Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s not over, Dream!” Crowfather shouted, out of breath. “You know it isn’t over!”

“Really, Birdie, I think we all know better than that.”

The masked figure stalked towards them, twirling his axe around in his hands. He smirked. Apprehending London’s greatest villains would definitely look good on the front page of a newspaper.

The Blade squared up and Siren cleared his throat, prepared to go down kicking and screaming if they went down at all.

“Prove you’re not dead weight and I might let you off,” hissed Dream into his comms.

Who was he talking to? The Blade had only heard because of his enhanced piglin hearing.

“Raccoon, go!”

A small, striped furball launched itself at Siren, who screamed as it scratched at his face. 

“AÅÂAAAAAAÆ WHAT THE FUCK YOU FLUFFY BASTARD CROW HELP ME AAAAAAAAÁÁÄÅGGGGGHHHHH”

Right on cue, Crowfather swooped over, grabbing both Siren and Blade before making a swift escape, dodging the arrows from Flame’s crossbow and flying into the darkness.

Siren was still screaming his throat sore, because the hissing fluffball had latched itself onto his face with its sharp claws. Fuck, he was still with them.

Crowfather landed on a roof and separated the fluff from the Siren, and held it at arm's length before it scratched him too. Siren’s left cheek was bleeding, the other very scratched but the skin not broken, and he was still screaming bloody murder.

Blade took the opportunity to leave and started jumping from roof to roof until hopping down at a taxi park. He took off his pig-skull mask and red cloak in an alley (he put them in his pockets) and put on a hoodie, hailed a taxi and went home.

Meanwhile, Crowfather was struggling.

“Siren, shut up; Raccoon, stop wriggling.”

The smaller did not stop, but did falter slightly at his words.

“Siren?”

“Stop squirming you little shit,” commanded Siren, voice syrupy with his power yet also very stressed. 

The writhing mass of fur disappeared and a small, blond raccoon hybrid appeared in its place, quivering.

Crowfather began checking him over for any trackers or communicators he still had on. He took the communication device out of his ear, crushing it under the heel of his boot.

He found a small tracker embedded into the kid’s neck. He winced as he pulled it out, leaving a raw red patch on the skin that started bleeding. He crushed that too under his heel.

He also found a strange object in the sole of the raccoon’s shoe,which he assumed was a tracker or similar, and crushed it as well. He then chucked the now useless electronic parts off the roof, scattering them to the winds.

He moved the green neckerchief the kid wore to cover his eyes, for security, in that he would not know what their house’s location or what it looked like.

“Right then, let’s get you two home,” 

“Ooh, can we keep him in the basement? Pleeeeease?”

Siren would not describe himself as spiteful, nor mean. He would, however, say that it BLOODY HURT when a small child with CLAWS latches onto your face.

But that was neither here nor there.

***

Siren kept a firm hold on the now quieter furball and waited in the hall of the detached three-floor townhouse in the suburbs.Now that his makeshift blindfold had been pulled down again, he could see the living room from where he was - the villains had good taste, he thought. 

The wallpaper was patterned with cream and green stripes accented with gold, kind of similar to Crowfather’s hat. The sofa too was green, but a darker, richer shade of soft fabric. A TV hung on the wall above the fireplace, where a log fire burned.

The Blade was already on the sofa. He was watching a recording of the fight on YouTube, skipping back and forth and seemingly taking mental notes on improvements that could be made.

Crowfather sighed. 

“We talked about this, Te- Blade. It’s not healthy to judge yourself too harshly on things that-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it old man. What are we doing with the kid?”

“We’re putting him in the basement!” Siren called from the hall.

Blade snorted. “Weird way to refer to the spare room but okay”

He took up his cloak from the back of the sofa and, grabbing a set of keys from a hook by the door, pushed past Siren and took the child, now hissing again, by the scruff of the neck. He unlocked a small door in the hallway that the child had not noticed - it looked like a cupboard or something, but led instead to a wooden staircase going down.

The basement was not nearly as bad as the kid had imagined - a nice area with a sofa facing a TV and a twin size bed in one corner. A door on the other end of that wall likely led to a bathroom. The walls were painted a light shade of reddish-pink, one wallpapered with a rose pattern (a bit girly, thought Blade, but really, with his pink hair he wasn't one to judge). 

Honestly, the kid thought it was a very nice room - probably too good for him but he wasn’t about to question his good luck. 

Siren came down after them , holding a rope — presumably to tie down the hostage — and put it down on the sofa next to the Blade.

The Blade guided them both to sit at a table that the raccoon had not previously noticed. He sat down himself with an air of both power and purpose, ready for an interrogation.

“ What’s your name? ”

The raccoon looked blank. He had expected worse from the Blade, renowned for his bloodthirsty nature and ruthless torture of prisoners and enemies.Was that really what he was asking, or was it a trick question? He could try- 

“What’s your name?”  the Blade asked again.

Shit, he had taken too long to answer . The child’s raccoon ears flattened back against his head and he chirped quietly, tail puffing up. Frankly, Blade thought it was adorable. 

The raccoon hybrid frantically started signing, spelling a word out with his fingers.

Now it was Blade's turn to look blank. He exchanged a glance with Siren, who shrugged. “Phi— Crowfather knows sign, right? I- I’ll go get him.” Siren hurried upstairs, looking very unsure despite the blindfold-like mask covering most of his face.

*click* 

      “DAAAAAAAAAAAD DAD DAD DAD” 

      “What”

“Um, anyway. How are you?”

Silence in response.

      "THE KID SIGNS DAD I DON'T-

“Right, stupid question.”

       -IGN LANGUAGE HLEP”

      “Okay, okay, calm down, I'm coming.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The Crowfather knocked on the door and the Blade went over to let him in.

The Blade whispered something. The crowfather snorted and walked over to the raccoon hybrid. 

“Can you tell me your name, mate?” 

The northern accent washing over his words was vaguely comforting, as was the fact that he signed along as he spoke, albeit slightly clumsily. 

The raccoon’s eyes widened in awe. Obviously he knew other people signed, but he had never met one in real life! He frantically started signing again, even faster than before but each movement still precise. 

The Crowfather looked bewildered, but quickly regained his composure. 

Right, sorry mate, but you're going to have to slow down a bit there.”

The child started signing again.

My name is T-o-m-m-y and I am hearing but I don't like to talk. I think it’s— Are you guys going to be mean?

“No mate, we won't hurt you unless we feel it absolutely necessary.” He looked rather relieved that he did not have to sign, but made an effort to try anyway.

Tommy also looked relieved.

I think it’s really cool that you know sign! I’ve never met anyone else who does.

“Aww, thanks. I think it’s really cool that you’re so fluent in sign! I’m a bit out of practice myself.”

The child chittered, grasping his striped tail that was wrapping itself around him and hiding his face.

The Crowfather smiled and turned to the other two who were watching the conversation rather awkwardly.

“His name is Tommy, he can talk but doesn't like to.”

“So he’s selectively mute? Should we sign?”

“Yeah, I guess… Siren, I didn't think you knew this sort of stuff.”

“I don’t really, I just know like a few signs and that's it,”

“Good on you, that’s better than most. I can help teach you both a bit more if you like?” 

The two agreed. That would be something to do.

A way to communicate with the hostage was incredibly useful, not to mention very lucky.

But the Crowfather was also concerned. As he went upstairs, he thought - kids don’t often just choose not to speak for no reason - there’s always a reason. That reason may be small, but there’s always a reason. 

Meanwhile, Blade wanted to get on with an interrogation and was making it rather known. Siren, however, had different plans.

“Look, Blade wants me to do the interrogation now, but I'm tired, and you’re tired, and I want to sleep because it is 3 in the morning.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. 

“One more thing, Tommy; Behave. One toe out of line and you’ll see why the Blade has the reputation he does,”

And with that he was gone with a swish of trenchcoat, leaving nought but a faint smell of smoke.

The Blade chuckled. Always a flair for theatrics, that one.

“He's not wrong. But some ground rules would be a good guide, wouldn't they? Mhm, right.  Rule One: No trying to escape. Obvious, right? I see no need to tie you up, but give me a reason to and I will. The door is locked anyway, with one of us standing guard.”

Technically, this wasn't true, but if it discouraged escape attempts then what could it hurt?

“Rule Two: I treat you as you treat me. Show me respect and I will do likewise for you. But try to hurt me or my friends, I will repay you with violence tenfold. Got it?”

Tommy nodded. Fair enough, he supposed.

“Rule Three. Take care of yourself. The better condition the hostage is in, the more we get. You are precious cargo, so treat yourself as such.”

Tommy was baffled, but nodded nonetheless. It was easiest to agree with people in power because then you didn’t get punished.

In Blade’s opinion Tommy understanding was a good thing. With that out of the way, they could finally sleep; Siren was right, for once.

“I’m gonna go sleep too, and so should you. Precious Cargo and all that.”

Then Tommy was alone. In a swish of red cloak, the man was gone with a click of the lock behind him.

That click was the proof that Tommy was well and truly done for. Dream wouldn’t want the effort of getting him back, not at all.

Dream only kept him around because he enjoyed having control over someone. Because being a top hero didn’t give him enough control, I guess - what a freak.

Anyway, he was replaceable. Dream always said raccoon hybrids were pretty common- not quite as common as avians, but much more common than demons. But then again, Dream also said he ‘didn’t have a crush on George’ and that he ‘was not going to ask him out shut up’.

Tommy chuckled to himself and curled up at the foot of the bed on top of the warm yellow duvet, tail wrapping around him. 

He didn’t believe much of what Dream said, looking back. It took almost 6 months for Tommy to discover Dream was a top hero, and even longer to meet anyone else.

But at least Tommy knew one thing that Dream had been completely truthful about. Tommy was loud, brash, and annoying. 

Tommy knew that, and tried to keep himself from making annoying comments at the wrong times. He did try his best, really, but he never properly thought about what he said before he said it.

Then, about 3 years ago, Dream said he wished Tommy “would just shut up.”

That actually gave Tommy the best idea he’d ever had: if he couldn’t control what he said, he just wouldn’t say anything! It was the perfect solution, and Dream seemed to think the same. 

He snapped less because there was nothing Tommy said wrong! Every few weeks that passed, Tommy found another punishment he’d avoided. He shuddered. He still had some scars from those punishments.

But the kid was naturally very talkative, so when he found a guide to BSL, he had discovered another way to chatter endlessly to himself - Sign Language!

During these long hours left alone in the apartment, he would study non-stop, both from the book and from secret looks at Dream’s computer, having full conversations with the mirror, singing songs of freedom, and chattering animatedly with himself in silence. 

He rearranged his tail, wiggling the end of it. A habit that Dream despised, one that perhaps would not be completely hated in this household of hybrids. Crowfather was, hence the name, an Avian (one with functional wings, relatively uncommon these days), and the Blade was distinctly a piglin hybrid (maybe even from both parents, he had very strong piglin features), and Siren … was also there..

 and there were rumours he had fucked a fish but that was distinctly not the point.

The only hybrid in the hero tower that he knew of was Captain, who was really called Puffy, but she retired two years ago. There were also a few cleaning staff who were hybrids, but none stayed longer than 10 minutes, and they didn’t talk to him. Except for Steve the Janitor, a zombie hybrid who would sometimes eat his lunch with Tommy. He had the strangest lunches - mushroom stew one day and an entire steak the next, and an entire loaf of bread the next. 

He was cool. Tommy kinda missed him, in a way, even if he did only see him once or twice every few weeks.

He wondered if he’d see Steve again.

He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, and found himself looking back on memories of his life before Dream found him. He supposed he had quite a good memory - he couldn't have been older than 4 or 5.

One memory that he looked back on fondly was playing cars with another kid, a tall boy with a two-toned face. He could possibly have been an enderian because he loved picking up hunks of dirt or sand and putting them down elsewhere. In this memory there was a large chunk of dirt in the middle of the floor. He also, if Tommy was remembering right, had a tendency to appear behind you when you weren't looking.

He probably was an enderian, now that Tommy thought about it. The purple specks that floated around near him occasionally were another clue.

He thought someone else was there too, someone with a green shirt and brown hair.

He also remembered the cold, dark alleys he slept in for a while, though sometimes he wished he didn’t.

Another memory he had was of laying on a blanket in the park. He looked up, and could see a tall faceless woman looking fondly at him. He must have been really young - he can only remember the woman’s dark hair from beneath a large black sunhat, and the scent of black roses.

He liked that woman, even if he doesn't know who she is. She made him feel wanted.

He fell into deep sleep after that. He dreamed about that woman, and a feeling of complete and utter safety enveloped him.

He definitely liked that woman.

Chapter Text

Technoblade’s first thought when he woke up was “ah fuck, i should get up.”
He got up half an hour later when he remembered that they had a hostage in their basement.

“You’re up early,” remarked Phil, preparing pancakes on the stove. “It’s only 9 o’clock.”
“Yeah, uh, Phil has the hostage eaten, like, at all since he got here?”

“No. D’you wanna take him something? We have some blueberries and some strawberries for toppings, what do you think he’d prefer?”

“Dunno. I’ll take a plate of each and eat the one he doesn’t.”

“Sure, that’ll work.”

So that’s how the Blade went downstairs in his pyjamas and with 2 plates of pancakes, pig-skull mask hastily thrown on as an afterthought.

Needless to say, Tommy was rather thrown off by the great and powerful Blade wearing blue checked drawstring pants and a t-shirt; let alone one that stated ‘Don’t talk to me until i’ve had my coffee,’ with the last part scribbled out in sharpie - it now simply said ‘don’t talk to me,’.

The Blade was similarly surprised to find Tommy sitting under the table with a book on physical combat, likely from one of the shelves in the corner.

After a few moments of awkward silence, the pink-haired villain was the first to speak.
“Uh… I brought breakfast?”

Tommy scampered out from under the table, leaving the book there. Breakfast was a luxury when he was with Dream, so he was going to make the most of this. It would only be so long before they stopped too.

He hesitated at the two plates that the Blade held, evidently caught in confusion.
“Which one do you want? There’s blueberries and strawberries, but uh, I think you can tell.”

A choice, huh? What if Tommy chose wrong? Would there be a punishment? They said they wouldn’t hurt him, but what if they were even worse than Dream? They were villains, after all; if Dream was a good guy, the bad guys must be awful!

“Hey kid, calm down, they’re only pancakes, there’s no wrong answer.”

Tommy’s tail curled around his leg.

“Would you prefer it if I chose for you?”

Tommy nodded, relieved. Blade gave him the plate topped with blueberries, which Tommy was secretly overjoyed about - he wasn’t the biggest fan of strawberries, if he was honest.

They sat at the table together as they ate. Tommy was amazed at the quality of the food (no he did not chitter over it thank you very much), and showed Blade his opinions through some slow, exaggerated signing that (thank god) he could figure out. They sat in silence after that, Tommy taking sips of his water between large bites of pancake.

That was, until Blade started collecting the cutlery and he recalled where he found the kid.

“Hey, why were you under the table earlier?”
Tommy signed something.
“You were reading? I saw, but why under the table?”
Tommy hesitated before signing again, putting one hand vertically atop the other and bringing it to his chest.
“Yours? A possession?”
Tommy shook his head and signed a different one. Two splayed hands going up and down at the sides of his chest.
“Uh, stimming but slower? Um, cold? Wet hands?”
Tommy shook his head, exasperated and embarrassed. Then, a sign Techno understood. He mimed writing with a pen and paper.

“Oh, sure, that’s easier.”

He got a notepad from the bookshelf - he kept some basically everywhere because he would forget everything otherwise. For once, having ADHD came in useful.

He set down the pencil and paper, flipping to the next clean page.

“Why were you under the table?”

Tommy paused. He had barely written anything in several years, and his spelling was atrocious. Yet, better than nothing. He wrote two words. Felt safe.

Blade’s heart melted. This poor kid, hiding because it ‘felt safe’. His piglin instincts began sounding alarm bells, and the voices started yelling pitying things about the poor boy. Although, if he thought rationally, he could tell that boy was a raccoon hybrid, so maybe that was just his den for the night.

Yes, that must be it; piglin instincts were a bitch sometimes for Blade, so it was logical that sometimes a raccoon hybrid would want a den.

“Is that a raccoon thing, or…?”

Tommy paused, pencil poised. He didn’t actually know much about raccoons, or even hybrids in general (except Steve from the hero tower, but he never talked about being a hybrid much).

He thought. He could vaguely remember hiding under tables and in cupboards and laundry baskets all his life, not just with Dream. He just thought he was a bit weird, but it would explain a lot if it was a raccoon thing.

“Kid?”

Shit, he forgot about the Blade.

I…
Oh. What to write?
I don’t actally know.

