbo."

"...I'm sorry?" The feeling in his gut sprouts and wraps vines around his heart and winds around his throat.

"Tommy's, uh, dead." Quackity repeats after a brief pause.

Tubbo blinks, his fork clattering down onto his table.

"I- What? How? When? Where was he?" 

"Bad apparently tried to sacrifice him, and he died maybe an hour ago?" The man trails off at the end of the sentence, probably realizing how bad that sounds.

"An hour ago? A fucking hour? Tommy died an hour ago and you're only calling me now?"

"Listen-"

"No! He died a whole fucking hour ago and you're only calling me now? Are you fucking joking?"

Tubbo forces himself to his feet, his chair screeching across the floor as he rushes to pull his boots on. Quackitys voice echoes through the speaker, apologies spilling from the device, but Tubbo tunes it out, lacing his boots.

"Wait," Tubbo pauses as he ties the last knot, "You said Bad killed him. Where was he." It's phrased as anything but a question.

"So, uh, have you heard of the Red Banquet?"

Tubbo clenches his jaw, "I see."

"You're not going to the Banquet, Tommy!" Tubbo protests, "They're going to kill you! Again!"

"So what?" Tommy shrugs, needle mechanically dipping up and down into the crimson fabric, "It doesn't matter, Dream will just bring me back." 

"It doesnt- Do you hear yourself? Of course it matters!" Tubbo insists.

Tommy looks up, and Tubbo wonders when his eyes faded so gray, "Does it?"

"Of course it matters!" Tubbo softens his tone, "You matter."

Tommy scrutinizes Tubbo for a long moment, then turns back to his sewing, "Fine, I won't go. M' still finishing the suit, though."

Tubbo heaves a huge sigh, "That's ok."

"You're ok, Tommy."

Tubbo shakes himself out of the past and glares at the communicator, "I'm leaving now, see you there."

Quackity tries to say something, but Tubbo masses the disconnect button and the call ends, filling the room with a suffocating silence.

Tubbo pauses just before he opens the door when hooves clack on the wood floor behind him.