“Huh. I’m not sure either, I don’t know much about raccoons. I do know that the piglin part of my brain is really annoying sometimes though,” he said, nodding.

That seemed reasonable; it was nice to know he wasn’t alone in having impulsive urges to do things (like hiding under tables).

He looked up at the Blade. The Blade looked back.

“I think I get the instinct thing more than most ‘cause I- oh. Never mind.”

Tommy motioned him to go on, tilting his head to the side.

“No, no- I was- it- um-”
He took a deep breath.
“I was about to tell you something that could potentially give away my identity.”

Oh. Weird.

Even Dream didn't say much that could be given away to potential enemies.

It was strange that a villain would be so open that he had to focus on what he said.

Besides, Tommy couldn’t be trusted. He was (technically) on the side of the heroes - and Blade was a villain. They could not trust each other.

And yet, he still wanted to. Perhaps because this was the first person in years that had shown genuine care, and he was being held hostage by them. Maybe that said something.

Tommy decided to respond, since it seemed Blade wasn’t planning to say anything else.

Would it?

Two words.

Blade seemed to consider for a moment.

“I don’t- hmm. Y'know what, just forget I said that.”

Weird.

Ok. Can we go back to tauking about instincts & stuff?

Blade made no comment on the kid’s spelling, and relaxed a bit.

“Yeah, sure. I actually have a book that does a pretty good job of explaining stuff. I could go get it?”

Tommy noticed, and also relaxed a bit. Most wouldn’t really notice, especially with Blade’s mask, but Tommy had practise at reading emotions from living with Dream. He would say he was pretty good at it too.

If Dream came home and immediately slumped onto the sofa, he was tired. If he slammed the door, he was angry. If he hung up his keys on the hook rather than just tossing them onto the counter, he was tense and wanted everything in its place.

If he was happy, Tommy would sometimes go up to him and welcome him home. If he misread Dream’s body language while he still wore the mask, he would likely be punished.

He hated those punishments. They hurt most of the time, but he could deal with that. No, it was the buildup to them. He would often be put in a small dark room, like a closet.

Not a problem; he quite liked the dark. But he hated the utter silence.

Eventually, Dream would be heard selecting a weapon in the room outside. If he wanted to practise knife-throwing, it would sound like a couple of tin cans in a bag, blades clattering together. If he wanted to practise crossbow targeting, the string would occasionally twang, and the arrows would go clunk against the metal quiver that held them.

But the worst by far was the shink noise the axe made as it was unsheathed.

Then silence, but for the slow footsteps as Dream approached.

Then the harsh clack of a deadbolt unlocking.

You can guess what came after.

***

“Kid? You okay?”

Tommy began signing (sorry, zoned out) before realising that Blade would not understand, so wrote instead.

“We were talking about instincts and stuff, and I was wondering if you wanted to know anything in particular.

Oh yes, they were! Tommy began scribbling down half sentences, barely trying with the spelling anymore, before pausing. At the bottom of the page, he wrote something.

coud i just rite a list of Qs?

God, this kid’s spelling was awful.

“Yeah sure, knock yourself out.”
At Tommy’s alarmed look, he hastily added,”Nononono not literally please don’t actually knock yourself out its a phrase Phil would kill me please-”

Fuck.

He just accidentally leaked Phil’s name to some kid, who was ALSO A HOSTAGE! Oh Gods, Phil would kill him, if not then Wilbur-

Tommy panicked at the Blade’s alarm, and did the first thing he thought of.

Blade looked up as a small hand was placed over his own. Tommy’s big blue eyes looked through the mask into his own. He couldn’t see through the mesh (hopefully) but still managed to comfort.

Tommy chittered.

Blade chuffed in response.

It shocked both of them.

…

They stared at each other for a moment, before Blade made an excuse to leave, something about how he thought he heard Crowfather call him, before he grabbed the plates and went to escape the awkwardness.

He did pause at the door, hands full.

“Uh, Tommy, was it? If you still want to find out more about hybrid stuff, I think I have a book on it somewhere. I could bring it down later.”

Then he did go, leaving a very confused Tommy with some very conflicting emotions.

Did… Did Blade just reveal Crowfather’s name to him?

And then did Tommy fucking CHITTER at him??

And then- then did the Blade, renowned for his violence, chuff at him affectionately????

This day was really fucking weird.

***

Blade did in fact return later with a book, remembering to lock the door after he left this time, but did not make eye contact.

Crowfather (or should he say Phil) also came down after to bring him dinner - some sort of meaty, potatoey pie that he said was "Shepherd's pie”. Tommy hoped it wasn’t made of real shepherds.

He read the book Blade gave him until the clock on the wall reached about 8pm - he never really learned how to read clocks in detail - then went to bed.

It was a pretty good book, and explained quite a bit.
But it did not explain what sort of weird-ass fucking day just happened.

Chapter Text

Tommy didn’t see Blade for the next few days. Crowfather brought him his meals most of the time, and Siren the rest. They sometimes sat with him while he ate, mostly in silence.

Crowfather (Phil?) would sometimes sign a couple of sentences, and Tommy would reply in the same way - it was only small talk though, nothing even remotely as interesting as the (albeit brief) chat he had with Blade.

Tommy had learnt a lot from the book Blade gave him. For example, he learned that most avians preferred not to eat meat unless they were birds of prey, and that piglins had a thing for gold and often hoarded it. That creepers often had trouble with the air so may wear masks sometimes. That enderians could not only teleport to random locations, but control where they went if they were practised enough. That goats had a habit of headbutting people they cared about, even before their horns grew out.

There wasn’t much about raccoons though.

He wondered if Blade had any books that focused more on raccoon hybrids. 

They were common though, Dream said.

He made a mental note to ask Crowfather next time he came down.

***

Techno had been sitting in his room feeling guilty for the past two/three days. The voices were not helping, alternating between 

“What have you done” 

“Everyone will hate you now” 

and 

“E’ ‘E’ ‘E’ ‘E’ ‘E’ ‘E”

Both were equally annoying.

Phil was concerned; Techno could tell whenever he knocked on the door to give him meals.

Sure, maybe lying in bed for 56 hours straight (going on 57), only moving to charge his phone or go to the bathroom could be seen as not a great use of time, sue him. But it was all he could bring himself to do.

How would Phil react when he found out that Techno had revealed his name to a hostage?

“Hey mate. Can I come in?”

Speak of the devil. Techno made a non-commital grunt.

Phil entered, still wearing his green and white striped hat. The veil was pushed up though, revealing the emerald earring that Techno had given him hanging from his ear. He’d probably just seen Tommy; and just that thought set off a new flood of voices:

‘Nooo poor boyyyy :(((((‘

‘Noooo Techno how could youuuuuu?’

‘You should apologise to everyone then jump off a cliff’

‘E’

‘E’

‘E’

And there they went.

“Techno, did you hear me?”

Techno grunted again, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Voices bothering you again?”

He nodded.

“Here, I brought water.”

Sure, Techno could do with something. He didn't really feel thirst, but he supposed it was a piglin thing - a lack of water in the nether was likely the cause. That didn’t mean he didn't get dehydrated - he had passed out one too many times on a summer day for that to be the case.

He sat up slowly, taking a sip. He ran a hand through his pink hair; it was greasy and tangled from days of laying in bed.

He grimaced - he took real pride in his hair, and he never liked when it got too bad.

Phil either noticed, or had developed new mind-reading powers, as he suggested he brush it.

“Just like when you were younger.”

It sounded nice. Phil seemed to understand his expression.

He got a hairbrush and some dry shampoo off the dresser and walked over. Techno turned around, taking out the scrunchie that was keeping his hair out of his face. 

The brush through his hair was both comforting and grounding, distracting (at least for now) from the voices that were still chanting at him.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure about that mate?”

“Mhm.” 

“Look, you’ve been hiding up here since you came out of Tommy's room the other day. Are you sure?”

“I- um- yeah, yeah it’s fine.”

“Okay.”

...

“You can talk to me about anything, y’know once I-”

“Phil I accidentally told him your name.”

Silence. Techno mentally prepared himself for the anger, and the voices were prepared to distract him at any time.

His therapist said they were a trauma response.

He said they were annoying.

The awaited anger never came. Instead, a gentle hand brushed through his hair contemplatively. 

“Is that it?”

Techno nodded.

“Techno, that’s not too bad.”

“What if he tells Dream?”

“Techno there’s probably thousands of people called Phil in England alone, and I hide my accent for a reason.”

He paused, and began braiding Techno’s hair; it was intricate, probably a Dutch braid or something. Techno couldn’t do those, and he never had the patience to learn.

“So you’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Techno.”

Techno suddenly felt rather stupid for hiding in his room.

“Sorry,” he said, passing Phil the scrunchie he had been fiddling with.

He tied the end of the braid and sighed.

“Techno, I won't lie, I am slightly annoyed that you didn’t tell me sooner.”

”I’m not mad!” he hastily added, seeing Techno’s expression.

“I just don’t want you to spend days in your room like that. It- it scares me.”

Techno turned back to face him with an unplaceable expression.

Phil took off the hat, letting his blond hair fall around his shoulders. 

“Should I have talked to you sooner?”

“No- yes- Dad, I’m pretty sure you know better than I do. You are a brilliant parent.”

Phil’s dark wings spread slightly before returning to their default, and he looked distant for a second, smiling, as though he was reminiscing about something not-so-long gone. A gentle breeze swirled around him - a sign that he was feeling something pretty strongly. 

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Techno, I think the kid kind of misses you.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah.”

“Should I apologise for disappearing?

“You don't have to, but he might appreciate it.”

“How should I?”

Phil tapped his chin in thought.

“Well, he really liked that book you gave him. Should I ask if he wants anything specific?”

Techno considered.

“Nah, I think I know what he’d like.”

“Well I’m going out later anyway so you can come with me if you like. I’m doing the whole ransom message thing over at that shitty cafe.”

“The one that gave Wilbur food poisoning for a week?”

“‘Yup. I’m thinking we use their computer for it, with any luck the heroes will close it down once they’ve tracked the signal.”

“D’you wanna message Dream directly? There hasn't been any news about him, and Niki didn’t even know he existed.”

Niki, more commonly known as Nihachu the hero, was a double agent - she was secretly part of the Syndicate, an underground gang of villains, and would pass on any information she had from the hero tower where she worked. 

Her motive? A view on the state of the government and the hero system that was shared by the syndicate.

Techno had informed her many times of how dangerous it was for her, but she continued nonetheless. She knew the risks, she said, and was happy to help in any way she could.

Phil said it was a good idea, and Techno agreed to go out with him if Wil kept half an eye on the kid.

* * *

An hour later, Techno was wearing a burgundy jumper tucked into black trousers, and gold jewellery - necklaces safely circling his neck under the jumper, earrings trailing over his pointed ears and rings around his fingers. It was more comfort than glamour - Piglins hoarded gold, can you tell?

He was sat in the car beside Phil, who was wearing distinctly more casual clothes and had turned his wings invisible - uncomfortable, but necessary for his identity.

“Where should I drop you?”

“I was thinking Eret’s library bookshop? They have a really wide range.”

Eret’s was a library, but you could buy the books as well if you enjoyed it. It was a good system, hence why Techno suggested it - that, and that Eret was nice to talk to.

They chatted some more, about if Techno wanted anything from Morrisons while they were out (he did, more potatoes), about which way it actually was to Eret’s (Techno was right, the second left rather than the first), and similar small talk.

“Here, get out now and you can walk down the road. Call me if you need, I won't be far.”

“Phil, I’m almost 20, I'll be fine.”

He sighed.

“Yes, I know, but just because you’re a legal adult doesn't mean you have to be completely independent.”

“Alright, yes, I know. Bye Phil!”

“Bye!”

Techno walked down the path towards the bookshop. It was run by Eret, a very nice person who always wore sunglasses, even indoors. They had a similar style to Techno so they got on quite well, despite not talking very often.

A bell chimed as he walked in, and Eret looked up from behind their desk at the newcomer. 

“Hellooo,” Techno said.

“Ah, Techno! I haven’t seen you in a while; what’s been going on in the grand life of a pink-haired fencing champion?”

“Eret, that was years ago. Plus, I wasn’t even that good.”

“You got to nationals twice in three years! Anyway, are you looking for anything in particular, or just browsing?”

“Uh, you got anything on raccoon hybrids?”

“Oh, I might… If I do, it’ll be over there - look, I’ll show you.”

They strode towards the non-fiction section, pausing as they waited for Techno to follow.

“Why do you want raccoons specifically? They aren’t that common, thus there’s not that much research.

“Uh, Phil found a kid-”

“Another one?”

“Yes, but while we try to find his parents we figured it couldn’t do any harm to know a little more.”

“Why not use google?”

“Eh, I prefer to have all the info in one place.”

“Fair, fair. I’m assuming the kid is a raccoon?”

“Yeah.”

Eret carried on brushing his fingers along the shelves of books before they found one, handing it to Techno.

“Is the book for the kid? This might be a bit advanced for him, I can see if there’s something else…”

He continued browsing, now onto the bottom shelf, with Techno standing awkwardly behind her.

“Yeah, sorry but that’s it. It’s a bit advanced; is that okay?”

“He’s a smart kid - I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

“Ok, cool.”

As they got back to the counter, Eret scanned the barcode and asked, “Purchase or loan?”

Oh. Techno had not considered that. The kid was a hostage, so wouldn’t be there for long, right? For some reason, his heart sank a little.

“Uh, just a loan please.”

“Need a bag?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Eret handed him the book and his receipt.

“It’ll be due back in two weeks and I have your email already, so hopefully I’ll see you then!”

“See you then, say hi to Goose for me!”

Techno left the shop, holding the book. It had only taken ten minutes, but Phil wouldn’t be done for about an hour, if not two.

He wasn’t that far from their house - 45 minute’s walk at most. He texted Phil.

Hey Phil, should I walk home? I don’t have anything else to do. -Techno

Yeah sure if you want 😀

Great, I will do just that. See you later! -Techno

He set off walking down the street at a slowish pace, as he had nowhere to be just then. He liked doing that, taking a stroll - God knows it scared the life out of Phil when he disappeared to walk around the neighbourhood at ungodly hours, for no reason other than that he just felt like it.

When he got home, Wilbur was sitting on the sofa scrolling mindlessly on some social media or another. They were all the same really - just a way to waste time.

“Boo.”

Wilbur jumped practically a foot in the air. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Techno! Don’t do that to me.”

“How’s the kid?”

“He has a name.”

“Alright then, what’s his name?”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes at Techno and went back to scrolling.

“ Tommy is still in the basement, right?”

“No, I decided to let him roam free once more,” Wilbur remarked sarcastically, continuing to scroll … Twitter, judging by the font. “Of course he’s still in the basement.”

“No need to get aggressive, Wilbur. I wanted to grab him some food.”

Never mind that it was only half past 4.

He went to the kitchen. What to cook? There were potatoes in the cupboard (obviously, but they were running low) and some salmon in the fridge. 

He remembered one recipe he’d made a few times before - a potato and salmon grill, it was called - and it was both quick and easy.

Now, where to start? 

Grabbing a pot and filling it with water, he turned on the radio, and Jazz FM started playing.

He swung his hips to the music as he chucked the potatoes into boiling water, long pink hair tied back into a messy bun. He flaked the salmon into chunks in preparation, then at the roughly 10 minute mark added 100(ish) grams of frozen peas to the potatoes.

After about 2 minutes, he drained the pot he was using of water and tipped the remainder into a mixing bowl. He gently tossed the salmon with the potatoes and peas, sprinkling in some salt and pepper.

Finally, he spooned it into a dish and spread some greek-style yoghurt over the top, then scattered with cheese. He put it under the grill for a few minutes, and took it out as a song ended.

‘… that was the infamous “Take the A train,” by Duke Ellington, written in 1941 and inspired by the rapidity of the trains that rumbled down the express tracks. Next up, a beautiful piece from the very next year, “Trav’lin’ light” by-’

Techno turned off the radio and dolloped a serving out onto a spotted plate for Tommy, before poking his head round the doorframe and asking if Wilbur wanted any yet.

At the answer of no, he put the dish back in the (now off) oven to keep it warm for Phil, who had texted saying he’d be home soon.

Techno took off his oven gloves and put on his villain mask, then grabbed the steaming plate and some cutlery. What had he forgotten? Oh yes, the book! He took it from the table and headed down to the basement. 

He struggled slightly to unlock the door with his hands full, but managed.

Upon entering the room, he first put down the plate, then looked for the child. 

Shit.

He frantically scanned the room again, checking where he hadn't before.

Shit.

“Tommy?”

He was met with a thud from below the bookshelves in the corner as Tommy fell off the top. He looked up from the ground as the shelves began to topple towards him. 

“Look out!”

Techno leaped to him and grabbed him out of the way, leaving the bookshelves to fall with a sickening crunch onto the floor.

They both stayed where they were for a moment, shocked.

“Are you okay?” Blade asked, shaken.

Tommy squeaked, eyes wide.

“Kid?”

Tommy’s breathing quickened, the kid frozen.

Blade shifted on the floor to a sitting position in front of Tommy.

“Kid, breathe.”

Tommy was struggling to breathe, frantic, his hand on his chest. His panic was very much evident.

“Kid, pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?”

Blade took a few slow, exaggerated breaths.

Tommy tried his best to copy him, he really did, but his breaths still came short, fast and shallow.

“Okay, can you tell me 5 things you see? Or, well, sign I guess”

Tommy thought it was stupid. He couldn’t fucking breathe here, and here was the Blade, telling him to look at this fucking room?

“Please. I promise it will help.”

Fine.

He glanced at his surroundings, looking for 5 nameable things

Bed book door wall you.

“Good job, now 4 things you can hear?”

You, the floorboards upstairs … my hands moving.… he shrugged.

“That’s alright, good job. You okay?”

Tommy thought and - sure enough - his breathing had slowed down. 

…Yes.

“Do you know what happened?

Ehhhhh kinda.

“You just fell off the bookcase - no you’re fine, everything is okay - and then you had a panic attack.”

There’s a name for that?

“ I still don’t sign, unfortunately.”

Oh.

“You want the notebook?”

Nah.

“Well, I brought food. It’s on the table.”

Blade got up from the floor and righted the bookshelves with ease.

Tommy was astonished by Blade’s strength, before he remembered that he was literally a supervillain, as well as a piglin hybrid.

He went to the table and found both the expected meal and a book.

A comprehensive guide to raccoon hybrids.

Tommy was confused. He didn’t notice that before.

Blade hummed to himself as he began to put the books back on the shelves, then turned as Tommy knocked on the wooden table to get his attention. 

He was holding the book on raccoons and, upon seeing Blade look, pointed at it questioningly. 

“Yup, that’s for you!” 

He left out the part where he would have to return it later.

Tommy’s eyes widened, sparkling.

For me?

“Yeah; I wanted to say sorry for disappearing.”

Tommy trilled excitedly. He began scarfing down his food and flipping through the pages, pausing occasionally when he found something interesting.

Blade continued to shelve the books from the floor. He glanced over at the kid and smiled.

Goddammit, he was getting attached. He was getting attached, which meant that as soon as Tommy was gone, he would spiral. 

Goddammit.

But in his opinion, it was kind of worth it.

Chapter Text

When all the books were shelved, Techno left again, taking the dirty dishes and waving goodbye to Tommy.

It was about 9pm by then - he had spent a good 4 hours shelving the books and watching Tommy’s reactions to the book, smiling at its colourful illustrations and diagrams. He occasionally made little noises of realisation, which Techno thought was adorable - he just sounded so small and innocent, all the time.

Oh, Techno was attached alright.

“Ah, Techno, there you are mate! We were waiting for you.”

“Yeah, why were you there for so long?”

“Oh, y’know, the kid fell off the bookshelf, he’s fine but I had to put all the books back. Also I apologised to him, so yeah… What?”

They were looking at him incredulously.

“Tommy fell off the bookshelf? Techno why didn’t- what?”

“Phil, I checked him over after his panic attack, he’ll be fine.” Technically, this is true; I just couldn’t be bothered to write it.

“He had a panic attack?”

“Christ Techno, you’re gonna give him a heart attack.”

“Phil, everything is ok. What did you want to talk about?”

Phil took a deep breath, fiddling with his now-ruffled wings. 

“He wanted to interrogate Tommy!”

“So now you remember his name.”

“Techno, don’t annoy your brother. Wil, it’s not an interrogation , he’s a kid. It is a quiz to find out more about him.”

“Yeah, same thing . Plus he jumped on my face! With claws out! I just think it was a bit rude is all.”

“And you aren’t holding a grudge either.”

“Fuck off Techno.”

“Boys!”

Phil was using his parenting voice, the one that meant they should shut up.

“Right, now that I have quiet: I sent out the ransom message today, as you know. Now, I say we find out as much as we can from Tommy before he leaves back to Dream, else this won’t have been all that useful.”

“But the money?” asked Wilbur.

“Yes, I don’t think he’s all that valuable, so I asked for £300,000. I doubt we’ll get that much, but it's a good starting number.”

“When are we gonna do the interrogation?” asked Techno.

“Either tonight, or tomorrow morning,” Phil replied. 

“Today is too late, I’m 90% sure he’s almost asleep.”

“People are more honest when they’re tired,” Wilbur interjected.

“They’re not when they’re literally asleep.”

“Well then, we wake him up.”

“What’s the point when we can do it tomorrow though?”

Wilbur sputtered indignantly.

“ We are doing it - ” he broke off into a coughing fit, rough and grating from his lack of vocal power.

“See, you’re tired as well, Wilbur. You can’t voice people when you’re too tired.”

Wilbur said nothing, still coughing violently, but held up his middle finger.

“Oh, and Phil? I was wondering if we should learn a bit of sign.”

* * *

The next morning, as Techno was brushing his teeth, he realised that they never gave Tommy a toothbrush or toothpaste.

As Techno ate his breakfast, he realised that he didn’t give Tommy any water at dinner last night.

As Phil came out of the kitchen, Techno realised that he still didn’t even know one sign.

And Tommy didn’t even know he was gonna be interrogated later.

He sighed. Right. Well, one thing at a time - he grabbed Tommy’s plate and a glass of water out of Phil’s hand and went downstairs into the basement, ignoring the bird-like squawk of surprise he made.

“Tommy?” Techno called as he entered the room, voice even deeper than usual from sleep.

The raccoon hybrid blinked up at him from behind the sofa.

“Hello. I bring both breakfast and news.”

Tommy took the offered food and drink and sat at the table; Blade sat down opposite and began an explanation. 

“So, you are technically a hostage. I prefer ‘involuntary guest’ but you know, it doesn’t matter.”

Tommy looked mildly hurt.

Blade ignored the way his heart sank at the thought that Tommy was going to leave eventually and powered on.

“We collectively decided that we should interview you later, to find stuff out.”

Tommy nodded, fidgeting.

“Uh yeah. Just… just a heads up.”

The awkward silence was broken a minute later, as Tommy noticed that Blade was not eating, while he was. Strange.

…

Wait, was this a test?

He hastily knocked on the table to get his attention and offered a bit of his food to Blade, who looked incredibly taken aback. 

“For me?”

Tommy nodded frantically, not wanting to fail this secret test.

Much to his surprise, Blade laughed: loud, genuine, amused laughter.

“No thanks, I’ve already eaten. Thank you though, you’re very sweet.”

Did that mean he passed? Tommy took a tentative bite of the previously offered toast; Blade didn't seem to be mad. He took another. Huh.

When he had finished, Blade took the plate and empty glass, and began to leave. As always, he left with a cheery wave and a smile (as far as Tommy could tell from the mask), something which took away slightly from the sadness of once more being alone.

…

Well, he was bored now.

What should I do? he thought. He had already climbed the bookshelf (which may not have been the best idea) and read that first book a few times and the one on raccoons halfway through, so he could either read another goddamn book or do something else. Don’t get him wrong, he appreciated having them, but books just got boring after hours and hours of nothing else to do.

To be fair, he had a lot of experience being bored, but then again he also had experience knowing how much time he had (roughly) before Dream came home.

Dream. He wasn’t sure when he stopped calling him Clay, but Tommy never talked to him anyway, so it didn’t matter.

What did matter was his imminent boredom.

One thing he often did while waiting for Dream to get home was count things. For example, 26 large tiles on the floor of the kitchen; 47 planks in the living room floor, not including under the rug; the bathroom had a grand total of 416 small tiles over the floor and walls. That one took at least an afternoon to count. He wasn’t allowed into the rest of the apartment except that closet, so that was all he remembered really.

Naturally, he had counted other things too, but he didn't remember the specifics. There were definitely more than 50 stains in various places though - under the sofa cushions there was a marvellous sticky purple one, which tasted very sweet.

Don’t ask how he knows what it tastes like.

Yet somehow, counting things stressed him out while he was in this basement. He wasn’t sure why - maybe his brain just needed a break.

Perhaps he could do some exercise. He didn’t know much about it, but Dream often said things about how important it was. 

Hmm.

No, he could look for secret things! They were supervillains, after all - they probably had loads of secrets. Dream did.

He scanned the room, deciding that under the rug was the most obvious place. He took a couple of steps towards it, before he remembered the time he got caught snooping around.

He lifted up his battered red and white T-shirt slightly, peering at the fragile skin above his left hip. That was one of his most prominent scars - it was thick, long and slightly raised, with pink edges. The axe had come out of its sheath that time.

He could feel the suffocating thing coming (a panic attack, Blade said? A suitable name.) and his tail clung around his leg.

God, not now. Sure, it would pass the time, but not in a good way. It would pass the time the same way the closet did - in a way where each minute lasted an hour and each hour a minute.

God, not now. Tommy shook himself out of his thoughts and went into the bathroom, splashing his face and the back of his neck with cold water from the tap - it solidified his thoughts, dragged him back to Earth.

Actually, the bathroom. He hadn’t really explored this room yet - it was small, but there were at least two cupboards. 

Well, that’s something to do.

He shook his hands dry and opened the cabinet under the sink. Inside were two shelves. On the lowest, there were about 6 fluffy white towels, neatly rolled up and stacked;  beside them was a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of shower gel;there were also a couple of small unused loofahs.

On the top shelf, there was a pink packet of things labelled “Always platinum” and behind that, a box labelled “Tampax radiant”, whatever those were. Beside them sat some plastic teardrop-shaped blobs labelled “Dove deodorant”. So far, he didn’t know what any of this stuff was.

Beside all that was a toothbrush in the packet and two tubes of toothpaste, one new and one half-used. Finally, something he recognised!

Useful too; he hadn’t brushed his teeth in about a week and his mouth felt gross. Although- would he be allowed to use it? Normally he just used Dream’s toothpaste and hoped he didn’t notice. The half-used one had enough in that the others hopefully wouldn’t notice either.

Alright, fuck it. He squeezed some toothpaste onto his finger and brushed his teeth. As he spat it out a few minutes later, he realised how much fresher his mouth felt.

He wondered if they’d notice if he used a bit of shower gel.

***

About an hour later, he had washed his hair and fur over the sink, had a shower using jugs of water because it was quieter, and brushed his hair and tail with a travel hairbrush he found in the back of the cupboard behind the towels.

He was feeling so much fresher! He had cleaned himself all the way until the water ran clear of dust and grime, something that he hadn’t felt since last time Dream had decided Tommy looked grubby enough to annoy him. Which was probably about three weeks ago now.

Yeesh.

Anyway, Tommy felt much better now. He revelled in this, content for a bit.

Then he heard footsteps on the stairs outside the door. He frantically discarded the hairbrush and stuffed the towel behind the sink, skidding out of the bathroom on his socks.

He hoped his hair didn’t look too damp.

Voices were heard outside the door. Tommy grabbed his book off the table, the one about raccoons and flipped to a random page, just as all three villains came through the door. All three? Oh yes, there was going to be an interrogation. Fuck.

“Hi mate! How are you?” the Crowfather greeted, signing along with the words.

Tommy signed a reply, slowing his hands so Crowfather could understand.

“We just want to ask you a couple questions, okay?

Tommy nodded.

Blade interjected,“We would prefer you told the truth, otherwise Siren will have to voice you. And no-one wants that.”

Remembering the voice, Tommy shuddered. It was doused in burning sugar, sweet but scorching, syrupy with torture. The previous time he had been voiced was torture - he could barely breathe, being unable to move a single muscle except those vital for survival. Thank god Siren’s power worked that way.

“Take a seat” suggested Crowfather.

Tommy obeyed, sitting down at the table. Crowfather and Siren sat opposite, Blade leaning against the door. He probably just preferred it - Tommy hadn’t seen him sit down once except while Tommy ate. 

“I’m making sure you don’t run”, came the gruff reply, as though he could read Tommy’s mind.

“Kid, I can’t mindread, you were staring.”

Tommy flushed and looked away.

“Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” Said Crowfather, taking control of the situation. “Would you prefer to answer in sign or in writing?”

Tommy signed a reply. Signing.

“Awesome. Right, first question.”

Tommy braced himself. What would they want to know? About the heroes’ plans? Their identities? The drawbacks to their powers?

“How old are you?”

…

what?

“How old are you?” Crowfather signed as well this time.

Sixteen.

“Mate, you know as well as I do that isn’t true.”

… it’s true?

“Really? Okay, we’ll come back to that. Do you know anything about the heroes?”

Not really. I mean, Dream isn’t very nice, if that helps.

“What do you mean by that?”

The cupboard and the axe, the throwing knives weren’t fun either. I did misbehave though.

“Woah, hold on mate. The cupboard and the axe? Throwing knives? Are you okay?”

I am at the moment. Tommy shrugged and pulled down his shirt collar to show one of the smaller scars. You wanna know anything else?

“Tommy, what- are- wh- sure. Do you know anything else about Dream?” Crowfather glanced at Blade, who raised his eyebrows and jerked his head towards Tommy.

Dream’s real name is Clay, I lived with him for like 8 years, he's probably dating George, he’s an absolute control freak, like a serious control freak, i- yeah.

“...Who’s George?”

Oh, you know. George Lore? Blue shirt, white goggles?

“ 404? The hero?”

Tommy shrugged again. Probably. 

Only now did he notice the crow perched on Crowfather’s shoulder. He reached out a hand to it and was promptly cawed at.

“Pete, be nice.”

The bird hopped on top of Crowfather’s hat and cawed again.

“Sorry about him, he can be a bit unfriendly sometimes.”

Tommy nodded and pulled back his hand.

“ Crowfather , shouldn’t we ask about your name?” asked Siren, speaking for the first time since he came downstairs.

“Good point mate. Tommy, do you know my name? Be honest.”

… yes. P-H-I-L.

“Right. That’s- yes, that is my name. We don’t plan to tell you anything else, but you can call me Phil if you like.”

There was a pause.

Are you gonna ask another question?

A breeze ruffled Tommy’s hair, as Blade answered.

“Yes, we were but I wasn’t paying attention earlier when we planned this. Lets- uh- right, how old are you?”

… fifteen

…

“I’ll be honest, I have no idea what you said. Phil?”

Phil’s vacant expression shifted as he shook himself back to the present. “He said he was 15.”

“Tommy, that’s just a lie,” Blade’s deep voice replied. “How old are you?”

Tommy shook his head. Siren cleared his throat. 

“Tell us how old you are.”

“I am eleven years old.”

Tommy’s eyes widened, covering his mouth with both hands as he scrambled backwards, fell off the chair, picked himself up and sprinted into the bathroom. 

Wilbur stood, ready to follow, but was held back by one of Phil’s large wings, wind swirling angrily around him.

“Wilbur, I don’t think he’ll want to see you right now.”

Wilbur cried apologies and excuses from behind Phil’s massive black wings: that he barely meant to use the voice, that he didn’t realise it was going to work like that, that he genuinely just wanted to know why the kid wasn’t telling them.

Techno walked to the now-locked bathroom door, having simply watched the scene play out in disbelief.

“Phil, get Wilbur upstairs. Wilbur, you can apologise later once he’s calmed down.”

Once Phil had taken Wilbur, who was now sobbing into his shoulder, upstairs, Techno knocked on the door. 

“Tommy?”

He just barely heard a muffled sob, even with his piglin hearing. Had- had Tommy had practise at crying completely silently?

***

Tommy found himself curling up in the cupboard under the sink in tears, burrowing under the fluffy towels into the comforting darkness. 

“Tommy?” He heard through the door. 

He covered his ears.

***

“Are you okay?” Why wasn’t he answer- oh. “Can you knock if you’re in there?”

Nothing.

“Tommy, if you don’t show any signs of life, I’m gonna have to come in to make sure you’re okay.”

Still nothing.

***

Tommy could still hear him, but he couldn’t bring himself to make any noise at all. Everything was too loud, too bright, and he could feel every single texture touching his body all at once.

God, there was just too much of everything.

***

“Tommy, I’m coming in, okay? Three, two, one.” Blade wiggled the door handle, locked. He threw his shoulder into the door, trying to knock it down.

Thud. 

***

Thud.

That threw Tommy back to the situation, out of his thoughts and his too-much senses as he ran to unlock the door, which swung open immediately. 

Tommy saw the Blade, and his towering frame and long pink hair.

Blade saw Tommy, and his terrified, tear-stained face.

Suddenly, Blade crouched down and Tommy felt himself swept into a deep, soft hug, gentle arms closing around him, and to his surprise, he melted into the touch, closing his eyes.

Somehow, everything felt okay.

After a few minutes, Blade pulled away gently. 

“Do you want to talk about it? Or, well, write.”

Tommy nodded hesitantly.

Blade took the notepad and pencil from earlier out of his pocket, handed them to Tommy and sat cross-legged on the bathroom tiles.

“You’re eleven, right?”

Tommy nodded again.

“That’s quite young. Are you- okay, stupid question. How mad are you at Wilbur?”

…

“Ah gods, I’ve done it again. Crowfather is Phil, Siren is Wilbur, and I’m- I’m Techno.”

Tommy paused.

Why are you teling me this?

“That… is a very good question. Honestly, I think I’m just very attached to you.”

Realy?

“Yeah, I guess so. How mad are you at Wilbur?”

Not mad relly, just sad at myself.

“Why’s that?”

Tommy shrugged.

“I get that. Would you be okay to see him? It’s okay to say if you aren’t.”

I don’t know.

“Fair. I don't think he knew it would work like that though, ‘cause he is genuinely pretty upset. If that helps.”

Ye, it kinda does. i think im ok now thohgh.

“He does still have to apologise though”

No, its fine.

“Of course he has to, Tommy; he didn't mean to, but he still messed up pretty bad. You deserve an apology, even if you aren’t mad anymore.”

Tommy stayed silent for a moment.

Do I?

“Tommy, you have the same rights as everyone else. You deserve an apology for what happened.”

Again Tommy paused, turning over the idea in his mind. Sure, he felt quite resentful about being forced to speak, but– no, Dream had done far worse and never apologised. Why would Tommy deserve an apology now?

“Hey Tommy, do you want something to do while you think about it? I need to talk to Wilbur.”

Sure.

Techno - god it felt weird thinking of him as a real person, not just a faceless hero- villain- fuck, it was all so stupid really - held the door open for Tommy as he left the bathroom and picked up his book off the table. It was still open to the random page Tommy had left it on, so he lay down on the bed and started reading from there.

The value of Raccoon-hybrid materials.

It is common knowledge that many hybrid materials are highly sought after. What many are mostly unaware of however, is that none are more wanted than the fur, claws, teeth and blood of raccoon hybrids. When Raccoons mature (often between 12 and 16 years old, though this may vary from person to person), their blood may gain a unique power which is the reason it is so valuable: Healing. Raccoon-hybrid teeth, fur and claws have similar effects, but in much lower concentrations.

While healing powers are very sought after in today’s society, the various materials produced by raccoons are globally revered for the sheer power they contain.

If someone were to have a consistent source of mature Raccoon blood, they may well be set for life, selling it illegally on the black market. 

Many Raccoon-hybrids choose to donate blood as it is used in many life saving procedures, but it is often quite difficult to access due to the extreme rarity of Raccoon-hybrids.

Tommy paused, rereading the last sentence.

It is often quite difficult to access due to the extreme rarity of Raccoon-hybrids.

Due to the extreme rarity of Raccoon-hybrids.

Extreme rarity.

He looked up to ask Techno a question, but he was no longer in the room.

Extreme rarity, huh? 

Then why did Dream say they were so common?

Chapter Text

Wilbur was pretty much escorted upstairs, like a criminal. Well, he was technically a criminal, but what was his favourite crime? Eh, probably arson. He liked the flames, and marshmallows taste better roasted over the remains of a house.

As he sat down at the dining table, he noticed a dent in the wood. How long had that been there? He couldn’t remember, and he didn’t really care anyways – he was just trying to distract himself from what happened.

What he did.

Oh god, he had forced Tommy to talk, hadn’t he? God, now Tommy was gonna hate him, and he would be—

No no, just- just forget until you have to remember. Speaking of, where was Phil? 

Actually, it didn’t matter. He was probably in the back garden convening with the flock about what to do about What Wilbur Did–

What had he done?

Oh god, forget until you have to remember, just forget—

Wilbur was digging his nails into the soft skin on his palm, leaving white dents in the flesh. Actually, since Phil wasn't here, and Techno was still downstairs with Tommy— oh god, poor Tommy, why did he do that, what—

Wilbur shoved himself up from the chair and slung his beige coat over his shoulder from the hooks beside the front door.

He ran then, only to the end of the road and around the corner before he made a decision. He hesitated before calling the first contact on his phone (which, thank god, was still in his pocket).

Ring ring …

Ring ring…

Ring ring…

-beep-

“Wilbur?”

“Hey Quackity, could- could I get a lift?”

“That depends, man — where to?”

Wilbur could hear Quackity’s surroundings through the tinny call - he was probably at the casino.

“Uh.. yeah, I figured I'd just join you at the casino if that's okay.”

“Yeah man, be there in 5.”

Wilbur heard movement and then a door slamming.

“You at the usual place?”

“Yeah… thanks man, seriously. I- I’ll see you there.”

“See you soon, Wilbur!”

-boop-

God, what was he doing? Sneaking out to get drunk with his friends rather than addressing his actions? His actions— what had he done, forcing Tommy to—

No, forget until you have to remember, Wilbur.

-TW CIGARETTES-

He took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket, then took a long drag of the now-lit cigarette and exhaled slowly, releasing a cloud of smoke.

He leaned against the wall behind him, sneakers scuffing the pavement and trenchcoat blowing in the wind. His thoughts threatened to consume him, but he crushed the revolution with another puff of his cigarette.

He zoned out, mind hazy from the smoke, until the window of a sleek black car unrolled to reveal the compulsive gambler he called his friend, Quackity. (Somehow though, he almost always seemed to win).

“Hey Wilbur, you need a lift or not?”

Wilbur stamped out his cigarette on the broken concrete and got into the passenger side of the car.

-OK YOU'RE GOOD- (Quackity arrives in his car and Wilbur gets in.)

“So, what happened this time?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Ok then, edgy villain boy. Don’t forget to take off your mask, I still don't know how you see in that thing.”

Quackity pulled back into the main road and drove probably faster than he should have down the suburban roads.

“Bold of you to assume I see at all,” Wilbur replied, following his advice.

“You sure you want to go to the casino? We could just drive around if you—”

“I really need a drink right now, Big Q.”

Quackity didn’t question it, only raising his eyebrows as he turned into the car park of the casino.

“We’re here.”

Wilbur leaned back against the leather seat and sighed.

“Quackity, I don’t know if I can recover that easily this time.”

“It’s Phil. He is the most forgiving person in the world.

“It’s not Phil though, that’s the issue.”

“What do you—”

“No, it doesn’t matter. Lets just- yeah.”

Quackity shrugged, looking over as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he opened the car door and got out, waiting for Wilbur to do the same.

Quackity nodded at the security guard as they were let through without ID, despite barely being old enough to be allowed in. Once inside, he turned a corner into the main gambling area, where bright lights, playing cards and dice were in abundance.

“Don’t drink too much,” he said by way of farewell, disappearing into the crowd.

Wilbur waved awkwardly at the place Quackity was a second ago before turning off on the familiar route to the bar.

He sat down by the bar on a stool, ordering his usual — a margarita. A cocktail, sure, but it had roughly 20% alcohol content and was vaguely decent tasting. If he was going to get blackout drunk, he might as well enjoy it.

The bartender – Minx, her name tag said – slid his drink across the counter. 

“Do you want to pay cash or open a tab?” she said, getting the card reader out in a way that implied she already knew.

“My dear lady, I believe you know.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“I might be.”

“Good, Q owes me 10 quid now.”

“What?”

“We had a bet. 10 people flirting with me on this shift. Now he owes me a tenner.”

“You- huh?”

“I’ve been here for 2 hours. You’re not special.”

Wilbur tapped his card on the reader, sipping the cocktail. He wasn’t even interested in her, he just wanted a distraction from how he forced Tommy to talk.

Oh god, what had he done?

Transaction over, Minx left to serve someone else, leaving Wilbur with his drink as he checked his phone and saw about 28 texts from Phil, one from Techno, and 2 missed calls from Phil again. Ah well. That was not his problem. Yet.

***

Techno was pacing up and down the living room, Phil conversing once again with the flock to send out some scouts to look for Wilbur. Honestly, he had probably just gone to Niki’s or something, he had a tendency to try and escape his problems.

Still, he’d normally leave a note or a text.

Techno grabbed a book at random off the shelf, skimmed the first page and put it back, resuming his pacing. 

A few seconds passed, and he heard a synthesised quacking noise from upstairs — his phone was ringing. But where had he left it? He went into his bedroom, listening for the sound of the incoming call. His ears twitched towards his nightstand, which meant it was probably buried under his copious amounts of stuff. Although, as he approached, the noise seemed to come from higher up; and as he looked, he saw his phone balanced precariously on top of one of his swords that hung on the wall. It was still quacking.

“Hi, is this Techno?”

“... Yeeesss?”

“Great, I’m Quackity, I think we’ve talked before once or twice?”

Techno did not remember this Quackity person, but he was terrible with names, so he could well have done.

“Anyway, I’m with Wilbur at the moment, he’s at the casino, I’ll bring him home later if that's okay, it just seems like shit’s happening so yeah, thought you should know.”

“Alright, Phil’s freaking out right now so thanks.

“All good then?”

“Yeah, I think— wait, how did you get this number?”

“Oh, Wilbur gave it to me when he was drunk once, he said you were his brother and you’d probably be worried. Figured it’d be useful to save.”

“That … is actually pretty sweet of him. Call me when you drop him off.”

“Will do! Bye Techno!”

“Byeeee.”

*boop*

Well.

At least he knew where Wilbur was now.

Phil was gonna have to deal with drunk Wilbur later though. Not him, he was planning to either sleep, steal something, or meet up with Foresight, the chill vigilante who often helped them out. One of the three.

A crow tapped on his window, asking either for news for Phil or for snacks. Probably snacks, to be honest. Techno grabbed a small handful of seeds from a jar on his shelf and opened the window, feeding the bird.

“Tell Phil that Wilbur is safe. I just got a call from one of his friends, so he’s safe, but might be back late. Or drunk. Probably both.”

The crow, having finished their snack, cawed in reply and swooped up to Phil, who was sitting on the roof. Techno could hear their muffled conversation through the open window:

Caw 

“He’s safe with a friend? How do you know that?”

Caw

“Techno told you?

…

“Well how does he know?”

Caw  

“He got a call? What did it–”

Caw caw

“Wilbur’s probably going to be drunk later? When will he be back?”

Caw

“Late? That’s not helpful. Which friend is it anyway?”

…

“You don't know. Fabulous. Well, thank you for telling me this, at least he’s with someone he knows.”

Caw  

“See you soon too, Tammaro.”

Techno heard the bird fly off.

“Techno what do you know?”

Phil’s clear voice caught him by surprise, his head hanging upside down over the edge of the roof and looking through Techno’s open window.

“Hello to you too. Anyway, I got a call from one of his friends who is currently with him.”

“Who was it? Where are they? I’m gonna get him right the fuck now, he is not avoiding this conversation.”

“He is with a friend called Quackity, and I know where he is. However, if I tell you, you will go right now and probably cause a scene, not to mention you’d probably fly , which would give away your identity. Also, I have saved his friend’s number, so if you promise not to immediately get Wilbur, you can call him back.”

Phil looked peeved. “Fine.”

Techno nodded. He tapped the contact on his phone, dialling the number and letting it ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi Quackity, this is Techno again, my dad wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, really? Anything I ought to tell him?”

“Yeah, just get the point across that Wilbur is safe. Is he with you?”

“Uh, he can be… one second…”

“ Yeah, maybe get him on the line. Phil is very worried.”

“ Ok, he’s here, I found him.”

“Great, I’ll hand you over now.”

Techno passed the phone to Phil, giving him a look that simply said ‘don't be weird please for the love of god’.

“Hello, this is Phil.”

…

“Is he really safe or are you lying?”

…

“Ok, let me talk to him then mate.”

…

“Hi Wilbur, it’s Phil.”

…

“You haven’t avoided this conversation, you know. Don’t get too drunk, you’ll regret it tomorrow.”

…

“Please don’t do that.”

…

“Yes, I will. Stay safe, I’ll pick you up at midnight exactly .”

…

“Yes, in the car, why does everyone say that?”

…

“Ok, I love you, stay safe, ok?”

…

“Ok, bye mate!”

*boop*

“He’s at the casino, is he?”

Techno nodded.

“Apparently I’m picking him up at midnight.”

“Ok.” 

“Thank you for telling me though. I would probably have gone running off into the night soon enough.” Phil chuckled, and Techno snorted. It’s funny because it’s true – Techno had honestly seen it all.

Although, to be fair, kidnapping a child was probably a new occurrence – from this side of the action, at least. Techno was semi-kidnapped as a child, meaning that his parents didn't care and this stranger did, so he chose them. Then, of course, they kept him in a cage and forced him to fight other children for money; the money only went to them, never to Techno, but at least they fed him. Sometimes.

That was where he a) got his name and b) met Wilbur. 

Techno decided that that was enough reminiscing for now, and that he’d much rather ‘sleep’.

Phil was still just standing in his room, though, so after a couple of moments of awkward silence Techno just began to get his pyjamas out of the chest of drawers.

“Oh, are you going to bed?”

“... yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Areeee you going to leave, or…?”

“Oh yeah sure. I’ll be watching Bleach if you wanna join.”

“Again?”

“Mate, it’s a good show.”

Techno looked at him.

“Fine, fine. There’s always room on the sofa, though, so–”

“No, but thanks anyway. Goodnight.”

“Night!”

Phil left the room, and Techno glanced at his phone. He was about to give it to Phil in case Quackity called again, but decided not to at the last second. He probably wouldn't sleep anyway, and he wanted to know if his brother was safe.

He changed into his pyjamas, then decided he wanted a shower. He groaned. He did this a lot.

He showered and changed (again) into his pyjamas then lay down in his bed.Then he got up again deciding that he was bored of laying down and would much rather read something. He glanced across his bookshelf and decided that all of his books were boring, and he didn't want to read them. He glanced at the swords that hung on the wall, wondering if perhaps he could go out and train, then realised that Phil thought he was sleeping. 

Well he could try sleeping – it wouldn't do him much good but he could try. Insomnia was truly a bitch.

Techno’s eyes fell on the ever-growing pile of clean laundry that sat in the corner of his room. He could finally put them away – it would pass the time as well as being productive, so he settled on that.

Most were already folded, but a couple he enjoyed re-folding to make them look nice and also fit in his wardrobe. His cloaks (he owned four) now hung nicely, his shirts hung neatly on the other side of the rail, and his black trousers folded on the shelf. His underwear and socks sat in the drawer underneath, accompanied by his comfy trousers and t-shirts.

Right, he could actually sleep now, or he could read something.

Hmmm. He browsed the bookshelf again, deciding on a classic – a collection of Ancient Greek myths. Lovely — something to pass the time.

***

Wilbur was now sipping his fourth drink, pretty tipsy, and now getting straight vodka instead of the cocktails. It had a higher alcohol content, and he couldn't really taste the sweet drinks anyway, so might as well just feel the burn of alcohol down his throat.

It’s all the same really; both will reach his goal of becoming so drunk he doesn’t remember what he did.

What he did to Tommy.

Fuck , he thought, downing the rest of his glass and ordering another. Minx gave him a strange look that he couldn’t decipher the meaning of, but gave it to him anyway.

Thank goodness.

“Wilbur! Hi!”

Wilbur turned.

“Quackiteeeeee! Helloooooo!” he called, slurring slightly.

“Wilbur, how much have you had?”

“Only' bit,” Wilbur lied. “You look hot.”

Quackity gave him a look.

“You’re all sweaty, so you’re hot.”

“Oh, is that what you meant?”

“Mmyeah?”

“The casino doesn’t really have aircon.”

“Well why not? You’re verry hot.”

“That’s— ok, you need to stop.”

“I am, see?” He held up his glass. “Water!

“Hm. Can I taste it?”

“Mmmno. Mine. You're verrrry pretty. Pretty boy. Pretty boy with a pretty hat.”

“Okaaay.”

At some point, his glass had become empty. How strange. He looked for Minx, calling her over and getting a refill.

“Quack’ty.”

“Wilbur.”

“I kinda wanna kiss you.”

“That’s nice.”

“Can I please kiss you?”

“No.”

“But you’re prettyyy :(”

“I know, I know. Hey, why don’t we wait outside for Phil? He’ll be here soon.”

“Phiiiil! I love Phil. Philza. Birdza. The Crowman.”

“Right, maybe don’t say that in a crowded place.”

“It’s fiiiinee, they can just forget! I can do that, y’know.”

“Yes, I know. It's very cool. Can you tell me what he looks like?”

They were outside now. How did they get here?

“We walked, Wilbur. We’re right by the casino.”

“Oh.” Did Wilbur say that out loud?

“What does Phil look like? I don’t want you getting in some stranger’s car.”

“Awwww, you caaarre! Phil’s my dad.”

“I know, what does he look like?”

“Phil’s blonde hair ‘n wings. Mm.”

“Okay, that’s— not very helpful, honestly, but I’ll work with this.”

“Quack’ty, you’re like my best friend,” Wilbur slurred.

“Am I?”

“Mmyeah.”

“Thanks. Why don’t you tell me more about Phil?”

“He’s my dad.”

“Mhm.”

“He’s niice. Techno’s too.”

“That’s nice.”

“Myeahh! We took Tommy a few days ago too. Did,,I tell you about Tommy?”

“No? Who’s Tommy?”

“He’s baabyyy,,”

“Is he?”

“Yeahhh, he‘sa poor sad baaby,”

“Really? Why?”

“‘forced him t’ talk,,”

“What?”

“He doesn’t talk, but I voiced him :(((”

“That’s not very nice. 

“I knoowwwwww D:”

“Oh– no– please– please don't cry, It’s okay, you’re okay—”

“But Tommy ‘s’nt!!”

“It's gonna be okay, don't worry, All you have to do is apologise, okay?”

“Nooo, but he hates me nowww!”

“Look, I’m sure he doesn't. You can apologise, and then he might need some space, but it’ll be fine in the end, ok?”

“But he won’’’t.”

“You can try, at least.”

Wilbur huffed. He could, definitely, and it might work, but what if it didn't? He tried to voice this to Quackity, but it came out as a distressed mumble. Ah well. That works.

“Here, it’s ok, it’ll be fine, ok?”

“You’re pretty.”

“Phil should be here very soon, ok? Just 5 minutes.”

“Nah,,he’ll be early. He’sal,,ways earlyy.”

“Really? That’s very helpful.”

“Mmm.”

Wilbur sighed happily. He was with Quackity and Phil would be coming soon, and maybe Techno would come too. That's great. Maybe Tommy would even come as well! That would be awesome. They’re his family. Wilbur loves his family.

A car pulled into the car park — the old green 2000 Mercedes-Benz that Phil bought second-hand a few years ago.

“Dadzaaaa!”

“Is that Phil’s car?”

“Mhm! ‘s my daad.”

“I know.”

Wilbur mumbled something to himself, smiling. Quackity said something to Phil, and Phil replied with something, but Wilbur didn’t really mind. It didn’t affect him.

“Phiiiil!”

“Hello mate. Let’s get you home, ok?”

“Canw e see Techhno?”

“Maybe. Come on, let’s go. Thanks Quackity, I owe you.”

“No, it’s fine. I wanna make sure he’s safe, yknow?”

“Still, thank you.”

Phil opened the door to the car for Wilbur after noticing him holding onto the top of it for balance.

“Let’s get you home.”

-TW THROWING UP-

On the drive back, they had to stop for Wilbur to throw up. Phil rolled his eyes as they got back in the car, but at least it was out of his system.

-OK UR GOOD-

Suddenly, Wilbur was exhausted, and his throat hurt.

Maybe alcohol was not always the solution.

Phil helped him into the house once they arrived, Techno opening the door and giving Phil a look that said ‘seriously?’ Wilbur’s vision was blurred and doubling again, and he honestly thought he would have passed out if it wasn’t for Techno’s strong arms scooping him up and gently putting him down on the sofa.

Phil came in with a plastic cup of water and handed it to Wilbur, gently encouraging him to drink it. He drank half, spilled the rest over himself and fell asleep, cup dropping out of his hand and rolling onto the floor.

Phil and Techno looked at him for a moment.

“He’s gonna complain about having a hangover tomorrow, isn’t he?”

Phil sighed. “Probably.”

“We’re gonna have to deal with it, aren’t we?”

“Yup”

Techno slumped back in his chair. “Hhhhh.”

Phil honestly agreed with the sentiment.

“Are you angry?”

“...Yes.”

“Did you know he drinks?”

“I mean, I knew he did sometimes but he normally only gets tipsy, right?”

“Yeah, uh, no. no he does this kinda often but stays at Niki’s.”

“He does?”

“Yeah.”

…

“I should have known, huh?”

“I didn't even know ‘til like a few months back.”

A few months. Wilbur had only turned 18 in September - it was now February. When- when did this start?

“How long has this been happening?”

Techno stayed silent.

“Techno, how long?”

“I– I don’t know.”

“Right.”

Phil sighed again and addressed the snoring teen.

“Wil, we are talking when you wake up.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur woke up with a headache like an axe in his skull. He shielded his eyes from the morning sun that was coming through a chink in the curtains and groaned. Fuck.

He reached sideways hoping blindly for a glass of water, knocked one over, swore and vowed to never get drunk again. Of course, he thought that every time – he knew it wasn’t going to happen, but god, if he didn’t think that every fucking time then something was seriously wrong. 

He sat up, ignoring the blinding dizziness that clouded his vision. God, this was not worth it.

Groaning, he stood up and, avoiding stepping on the not-yet-broken glass and the puddle soaking into the carpet, made his way to the kitchen to get some water. And possibly breakfast, if he could stomach it.

“Ah, Wilbur. I wanted to talk to you, mate.”

Phil stood in the centre of the kitchen leaning on the counter, holding his cup of tea with both hands. Internally, Wilbur groaned. ‘Wanted to talk’; that meant a lecture. Fuuuuck.

“Really?” he asked instead of voicing these thoughts.

“Yeah mate. D’you wanna take a seat? You probably have quite the hangover.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes at him, but got a glass of water and sat down on a chair at the dining table.

“Ok. Wilbur mate, I think you know what this is about.”

“I shouldn’t drink because otherwise my liver will give up and I'll die at 27?”

“... In short, yes. What I’m more concerned about right now is how long this has been going on for.”

Sipping his water, Wilbur briefly broke eye contact – only for a second, but enough to give away a lot.

“What does it matter to you?”

“Wilbur, it matters because I want to help. You’ve only been legally allowed to drink for a couple months, and from what Techno said—”

“Oh yeah, ask him , pit him against me too, maybe you should go ahead and tell Tommy too, turn everyone against me. Is that the plan?”

“Wilbur, you know that’s not what I—”

“ That’s not what I mimimi, shut the fuck up. You’re just like all of them, you really are, you’re more like,” he gestured at Phil, “ this than some of them were, but you’re no bett—”

“ Wilbur. You know that isn’t true.”

“Oh, yeah I’m sure you know the social workers so well, just fucking best buds so you can send me back to the system, no hassle. Too bad Phil, I’ve outgrown it now, so the most you can do is throw me out, and guess what happened to the last family that did that! You know, Phil, you know!”

“Wilbur Soot-Watson, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing going on, Phil! I just go out with friends to get drunk sometimes, what’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, but that isn’t what you’re doing, Wilbur, you weren't even with Quackity much yesterday, he had to walk across the casino to get to you!”

“Yeah, and? We were in the same building!”

“You were– that isn’t ‘with friends’ then is it?”

“Well what does it matter to you? It’s not like—”

Outside the back door, a head of pink hair sat curled on the stone steps. Techno was just done training, but he really didn’t want to go back in. No, the raised voices were just like the old house that– no, he didn’t want to think about that, not right now; it was beginning to rain, and the rumbles of thunder were not exactly encouraging him to stay outside. 

The white plastic door was the only real way into the house, and the gate to the front of the house had been broken months ago and no-one had gotten around to fixing it. (The voices told him to break it down, but listening to them was never a brilliant idea.)

The door it was, he supposed. Gods, give him strength.

Techno took a deep breath and stood up. His hand faltered slightly at the door, but he pushed open the door regardless.

“Again Wilbur, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s happening. Would you rather I got someone else?”

“No! I’m not some fucking basket case, Phil! Dont fucking— Oh hi Techno, are you here to lecture me too? Tell me I’m a fucking dumbass with a drinking problem? I’m not, and you know it! Go on, tell Phil. He obviously DOESN’T FUCKING TRUST ME, DO YOU? I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE LIKE. I KNOW WHAT— oh my god, Techno, I’m so sorry, are you–”

Techno couldn’t hear the rest of his sentence. Or maybe he could, but didn’t register it. Either way, he wasn’t there. He was trapped in his mind, and his shirt was scratchy and his shoes were tight, and his cheeks were wet. And he wasn’t breathing. Why wasn’t he breathing? He tried to breathe, but he had forgotten how to. The voices took over, and they screamed for help.

NO WILBUR BAD STOP 

BAD WILBUR 

SHOUT AA

RUN

RUN RUN RUN

BLOOD

Not blood wilubr good. Wilbru good? Wilur like them, so wlibur bad?

WILBUR SHOUT BAD

WILBUR BAD RUN

FIGHT

BLOOD

BLOOD 

BLOOD

NO WILBUR’S NICE 

…RUN?

Before he knew what he was doing, Techno threw a glass at Wilbur, who shattered it with a shriek, and ran.

Where to? His room was too far, and the weapons on the wall were … well, if someone came to check on him and the voices took over, then… yeah. Phil’s office, again too far. Wilburs room was a definite no, and the garden was pissing it down which left… Tommy’s room.

The voices chose long before he thought it through, and he was through the heavy wooden door in seconds. (When did they stop locking it?)

Tommy looked up from his book, startled, shutting it quickly before Techno saw the page he was on.

Techno realised then that he didn’t have his mask on.

“Hello,” he tried to say, but he still wasn’t breathing right. How does one breathe?

***

Something Tommy was not expecting that day was for Techno, The Blade , to run into his room breathless and panicking. Oh, and WITHOUT HIS GODDAMN MASK.

The pinkette crumpled on the floor, desperately trying to breathe.

Tommy spared a glance at the open door. He could hypothetically run right now, but somehow, he felt it would be wrong. Why, he wondered, did he think that? Perhaps it was seeing him without a mask, knowing his name. It made Techno feel … human to him. Just Techno, not the Blade. Not some Supervillain, not the assassinator of the head of the Superhero Society, just … Techno. That was it. He was not attached. If you get attached, it will hurt more when it's taken away.

He did not address the idea that perhaps he simply liked him. Liked having slow conversations over pen and paper, liked seeing whatever Techno had cooked that day, liked reading the books Techno thought he would enjoy.

Anyway, he felt like he should help. What was that thing Techno did for him? The senses? Worth a shot.

Tommy tapped Techno on the shoulder, sitting in front of him. When he looked up, Tommy held up five fingers then pointed to his eyes. Five things you can see.

Techno took a second to process, before answering.

“You, the floor, my hair, .. the sofa, … the rug.”

Tommy gave him a thumbs up, and Techno desperately tried to breathe more, get more air to his lungs, but it was honestly fruitless. He ignored Tommy’s next signs (four fingers and pointing at his ear), preferring instead to drop his head back onto his knees. 

He looked up, still breathing heavily, to another tap on his shoulder. Tommy repeated the signs from before, but at Techno’s shake of his head, he dropped his hands to his lap.

Fuck. What was he meant to do now?  Time for improv, he supposed.

He grabbed Techno’s hand and placed it on his chest, taking long exaggerated breaths for Techno to copy.

Techno tried his hardest to breathe like Tommy was, and succeeded, at least enough to apologise.

“Sorry about… uh yeah. This.”

Tommy looked confused, cocking his head to the side and frowning. He grabbed the pen and paper off the table and wrote a single word: why?

“Well, it’s… inconvenient… I guess…”

I’m not doing anything. Also you did the saime for me the uther day. 

“Yes, but it’s…” Techno reached to adjust his mask, realising then that he wasn’t wearing it. Oh gods. He had completely forgotten that fact, and his breathing picked up a touch. Tommy hastily shh-shh-shhed at him, a comforting noise that vaguely mimicked the chuff Techno let out the other day. Not that either of them had spoken about it – that would be … awkward, to say the least, considering that chuff meant Tommy was now (in Techno’s eyes) someone he now had to protect like a brother.

Techno was breathing again: that’s good. You should breathe. It’s fun.

The fact still remained that he wasn’t wearing his mask. Meaning, Tommy had seen his face. Meaning, he could describe it to Dream and quite literally ruin his life.

That thought alone made Techno want to threaten Tommy with a knife to his neck, force him to never say anything, terrorise him into never saying a single word about his face; and yet those thoughts made him want to jump off a cliff. 

His brain was an enigma, even to him.

“Can… can we just forget this,” he gestured at his exposed face, ”Ever happened?”

Tommy nodded earnestly, relieved, and chittered. Otherwise Dream would force him to describe Techno’s face, and god knows how much detail he’d need, then he’d have to say it to someone else who would sketch it, then probably someone else too, and in general it would be an absolute nightmare. 

Not to mention he’d have to talk. He didn’t really think he hated talking that much until Siren forced him to, but then again, it had been a while.

He stopped considering that when he heard a muffled shout from upstairs, and techno winced. Was that why he was so upset?

“That’s … yeah, um… my parents weren’t the best.”

Tommy looked at him sympathetically, letting him go on.

“I… They were always arguing, pretty bad too, like throwing things at each other. Sometimes I would get caught in the crossfire. Once my father yelled at me for not cleaning up when my mother threw a glass. Then he hit me, which I could take, if it weren’t for something I never should have been responsible for. I fought back. He– he made me sleep outside for the night, so I packed my bag and left the next day. Someone found me, which should have been good, but with my luck I ended up in the Pit.”

Tommy cocked his head to the side.

“Of course, you wouldn’t know. That’s good. It was an underground fighting ring where children were pitted against each other. That’s where the name came from, I guess. It was… inhumane, to say the least.”

Another shouted sentence from upstairs, and another wince.

“Sorry, I shouldn't be telling you this. You didn’t sign up for this.”

Tommy made a face, one that generally conveyed that it was fine, he didn’t mind. Another shout, a loud response, and an annoyed shriek came from upstairs. Techno’s breathing picked up again, and he dropped his head onto his knees, curled into a ball. 

“Distract me” he mumbled, muffled.

A distraction, huh? Tommy thought for a second, mind landing on a book he found the other day on top of the bookshelf. He got it from under his pillow where he had hidden it for fear that they would take it from him.

Honestly, it was probably stupid now he thought about it. They didn’t seem like they would take it, but then again Dream would have, and he wasn’t taking risks.

He liked this book. While a little lighter in weight, it had colourful photographs as opposed to the stiff grey illustrations from the book at Dream’s, and explanations of context and etiquette at the top of each page. 

Tommy flicked to the first page and set it down in front of Techno, who sniffed, looking up. 

‘Hello’ , Tommy signed. He pointed at the diagram on the first page, and did it again. ‘Hello!’

Techno chuckled, bringing his legs down to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Tommy, and signed it back. ‘Hello.’

Tommy grinned wide. ‘How are you?’

Techno looked blank for a moment, glanced at the book and back, still baffled.

Tommy signed again. ‘How are you?’

Techno frowned and stared at the book for a while, a look of understanding eventually passing over his face and responding. ‘Fine, how are you?’

They carried on in that manner, their conversation completely silent but just as beautiful, just as close as that with sound. 

Techno thought. With Tommy, time always seemed to fly, and the signs he was taught seemed to flow so naturally from his hands, like a newly unlocked dance of language, an art of communication that was never shown to him before.

This was a good distraction. 

Focusing on his surroundings had, in the past, been the cause of panic, while focusing on his breathing was more of a temporary fix. Distractions worked though.

In the old house it had been books. Greek mythology, Sun Tzu’s The Art of War , theoretical swordfighting – a little bit of everything.

In the pit it was Wilbur, who would whisper about anything he could think of and sing quietly to him in the middle of the night, and then later on it was Tubbo who, leaning on the bars beside Wilbur’s “bed”, would tell him facts about bees and his plans for when he grew up.

Now, he didn’t get them as much, but Phil was there, and so was Wilbur, and Ranboo every third week, and now Tommy was here too, and they were a family.

Techno focused once more on the signing, and only looked away from Tommy and the book when Phil came down half an hour later; he opened the door slightly and caught Tommy’s eye, who beckoned him to join with a smile. 

Phil began to help Techno with his signing and Tommy– honestly, Tommy was the happiest he’d been in years. Being held hostage in a basement, signing a conversation with two of the three most notorious villains London had ever known.

Happy.

Chapter Text

Three days since Tommy calmed Techno down, and four days since Wilbur forced Tommy to speak, Techno was getting ready to go out. As in, going out . As in, Villainy. Foresight had texted him, and they were gonna meet up, chill on a rooftop, maybe get ice cream – they were friends, Techno thought, despite them having never seen each others’ faces. 

Foresight’s power (which was, despite what the name suggested, an ability to read objects and learn things about them that often wouldn’t be visible to the naked eye) was honestly very cool, but more of a passive power than Techno’s. It had helped the Syndicate out a couple of times, like reading a document they “found” to check the credibility of the source or ensuring an object hadn’t been tampered with. Techno suggested they open an antiques shop one day, but she laughed and said they had something they liked already.

As Techno got one of his cloaks out of the cupboard, he heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” said Techno.

“...Hello,” said Wilbur.

Techno’s shoulders tensed. Wilbur looked at the floor.

“Techno, I’m sorry for. Uh.”

“Sending me into a panic attack? It was like three days ago, it’s fine.”

A pause. Techno sat down on the edge of his bed, and, after a moment, Wilbur joined him.

“I genuinely am really sorry though, like I knew it was a trigger but I yelled anyway, and—”

“It’s fine.”

“— and that’s not ok, because I—”

“Wilbur, it’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“I— That doesn’t mean you have to suffer now.”

“Same goes for you.”

Wilbur sighed and leaned sideways onto Techno’s shoulder.

“I don’t like drinking. It just– it makes me forget for a bit, yknow?”

“Are you gonna stop?”

Wilbur exhaled. “I’ll try. It’s like… the only thing that feels like it works, I guess.”

“Does it work?”

“…No. But now it’s just the thought that it might.”

“You should talk to Phil about this, he can give you more help than I can.”

Wilbur groaned.

“I’m going out to meet up with Foresight, you wanna come?”

“Nah, I gotta apologise to Tommy still.”

“Yeah. Good luck, I guess. Talk to Phil as well, ok?”

“...Maybe.”

Techno stood, put his long pink hair up into a bun and grabbed his pig-skull mask, wrapped it in his blood-red cloak and held it firmly under his arm.

“Seeya, Wil.”

“Stay safe, don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“No fighting Dream, got it.”

He waved at Wilbur and clambered out of the window, jumping down from the third floor with ease and walking down the street to the main road. He walked for 10 minutes until he got to the main city, climbing up a skyscraper’s fire escape, putting on his mask and cape and jumping the familiar route to the closest roof to their favourite ice-cream stand. The owner was very chill and did not pay any attention to who the customers were as long as they paid. 

It was a neutral ground, in a way – Techno had seen a few of the smaller heroes and villains going here at the same time, exchanging small nods at the counter but nothing else. 

It was also a top spot for vigilantes, which was why it was Foresight who introduced Techno to it. 

Speaking of Foresight actually, where were they? 

Techno looked around, scanning the square. They were nowhere to be seen. He checked his phone, making sure they did say here and not somewhere else, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whipped round to meet a pair of pure white eyes and shrieked.

Foresight laughed behind the black cloth face mask they wore and offered a hand to Blade, who took it and chuckled, standing and dusting himself off and returning his phone to his pocket. 

“Hello, Blade.”

“Foresight. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m ok. The usual, you know the deal.”

“Nice, nice. You wanna get ice cream?”

“Sure.”

Blade led Foresight across the roof to the rusty ladder that served as a fire escape, climbing down the two flights and waiting for Foresight to join him.

They emerged from the alleyway and went to the counter of Steve’s ice cream stand. 

“Mint?” Foresight asked Blade, who nodded.

“Strawberry?” Blade responded.

Steve wasn’t there like he normally was, but the teenage employee (Not Steve, as the voices called her) nodded, scooping up their usual flavours into tubs.

They paid, thanked Not Steve and returned to the rooftop they were on before to a ledge that was out of sight of everyone below. They had a silent agreement not to look at each other while they ate, because while Blade’s mask could be pushed up while still concealing most of his features, Foresight’s could not, and it was simpler to look away than keep secrets.

Also, it meant Techno could avoid eye contact.

They ate in silence for a bit until Foresight, having finished their ice cream, started conversation. “Did I ever tell you I'm legally blind?”

“What?”

“Yeah, no I cannot see.”

“I didn’t know that?”

“Yeah, my power lets me ‘see’ things, but obviously only if I touch them. I do miss colours though.”

“That’s so cool. Does it work like the same as sight or …?”

“Eh, it’s a bit different, from what I remember. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like… I know properties of things, like colour and shape and such, and also where things are in perspective of the floor.”

“Is that why you touch the floor so much during fights?”

“Yeah. It really helps to keep doing that so I can better figure out where they’re gonna go, where they are, all that.”

Blade took a bite of his ice cream in thought, and dropped his spoon. Foresight reached for it at the same time as Blade did, and their hands bumped together. Foresight froze.

“TECHNO???”

Blade was stunned for a second, before reaching for the sword that hung by his side and mentally preparing for a fight.

“How did you know that. Foresight, how did you—”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I accidentally read you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s… swear you wont tell anyone.”

“Techno, I swear on my life, I would never. Look, I’ll–”

The vigilante took off his mask again, and Techno’s eyes met the pure white ones that Eret, the librarian who he had seen less than two weeks ago, always hid behind dark glasses. He dropped the sword in shock.

“...Gods. Hello, Eret.”

“Hello, Techno.”

Tchno leaned back against the wall, sighing disbelievingly.

“That was… that happened. Gods, this is a strange situation.”

“That book you borrowed is due back in a week or so. Have you found the kid’s parents yet?”

“Oh, um, … he’s… uh…”

“...Does he have parents?”

“Um, well. He’s … how do I say this? He is … a hostage.”

“He’s what??”

“Yeah we fought Dream like … a week and a half ago? The 10th of February. 10 days.”

“Oh, that fight. The footage cut off halfway through. What happened?”

“...It cut off? It’s– that shouldn't have– when?”

“It cut off just when Crowfather said something along the lines of ‘Dream, this isn't over.’ Cool line, but it cut off there.”

“Oh. So– so no-one saw Tommy?”

“Who’s Tommy? What happened?”

“Dream sent out a raccoon hybrid called Tommy, he’s eleven and so we’re holding him hostage.”

“ Eleven??”

“That’s what I thought!! And it’s been like a week since we sent the message, and we thought we’d probably have a response by now but we don’t , and it seems like nobody even knows he exists. Even Ni— Nihachu didn’t know anything at all, and— HHHHH. None of this makes sense!”

Eret was silent for a second. 

“Niki didn’t know?”

“You know she’s–? Yeah, no she knew nothing. That’s what doesn’t make sense, because she knows at least a tiny bit about everything there, even if it’s just security footage she knows about its existence.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Are you sure she has access to every security camera?”

“That she knows of, yes.”

“Even in the heroes’ apartments?”

“Yes, so… unless Dream doesn’t live…”

“Hmm. Would I be allowed to read him?”

“Who, Tommy?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“What about one of his possessions, like maybe an item of clothing?” 

“Maybe.”

“Alright. Tell me if you change your mind, though.”

“I should probably get going. Thanks, Fore– Eret. I’ll think about it.”

Techno stood up from the ledge, stretching.

“One more thing, Blade. When did he last go outside?”

Techno paused.

“Goodbye, Techno. Until next we meet.”

Techno left, mind full and swirling with theories, but most importantly, ‘When did he last go outside?’.

***

Meanwhile, Wilbur was pacing his room, trying to figure out the best way to apologise to Tommy. His cheek had fully healed from his scratches by now, and he rubbed it absent-mindedly, thinking about the best way to apologise, and what to do if it went badly, and how there was a good chance that Tommy hated him now.

Techno had been out for almost an hour by now, and Wilbur needed advice from him on how to apologise. Alas, the only people in the house were Tommy and Phil.

Phil.

Ok, apologising to Tommy sounded easier, even without Techno’s advice. He could just go down to the basement, knock to make sure Tommy was warned, go in, apologise for forcing him to talk, and leave.

Easy.

Not easy.

Easier than talking to Phil about how yes, maybe he did get blackout drunk every other day, maybe he got through a pack of cigarettes in a week, but maybe he doesn’t know how to stop because now there is nothing that really helps, and he feels like he’s too dependent on it and—

Yeah, let’s talk to Tommy.

Wilbur went downstairs, paused at the door, took a deep breath, and knocked. He waited a moment, remembered that Tommy wouldn’t reply, and opened the door to find Tommy lying upside down on the sofa, who waved at the doorway without looking.

“Um–”

Tommy, upon hearing Wilbur’s voice, scrambled down and narrowed his eyes at him, tail curling round him.

“I– I’m sorry for forcing you to talk, I didn’t know it would work like that, and you have every right to still be angry, but I am so so sorry and I– yeah. Sorry.”

“Fine.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened, half wondering whether he just imagined that.

“What? You already forced me to talk.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it’s fine, whatever you’re comfortable with–”

“Oh, so now you care? I’m still angry, you know.”

Tommy turned his back on Wilbur, and he swore he heard a little sniff immediately followed by a small chirrup.

Wilbur took that to mean the conversation was over, and left the room. His hand hovered over the deadbolt for a moment before he thought better of it. 

The door was left unlocked that day.

***

Phil was on a phone call with Puffy, trying to figure out the best way to ask Wilbur about his drinking habits, when he swore he heard a muffled yell, as though into a cushion, from the room above.

“Wilbur?” he called, checking on his son.

“Yeah?” came the calm reply from upstairs.

“Nothing,” he said, mostly reassured. 

“What happened?” asked Puffy from the other end of the phone call he was on.

“I thought I heard– nevermind. What were you saying?”

“Yes, so asking questions is good, ask him how he feels about it. Does he think it’s a problem, how does it affect him, etc.. but do not make it a lecture, don’t accuse, please for the love of god address it when he’s sober. As I said though, I don’t specialise in this, I tend to refer people to a specialist, and that’s not me.”

“Ok, I’ll try my best. Thanks a lot, Puffy,” replied Phil, still vaguely ruffled by the angry shout that he was sure he heard. “You’re really helpful sometimes.”

“Thank you, I try. Oh, um, one more thing – can you take Ranboo for a few days next week? I’m taking morning shifts at Niki’s bakery at the moment because Steve’s gone to Spain to visit family, and she’s really relying on me to show up.”

“Um… could Schlatt not keep him a few extra days? I’m sure Tubbo would love to have him there.”

“Yeah no, he could possibly, I checked, but Ranboo insists on switching things up so he ‘doesn’t forget us’, bless him. Could you?”

“Um… the spare room’s a bit …occupied at the moment, but we could figure something out if he doesn’t mind sharing a room with one of the boys or sleeping on the sofa?”

“Oh, yes I’ll definitely ask him but I’m pretty sure that’d be fine, you're a lifesaver. Thanks Phil!”

“You too, Puffy, thanks so much for the advice. Talk soon?”

“Absolutely, good luck speaking to Wil!”

“Thank you, bye!”

“Bye!”

-Boop-

Phil still felt a disturbance in the force from the muffled yell, so decided to investigate.

On his way up the stairs he heard another one of the muffled shouts and sped up, reaching the door and knocking, concerned. Wilbur must not have heard him, so he knocked again.

Still nothing.

He opened the door, looked around. Once. Twice. Thrice. Wilbur was nowhere to be seen, a cushion lay in the middle of the room, and the window was open onto the roof below, curtains flapping in the breeze.

That breeze intensified as Phil, stepping over the cushion, approached the window, his mind running at a million miles an hour, imagining every single thing that could possibly have happened to his son, every single person, villain or not, who could have taken him, and the gentle breeze became faster and faster, shooting Phil's hair in every which way, until he leaned out the window and saw his youngest sitting on the roof smoking a cigarette, which was swiftly stubbed out as soon as Wilbur’s eyes whipped round to him.

Thank god he was safe. 

(Since when did he smoke?)

“Oh, Wilbur, I thought you’d been kidnapped or something. I heard a yell, and I thought you’d– Wil, are you ok?”

“...DO YOU HAVE WIND POWERS???”

“...no?”

“No ‘cause it got super windy, and then you appeared, and it was coming from the window, and…”

“I.. don’t have wind powers, Wil.”

“How do you fly while carrying me, Phil?”

“With my wings, I guess,” he shrugged. “They’re strong.”

“Phil, did … you ever pay attention in physics?”

“... no. Anyway, that’s not what we’re discussing right now”

“Well, what are we discussing?”

“Wil, it’s… how long have you been drinking?”

Wilbur looked away and lit a new cigarette.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shuffled his sitting position to better hide the half-empty bottle of wine beside him.

“Wil, it does matter.”

“Why.”

“Because you matter.”

Wilbur was silent.

“Look, I know it’s difficult, but you can get better help if you say something. Would you rather discuss this with a therapist? That’s fine, I can get you one, maybe Puffy will have some advice, she’s—”

“No, no, It’s fine. It doesn't matter.”

“It does. I’m willing to do a lot for you, so all you have to do is ask whenever and we can figure out something, but either you discuss this with a therapist, Techno or me because we want to help.”

“Techno knows.”

“Can I ask him, would that be easier?”

“Yeah, but it’s … he ..doesn’t know that much,” Wilbur took a puff of his cigarette, not even bothering to hide it anymore.

“I first drank when I was like 13 because it was hell in the group home. The first time, I stole half a bottle from the older kids and drank the whole thing in one night. It was fun, and it helped, in a way, and so I … I kept doing it, I guess. In the Pit I mostly stopped, because there wasn’t much – then it was even more of a treat, I guess –  but I stole some and I won some occasionally, and I took Techno’s when he won because god knows he won't go near the stuff, but, when I got out and I could get as much as I wanted, I … I did.”

Wilbur took another slow puff of his cigarette.

“It’s strange, because now I don’t really have that much to distract myself from — nothing consistent, at least.”

Phil nodded.

“Thanks for telling me.”

Wilbur leant back against the brick wall.

“I apologised to Tommy.”

“Good job! How was it?”

“He still hates me.”

“Did he say that?”

“Well… not exactly, but he said he’s still angry.”

“That’s fair. You still did the right thing.”

Phil didn’t seem to realise that it meant Tommy had spoken, and Wilbur was sure as hell not going to tell him.

Well.

Not now, at least.

“Phil, I think you do have wind powers. To – to some extent, at least”

“I’m sure I don't. Besides, they would have manifested by 7, right?”

“You could have been using them subconsciously without meaning to.”

“No, I would have noticed. Are you sure?”

“No, but you could try doing something and if nothing, then I’m wrong," said Wilbur, shrugging. “But if you do, you owe me a fiver.”

“Wilbur, admitting he’s wrong? That would be new.”

“Ok, try then.”

Phil took a breath, closing his eyes and focusing on the air around him. As he exhaled, he willed the air to swirl around him in one single circle.

He opened his eyes, ready to see Wilbur admit he was wrong, only to be met with a rather ruffled looking pair of brown eyes that perhaps were not admitting defeat.

“You did something. The wind did like a little loop around you, I think.”

Phil didn't admit that was what he was trying to do, because he was not just now discovering he had powers after 10 years of villaining. That would be very annoying.

Anyway, Techno was probably nearly home.

***

Tommy was pacing back and forth, as he had been on and off for the past two hours since Siren came and “apologised”, signing angrily and definitely not growling like a raccoon.

Sure there was nothing wrong with the apology itself, but Tommy was glad now that he’d scratched the fuck out of his face the other day. He had been feeling slightly guilty about that. Not anymore, the fucker could fuck off with that stupid fucking voice and his stupid fucking face and his stupid fucking self that forced Tommy to talk! He was an absolute fucking—

Anyway, he scratched Siren’s face because he just wanted to make up to Dream for sneaking out, to impress him enough that he wouldn’t punish him too badly.

He’s definitely being punished when Dream comes for him though.

He was not looking forward to it.

But Siren, Wilbur, that fucking annoyance, with his pretentious fucking name and pretentious fucking trenchcoat, could fuck off and die.

He was a villain, after all.

Dream, for once, might be helpful.

Tommy was too caught up in his spiteful thoughts to notice when the door opened, and he only whipped around when he heard Techno’s deep voice, in the form of an awkward cough.

“I.. brought food?”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at him, but plonked himself down onto the chair anyway.

“Angry?”

Tommy glared. It wasn’t fair on Techno really, but he was angry.

“Mmm. Why?”

Tommy shrugged. He knew why, but signing didn’t work on Techno, and he really couldn’t be bothered to figure out where the notebook was.

“Something happen?”

Tommy nodded, arms crossed.

“Hmm. Did Wilbur apologise?”

Tommy nodded again, staring a hole through the table.

“Yeah. Thought as much.”

Tommy felt a little better that Techno understood at least a bit. Apologies were meant to make everything better right away, right? Wasn't that the point?

“Apologies don’t always make everything better right away.  All they do is let you know the person feels bad for what they did, but it’s ultimately your choice if and when you forgive them.”

A plate of jacket potato slid into Tommy's line of sight, and he looked up at Techno.

“I did it in the microwave ‘cause I just got home like 20 minutes ago, so it's probably not that good. D’you mind if I eat here with you?”

Techno was indeed carrying his own plate of jacket potato, and Tommy nodded at the seat opposite. He sat down, realised he had forgotten to get cutlery and disappeared upstairs for a minute, returning with two glasses of water and the cutlery.

“So, Wilbur apologised,” he stated, sitting down again. “I’m assuming it went badly?

Techno had retrieved the notepad from god-knows-where and handed it to Tommy along with a pen, so Tommy responded one-handed, mouth full.

Not relly just hes stupid and mean and i hate him

“Not badly, huh? Mkay.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows at Techno.

“I didn’t say anything! Was Wil’s apology bad or was it ok but you’re still angry anyway?”

Tommy broke eye contact for a second. It was probably the latter, but it – to him at least – sounded immature. Dream often said he was immature.

Immature or not, he was angry.

“Do you want to talk about something else?”

Tommy nodded enthusiastically.

“How about we look at some more signs?”

Tommy looked up to meet Techno’s brown eyes, and now that he looked at them, they seemed to be more a deep red. They were very pretty. Like copper. No, like ruby— yes, Ruby and Garnet and Jasper and blood—

What was he saying?

“Do you want to do some signing? It’s fine if not, but i just enjoyed it the other day, and—”

Tommy nodded, scampering over to the bookshelf where he put the book and returning to the table. 

Another hour passed before he left. Teaching Techno sign was a lovely distraction – it almost made Tommy feel like he cared.

He knew better than to wish for it to last though.

Dear me, he knew things didn't last.

It didn’t stop him from dreaming.

Chapter Text

Tommy woke later than normal the next day, opening his eyes to Techno bringing down his breakfast.

So far, they hadn’t missed bringing him meals a single time – honestly, at this point they were treating him better than Dream had ever – but he brushed away that thought as soon as it came. Besides, Techno had a certain look on his face at that moment that Tommy hadn't seen before – not that he remembered at least.

It was somewhere in between concern and worry, which one would think are the same thing, and so did Tommy, until then, because they're so similar they're easy to disguise as one another.

Tommy thought, then, that they were slightly different, but he couldn’t quite figure out why.

He decided to drop the thought for the moment and tucked into his French toast. No point in figuring out psychology when you could have breakfast instead. 

Besides, it was good. Eggy, toasty, French-y. Good food. He signed this to Techno who, as usual, chuckled and thanked him, but he still seemed a little distracted.

He carried on eating in silence.

Techno sat across from him at the small table and peered at him.

What? He signed. 

Techno looked taken aback for a second, before brushing it off. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

Tommy knew it wasn’t nothing, and was in fact something. He took another bite.

Quite possibly something that concerned him . He swallowed and took another bite.

How rude Techno was to not say.

He finished his breakfast and drank the orange juice he had been given, and stared Techno in the eyes. 

(Jesus, when did he last make proper eye contact?)

Techno seemed mildly surprised, but held the gaze. “What?”

What are you looking at me like that for?

…

*sigh* Why you look me?

  “Ah, ok. And I’m not.” Techno replied, staring into Tommys soul.

Yes you are.

“Am not.”

Are too.

“This is stupid.”

You're stupid.

Techno laughed, breaking the prolonged eye contact that was beginning to get rather tiring. Tommy slammed his hand on the table and stood, mock-aggressive.

I WIN! Tell me!

Techno, startled, deciphered the signs and sighed.

“Fine. You win.”

So tell me.

“Phil would kill me. Oh, speaking of Phil, we think he might have had subconscious—”

Don’t change the subject!

“What?”

Tell meeeee. Pleasseeee?

Tommy did the puppy dog eyes. The irresistible charm didn't work on Dream, but it worked on George and sometimes that meant he could persuade Dream, so they did work on Dream. Take that, logic!

Techno sighed again (did he not get out of breath?) and submitted to the technically-slightly-resistible persuasive power of the puppy dog eyes.

“So I was out with a friend yesterday…and I told them about you, and… they said something that, uh, made me think. Um…”

Go on.

“They. uh. Askedwhenyoulastwentoutside.”

…Outside? Why?

“Um. Vitamin D?”

I mean, why care?

Techno frowned. “That’s one you'll have to write down, I'm afraid.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, grabbed the notebook from the shelf, and, with greasy fingers, wrote down the question.

Techno tilted his head to the side.

“I guess–No, I said last week, didn’t I? Precious cargo…”

Tommy was not convinced, and Techno didn’t seem to have convinced himself either.

“Look, do you want to go outside or not?”

Tommy considered for a second, and nodded. It had been a while. He never really got out much with Dream, but they had windows, did they not? Barred, but it was fresh air. And occasionally, if Tommy was really good, Dream would take him to the park.

Why not, he supposed. What harm could it do?

Tommy nodded, and to his surprise, Techno grinned.

He opened the door and led the way, taking the stairs virtually two at a time, buzzing with excitement – it was contagious, it seemed, as Tommy couldn’t help but smile too.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Phil walked out of the kitchen. 

“Where are you two going, hm?” he asked, vaguely suspicious but more puzzled.

“Um…”

Techno said we can go outside!

“Did he now?” said Phil, looking questioningly at Techno. “Well, I suppose it’s a good call.”

Are you coming?

“Ok, I can. Techno, does Wil know?

Techno, now looking very sheepish, shook his head.

“Right. Well mate, how about you take Tommy outside while I tell Wil where we are? Take your phone in case he gets recognised and the police get called.”

“Recog– from the news?” Phil nodded in response, and Techno hesitated. ”Yeah, uh, about that—”

“Tell me later, ok? Let Tommy get outside.”

With one last frown at Phil, Techno opened the back door, and Tommy took a few steps towards the doorway. He felt, for the first time in forever, pure fresh air on his face. He glanced at Techno, checking for confirmation, and, when it came, he flew down the stone steps onto the grassy mud.

Tommy spun around and laughed out loud, revelling in the fresh air, before throwing himself down onto the damp earth and looking at the sky.

Techno appeared a moment later, offering a hand up. 

“Wanna play tag?”

They had a large garden consisting of all grass, with a shed in the corner and neat flowerbeds lining the fence – AKA perfect for tag. Thus, Tommy set off at a run, Techno easily catching up and bopping him on the back, and Tommy shrieking and chasing after.

They barely noticed Phil coming out with a cup of tea, continuing to run around, chasing for fun, not as a hostage and a villain.

Tommy giggled, the wind in his hair, the mud under his trainers, the stinging cold on his cheeks — he was without a care in the world.

They carried on playing for a while, until Tommy slipped on a particularly muddy bit of ground and fell, catching himself on his hands.

Techno, who was Still Not It, paused his escapingness and asking, “Are you ok?” Tommy just smirked.

“IT!” he yelled, tapping Techno and sprinting in the opposite direction.

“Oh, you little—” Techno ran after, ignoring Phil’s loud laughter.

“Crafty kid, this one! Good on you, Tommy!”

“Stop supporting the enemy, Phil!” Techno joked in response. He caught up with Tommy once more, picking him up and spinning him around. Tommy squealed in delight, laughing and pushing at Techno’s face.

Eventually, when they were too tired to carry on any longer, they flopped down onto the mud and watched the clouds.

Tommy clapped to get Techno’s attention (a trick he’d learned from the book) and signed. 

Beautiful.

“Oh, they are. But I think the stars are nicer.”

…Stars?

“You haven't seen beauty until you’ve camped out under the stars.”

Stars. What. Why.

“You— you don't know what stars are? Sparkly things from the sky at night?”

Tommy glanced at him. He knew the stars, of course, but all they held was pain. The cold on the streets, the metal bars at Dream’s — stars were cold, and mocking, and their cruel gaze didn’t seem beautiful at all.

But Techno, Tommy realised, had been homeless too. Maybe, if he could see the stars as something other than far-away light flaunting the freedom and luxury he’d never have, maybe Tommy could too.

“I’ll show you one day. I promise.”

Chapter Text

In light of recent events concerning Wilbur and Shelby, I will not be writing this for a bit.
I am fully supporting Shubble in this, but I don’t really know what to do with this fic now haha.
I may continue this as it is about the characters not the people, but still. I don’t think it’s the best choice, at least at the moment.

Please do say if you have any opinions on this matter. However, if you are supporting Wilbur, please don’t comment, or at least be warned that (even assuming you are respectful) people will likely disagree. I’d prefer to not have fights in the comments.
Thank you for your understanding.

PS: If I fully abandon this fic, I will post the plot in bullet points so you at least get some closure on the story. POST-HIATUS: this still stands :]

UPDATE II

I will continue this!!!

I have lost track of whats been happening. Regardless, I am writing these characters who just so happen to be similar to the CCs, not the actual people. They're my little toys to play god with /hj

But yeah, i will continue (although i have gotten really into good omens actually, likely no fic for it but if you wanna see some of my art check out my tumblr), but also my update schedule is non-existent so you may be waiting a little while.

Honestly i lost motivation for a while anyway, so the next few chapters may be a bit not great while i figure out how to write again.

Chapter Text

Wilbur Felt Bad. That was for sure. He had already apologised, and what else could he do? 

Normally he would drink to forget, but he had turned over his little stash of wine and cigarettes to Techno yesterday, at Phil’s gentle instruction.

But now, they weren't at home, they were out keeping up appearances with some minor crime, and Wilbur was feeling bad with no actual coping mechanisms. Unless… A thought occurred to him. Something he hadn't done since before he even met Techno. Wilbur ran his hand over his left wrist where he knew the scars had long since faded beyond visibility. What if…

He flinched hard.

No. No no no. He promised somebody, a long time ago, he promised he wouldn't. 

But it would be so easy – a shaving razor from the bathroom, or a knife from the kitchen, or even one of Techno’s swords.

 ‘Wilbur, shut up,’ he thought. ‘You promised you wouldn’t, and promises should be kept.’

Besides, it was almost lunchtime, and the others would want him to feed the prisoner, and it could work as a distraction.

…Or make it a million times worse. 

Wilbur could take those odds.

He went into the kitchen and tried to think what to make. Wilbur was, unfortunately, not a fabulous cook. Once, when he was around five, he had almost burned down a foster home making toast and managed to persuade them he had just manifested fire powers. 

He had not, but he’d figured out how to use the voice by then.

He was sent back soon after.

He looked in the fridge and saw some leftover lasagne, so decided perhaps he could reheat it. Then, he noticed a green tupperware full of pasta salad labelled ‘FOR TOMMY – WILBUR USE ON 24th FEB’ in Techno’s neat script.

He decided to feed Tommy the latter.

He dumped it out into a bowl, realising that he had made enough for Wilbur too, with a little extra just in case. Good old Techno.

Wilbur went to get cutlery from the drawer, and his eyes caught on the sharp knives on the side. He ran a finger along the edge of one of the blades, imagining digging it into his skin; imagining the way the blood would flow; like lava from a fissure in the ground, like hot water from a spring, like river rapids from broken rocks.

He stopped, whipping his hand away and slamming the drawer shut. 

You promised.

Plastic cutlery would be fine.

But he looked at the glossy drawer for a moment longer than he should have, trailing his fingers over the handle. They wouldn't know…

He shook his head to expel the thoughts, and got the plastic cutlery out of the ‘cup’ cupboard. The glasses gleamed sharply in the light from the window.

He got two plastic cups, filled them with water, and balanced them, the cutlery and the bowls on a large tray. He put on the blindfold-looking mask.

He did not intend to stay long with Tommy – just drop the food off and go. But the kitchen was not a good place to be, not in this mood.

He did not intend to stay long with Tommy – but if he played guitar in the study, he could press the rough strings into the backs of his hands and use the tuning forks to make bruises down his thighs and up his ribs.

He did not intend to stay long with Tommy – but his room was right across from Techno’s, and his swords and daggers were easily taken down. 

He went down and put the food on the table, pointedly ignoring Tommy’s glare. He turned around, and imagined what would happen if he left that room. He was clean. He couldn't . He promised .

“Tommy?”

“What?” His voice was hoarse and laced with poison, dripping hatred onto the rug like paint, staining it an ugly, brutal red.

“You don't have to talk, please, I can tell you don't want to, its okay—”

“Spit it out. ”

Wilbur took a breath.

“Can I stay here? I’m scared—” his voice failed for a moment, and he cleared his throat. “I’m scared to be on my own because I might— might break a promise.” 

There. He’d said it. Well… more or less.

“It’s your house. Do what you want.”

“Okay. Well. Thanks.”

They fell into an awkward silence. Tommy sat across from him and stared at his plate, pushing the pasta around with his fork.

“I haven’t poisoned that, you know.”

Tommy sniffed. “You might as well have,” he spat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, why’d you say it then?”

Tommy rocked back on his chair and glared coldly into Wilbur’s eyes, through the mask. It was rather uncanny how he managed to pinpoint exactly where his eyes were.

“Why are you scared? You can literally control people,” Tommy said, U-turning the topic.

“Yeah, not myself, bitch.”

“What?”

“What?”

They paused. Tommy looked back at his pasta. It did look good. He glanced at Wilbur, and then scarfed down the entire bowl in about a minute.

“How the hell did you eat so fast?”

Tommy shrugged. He stood from the table and sat in front of the sofa, next to the wall, and slumped his head onto his knees, scrunching his eyes closed, and curling his tail around and fiddling with the end. He hadn't spoken that much in years, and he had reached his limit for now.

He heard the clinking of plates being stacked, and then footsteps approaching. A shadow fell over him; Wilbur must be standing over him.

“Tommy?” Wilbur asked, voice softer than before. “Are you okay down here?”

He didn’t bother responding. Wilbur hesitated, then sat down next to him.

“Hey, you don't have to talk if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure.”

Coming from a supervillain, Wilbur didn’t suppose it was all that comforting.

“Do you want to hear a story?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Well. I can tell you how I got to live here, if you like?”

Tommy was intrigued, but tried not to show it. It was annoying when you got your hopes up. Siren was probably a shit storyteller anyway. He made a vague gesture for him to continue.

“Ok. Well. Feel free to stop me if. Um. Yeah.”

He paused.

“When I was… Well, context: I was a foster kid for, well, since I was born. I presume my parents couldn't take care of me themselves, that's fine, I don't blame them. Sometimes it bothers me, and it definitely did when I was younger. But in general, I'm fine with it. It made me who I am.

Anyway, I was a foster kid. I went to a lot of houses, like— about— oh, I don't even know how many. I was a runner – that is, I frequently ran away from the houses that fostered me. By the time I was 14, I was not getting a lot of applications, let me tell you!”

He laughed.

“No, I was fostered one final time. I ran away from there before I’d even stayed a night. I went further than ever. I got on a train and went as far as I could before the trains stopped for the night. I ended up in who-knows-where, just roaming the street with my backpack. That’s when they found me. They said ‘oh, you look like just the right kind! How would you like a bit of extra cash?’ Obviously, I said yes. I was a kid alone, at night, with maybe £30 to his name and no place to sleep. Saying yes was a big mistake. I mean, I've made a lot of mistakes, but that was a pretty bad one. I– I wish I hadn't now.”

“I went with them. They took my stuff – to put behind the front desk, they said – and showed me the arena. I say arena– it was some big, dusty, hidden scrapyard with about a hundred seats scattered about and several times as many rats. Awful place. That was what we called the Pit. Be glad you were never there.”

Wilbur shuddered, but he was flowing now, lost in memory.

“I had my first fight that night. They wanted to make sure I was worth the money of keeping – I won, and I never saw my competitor again. I was worth the cost. After the fight, I was high on happiness, and they called me down to a basement under the Pit. They drugged me, chucked me in a cage, and that’s where I met Techno. The Blade. Shit.”

Wilbur looked at Tommy.

“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “I already know. Keep going.”

“Well, I was in that cage for maybe three months? The only time they let me out was if I had a fight, which was about two or three times a week. At least they fed us… well, sometimes, anyway. It was awful. The only things that kept me going were Techno, Tubbo and alcohol. Alcohol, because if we won, they might give us some beer or cigarettes, and Techno gave me his too because God knows he won't touch it. Techno, because we were in the same cage. It was split by age, so it was me, him, and like 4 others? I fought him pretty often, but he never lost a fight with anyone. It was always really close though. I very nearly won our first fight with just the voice , so he taught himself to resist it. He literally just practised and practised and practised, and I didn’t even realise it was possible before to resist it. That's the only reason it doesn't affect him now. He just practised and practised.”

“Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Tubbo, because he was in the cage next to us. He was only about 7 then, but his powers! Oh, they were something. Still are. Explosions! Really powerful explosions, if he wanted. You always knew when he was in the arena, because the walls shook.”

“Obviously, it didn’t last forever. I’m here, it can't have. I was only there for around three months, but Tubbo and Techno had been there for a few years. I can’t imagine how awful it was for them, with the hunger and the fighting— but that’s not the story.  After three months – well, it could have been more or less, we were underground, but around that – these two heroes realised what was going on. Angel had seen us from the air, and the Captain had
found a digital black hole around there, so they teamed up. They actually got on really well, and they worked well together.”

“They followed the clues, and soon enough, they found us. Tubbo was in the arena when they found us. There was a massive fight, it was terrifying. Tubbo accidentally made an enormous explosion, bigger than he ever had before, and the roof of the basement caved in. We were safe enough from the rubble in the cages, but we were stuck there for almost a full day, with only each other, and no food or water, until they managed to dig us out.”

“But Tubbo– Tubbo was right in the centre of his explosion, and it was… it was not pretty, let me tell you. He almost died, but he pulled through. He’s the sweetest kid, and he was only 7 – he’s about your age now. The two heroes managed to rescue everyone, and the kids were either reunited with family or adopted by willing citizens.”

“All the children had a home within a month – all, except two. For me and Techno, no family or friends could be found, and no one wanted to adopt a pair of traumatised, moody teenagers. But the heroes had been very present during the whole thing, and they insisted that every child would get a home. Tubbo was reunited with his dad. Angel – that was one of the heroes, see – he really cared. Over those few weeks, he got to know all of us, and he insisted, over the month, that we did just one more broadcast, one more call, one more newspaper article.”

“In the end, he sat us down, and he asked us one final time what we wanted. All we asked for was to stay together. I had never had anyone, and Techno had point-blank refused to go back. I remember the look on Angel’s face perfectly, but I have no idea how to describe it. It was… well, the face you make when you think ‘I can't believe I’m actually about to make this decision.’”

“He left, and, half an hour later, a man called Phil came in and asked us if we’d like to be adopted by him. I think me and Techno both caught on quickly, and he had been so caring the whole time. Obviously we didn’t fully trust him, but like, our other option was the foster system, which I had tried so hard to escape, and even in the worst case scenario we would only live with Phil for three years anyway.”

“We took a gamble. It worked in our favour so, so much. I couldn’t be more glad that Phil was the one who found us, as well as the Captain– she’s still lovely, we meet her really often because of Ranboo.”

“That’s kind of the end, I think. ‘And they all lived happily ever after’, or something. Uh. Yeah.”

Tommy was staring at Wilbur with those big blue eyes, awestruck. Then something seemed to occur to him.

“Isn’t Phil a villain?”

“Yes. Well— for simplicity’s sake, yes. Phil used to be a hero, but the Superhero Association is so completely corrupt and money-driven— I mean, you have experience with heroes. We are just trying to improve things. Have we ever killed civilians? Do we single-handedly raise taxes? Have we ever– oh, I could go on for hours.”

Tommy wanted to ask so many questions, but if he spoke again he thought he would actually cry. He glanced around, trying to locate the notebook, but couldn't see it, so slumped over onto his knees instead, tail curling around.

Wilbur frowned. Had his story been that bad? Did he mess up massively? The kid seemed ok with talking to him a little, but maybe he fully misread that?

“Hey, you ok?”

Tommy flicked his tail tiredly. More or less, yes, though he couldn’t think of anything worse at that moment than saying that.

“Are you okay, Tommy?”

Tommy, head still buried in his knees, gave him a weak thumbs up. 

“Oh. Thank you for saying so much to me earlier, that can't have been easy. Um.”

He paused. What now?

“Do you want your book back?”

Tommy shrugged. Wilbur passed him the raccoon book from the coffee table.

“I’ll… um… sit on the sofa.

He did, finding an old holiday magazine and beginning to flick through it. 

Meanwhile, Tommy took a deep breath. That was… a lot for him, honestly. He hadn’t realised how used he was to not talking, and, now that he was, he realised how uncomfortable it made him. 

It was like he was walking a tightrope with every word he said, and the only real end to the balancing act was to fall. If he’d been talking to Dream, he probably would have already said something out of line, and that would be the first strike.

Of course, Dream didn’t actually give strikes. The first was just a slight twitch of the eyebrows. The second was flared nostrils. The third would be either a slap, or the cupboard.

These guys were different though. Wilbur hadn’t batted an eye – well, he was clearly shocked to hear him talk, so was Tommy  – but no bad had come of it. Phil and Techno had actively defended him being forced to talk.

Well. He supposed it made sense for them to be more chill, if he thought about Wilbur’s story. They – or at least Wilbur and Techno – had had their own fair share of bad experiences, so they, if not really understanding, at least knew the feeling of danger.

But then again, they were villains. He kept forgetting that, now that he’d been there for what? Two weeks now? The fact that he kept forgetting really should say something, he thought, and then pushed that to the back of his mind. Not today! 

He opened the book to the last page he remembered looking at. Well. No time like the present to finish the book.

Chapter Text

It was 4:45 am, and Techno lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. May the Gods rain their fury on 404 — fighting him always made the next night insufferable. Phil was probably experiencing similar symptoms: the absolute exhaustion of the body, but a mind that would convince you you had just consumed about 10 shots of espresso at once. Not fun.

Anyway, he was thinking, because even the voices had gone to sleep. Not that there was much else he could do other than think, but hey. He made it work. (He had not ‘made it work’. That was a lie. He was suffering.)

He thought, (in summary, because he had a tendency to get sidetracked).

First, he cursed 404 for this absolute torment. Not for the first time. At least they had blackmail! What had Tommy said his name was? George? George… ah, he’d have to get Phil to check the CCTV recording when this wore off. After a good long nap. But anyway, they had leverage.

Not that it was really worth that much, but… well, it would be useful for Puffy, if she was willing to help. Speaking of Puffy actually, she couldn't take Ranboo for like three days this week, could she? That meant… oh gods, he was coming on Monday?! Today was– well, technically, Sunday. He had completely forgotten, and so forgotten to tell Tommy.

Oops.

Well, he could tell him tomorrow… assuming that 404’s curse had worn off by then, and he was able to physically move without feeling like his limbs were full of cement.

He hoped 404’s pillow would always be just the wrong height.

Tommy would be told tomorrow. Actually, would he have to tell him? If Ranboo slept in Wilbur or Techno’s room, then Tommy wouldn’t even need to meet Ranboo, or even know he was there. Techno frowned. For some reason, he didn’t like that option. (He knew exactly the reason why. He was not going to address it. EVER.)

But Ranboo would want to know why he wasn't sleeping in his normal room, and— well, He already knew their— ahem— professions, so they could just say they were holding someone hostage, which would technically be true – they had sent a ransom message (actually, they should have gotten a response by now. What was happening there?), but he was so nice he’d probably insist on bringing them a few meals, and then he’d object to them keeping someone his age as a hostage. 

Also, Techno didn’t think he could lie to Ranboo. He already could barely trust his own memories, and lying to him? Not only unnecessary, it would break his heart to know someone he trusted would deliberately deceive him.

There was no easy answer here, was there?

Ugh, there might have been if he wasn't so tired. He hoped 404 stubbed his toe twice in the same day on the same spot.

He could be honest with Ranboo from the get-go, but again, he would want to at least meet Tommy, because he didn't really know many people his own age, and if they kept Tommy in the dark initially, it would lead to a myriad of problems.

If they told Tommy, but not Ranboo, then he was back at the earlier point – Ranboo would want to know why he wasn't sleeping in his normal room.

What if they were fully honest with both kids from the start? Wow, that sounded like an obvious choice when he put it like that. Jeez. 

It was late, it wasn't his fault. He hoped 404’s future marriage would eventually fall apart around their 10th anniversary because he found out his spouse had been cheating on him for over a decade, and had never truly loved him. 

Anyway. 

He would tell Tommy, ‘hey, there’s gonna be someone staying here for three days, their name is Ranboo and he is 12, so just a little older than you. Do you want to meet him?’ But what if he didn’t want to meet him? Would Ranboo feel bad?

Whatever. For now, when Ranboo arrived, what could he tell him ? ‘Okay, the reason you aren't in your normal room is cos we’re keeping someone hostage’ – no, that part had to change – ‘because there is someone else there right now. His name is Tommy, he’s 11… [then if Tommy said yes:] …do you want to meet him? [or, if not:] …but he doesn't want to meet anyone new at the moment so you’re sleeping in my room/Wil’s room.’

There. Not too hard. Unless emotions got involved, but Phil could do the feelings part.

That was sorted, but they really, with all due respect) should no longer have Tommy at all.They had sent the ransom message nearly 2 weeks ago, and they should totally have a response of some kind by now.

Maybe it hadn’t worked. They could send another message, but like— Phil was experienced in stuff like this. It should have gone through. Why hadn’t they responded?

Maybe it was a tactical thing, where they thought it would… I dont know, help them?

Maybe it hadn't gone through at all.

Maybe the heroes’ response hadn’t gone through? Yes, that could be it! They didn’t really have tech people as much now, so…

…

What if they didn't want Tommy back? Oh, no, oh no no no. No, they—

But it made sense. Techno hated it, but it made sense: Clearly, Dream was abusive to Tommy, judging by the scar on his shoulder which he’d shown them during the interrogation. God, that scar. It was fairly faded, and not too bad, compared to some he’d seen, but on an 11 year old? and inflicted by the person he was presumably fully dependent on? Christ, he was insane .

It was now 5:28 am, and Techno’s thoughts were slowing. That was incredible. That was brilliant, that meant he could sleep soon! That meant he… that was good. That’s great. That’s…

And Techno ‘Blade’ Watson finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Techno slept until 3pm the next day, and woke up feeling at least a little better. He could move without feeling like his limbs weighed as much as several small rhinoceroses, at least.

He vaguely tried to recall his agenda before deciding, ‘hey, breakfast – or at least, late lunch – first.’

He headed down to the kitchen, waving to Phil on his way downstairs. Phil looked as sleep-deprived as Techno felt. Wilbur was lying upside-down on the sofa, scrolling.

“Hey Tech,” He said, looking up. “Wow, you look terrible .”

“...Thanks,” Techno replied, smiling pointedly.

“Hey, it's not your fault 404 was the one they sent out. I would have just not gotten the heroes called in the first place.”

“No, we were keeping up appearances. I thought you knew that. We wanted to cause a bit of a ruckus. We aren’t gonna do anything big while we’ve got Tommy—”

Techno paused.

“Wilbur?”

“Yeah?”

“You fed Tommy this morning, yes?”

“Yeah? Obviously?”

Techno breathed out. Nothing to worry about.

“Lunch?”

“Yeah, Phil did that at like 2pm.”

“Ok, that's alright then. I was kinda worried.”

“Really? I would never have realised”

Techno chuffed indignantly, and went to make some toast. Between putting the bread in the toaster and it popping, he realised the book on raccoons was due back tomorrow. Oh shit.

He hadn't told Tommy that it was borrowed. He needed to bring it in person to renew or buy it, and he couldn't just take it without an explanation. Well, he could do it today— no he couldn’t, it was Sunday. Eret closed at three on Sundays.

Tomorrow, except then Ranboo would be arriving at like 8/9 am, and Phil wanted him and Wilbur to take him somewhere, like the park. Oooh, the library counted as ‘somewhere’. And then they could go to the park after. Maybe Ranboo could take his roller skates. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.

His toast popped up.

It was burnt.

***

Tommy was feeling a bit peckish. It was coming up to 6:45pm (he thought, anyway, by his limited knowledge of clocks), so that made sense. 

He was kind of super really bored. He’d finished the book on raccoon hybrids, and had several times realised ‘Oh my god that’s a raccoon thing and not just me being fucking weird???’ and overall, his life made quite a bit more sense.

There were other books there, but he didn’t want to read any of the ones on the shelf, and there was the BSL book, but he already knew most of it, and there was that other book on hybrids too, but he’d already read it.

There was nowhere left to explore really, and he’d already checked under the mattress and the sofa cushions for treasures (there was a boiled sweet and about £1.20), and obviously he’d already explored the bathroom, and got explicit permission that yes, he was allowed and was in fact encouraged to use the shower, and had claimed the spare toothbrush as his own. 

He’d asked Phil once what the Always things in the cupboard were, and was subsequently traumatised. How did they manage? That sounded like torture!! Bleeding? Every month ? And it hurt ? AND they had to do everything normally??? Holy fuck.

He had loved going in the garden that one time. He really wanted to go there again, because there was so much to see and hear and feel and he wanted to explore it and climb the big tree in it. Or somewhere else new, like… like… um… well, he hadn’t had much experience with the outside in a while, but he’d like to see somewhere that wasn’t alleyways.

Suddenly, he heard heavy footfalls on the stairs. Techno. Dinner! Nice.

“Hey, Tommy!”

Tommy waved, smiling.

“You’ll never guess what dinner is tonight.”

…beans on toast! On top of cheese on toast!

“Uhh.. honestly, I don't know those signs other than ‘on top of,’ but probably not. It’s curry!”

Tommy sat down at the table and had a sip of water, eyeing the bowl. It didn’t look like anything  he’d eaten before, except maybe a bit like soup, but it was definitely not the same. 

How does it taste?

“It’s a little spicy, but we made yours really mild, so you’re probably ok. If you don’t like it you can have a sandwich or something, but uh. Try it first.”

Tommy tried it. As soon as the spoon touched his mouth, he knew that this was what heaven tasted like. He had licked heaven and it tasted like curry.

“Anyway, Tommy. I was gonna mention… are you listening?”

Tommy was not listening, because he was caught in the beauty of the curry.

“I’ll wait, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you like it.” And he really was. Techno remembered his first time trying his favourite food. 

He had just been adopted by Phil, 15 and untrusting, and on his 2nd night, after his first day of school since he was 10, but even before that he only went half the time because his parents didn’t want to send him to “that government child-brainwashing facility”. Phil had made a cheesy potato bake, and he, after one tentative bite, made an excuse to leave the table and cried in the bathroom. It was the first meal he had ever had that was home-cooked with care, tasted brilliant, and was an edible texture, because holy shit, the sensory issues were REAL.

Once Tommy had finished, he stared longingly at the empty bowl.

“Do you want some more?”

“YES. Well. No, I’m full. But I want—” The words caught in Tommy’s throat. Techno was staring at him. Tommy had spoken.

Tommy chittered. Techno chuffed. Like the sound he made last week, only… smaller? Quieter? 

Tommy’s tail flicked. Some small part of his brain had latched onto Techno’s meaning, even if the boy didn’t get it.

Techno’s memory caught on something. “A few days ago,” he started, “when we went in the garden, when we played It.” 

Tommy nodded slowly.

“You tagged me.”

Tommy nodded again.

“And you said ‘it!’ out loud.”

Tommy signed again. That’s how you play though, yeah?  

“Yeah, it’s just… I didn’t realise. Thanks for trusting me enough for that.”

A thank you?? For doing something everyone else did all the time?? Huh??

“Sorry , did I hear wrong?” Tommy signed as well while he spoke, like he’d seen Phil do.

“What? No, just… I’m happy for you, I guess! Thanks for trusting me with this!”

Tommy was completely, utterly, totally befuddled. What the fuck was happening?

“Do you want a hug? Can I hug you?”

Tommy stood up and took a small step away from the table, head reeling, before slowly holding his arms out slightly.

Without hesitation, Techno came around the table and scooped him up, holding him tight to his chest, and Tommy found that he was warm, and comfy, and he let the rumble of Techno’s breathing echo through his chest. He’d never noticed that Techno breathed differently to him before, but he did. 

It was comforting.

 It was similar to when Tommy was really happy, and his breath vibrated in his throat, and the alley cats did it too sometimes, when they had got to know him enough to lean on his legs and let him stroke their patchy, matted fur.

He missed Lizzie. And Ollie. And Scott and Joel and Lauren. Yes he named them. They didn’t have names before, he had to. And without a name, who were you? No name means nothing to put on a gravestone. No name means nothing to introduce yourself as. No name means no one to miss. No, names were important.

Although, really, he could remember that woman with the black hat. He didn’t know who she was, but he missed her.

Maybe names weren’t quite as important as simply existing as someone to miss. 

…identity. That’s what he meant. That was the word he’d been thinking of all these years.

Identity.

“Identity,” he said out loud, into the hug.

“What?” Techno put him down and stepped back to look at him.

That’s what I meant.

“???”

“All these years,” he was signing along again, “I named the cats to give them an identity.” 

“Heh? Sorry, I think I missed a whole chunk of this conversation.”

Tommy paused. Talking to Techno was way less draining than talking to Wilbur. Weird.

“When I was living in the alleyways,” he began. “I made friends with some of the cats who lived there too.”

‘Concerning start,’ thought Techno.

“I gave them names because I thought they needed them to be remembered. Something to put in the graveyard.”

Techno nodded.

“Except cats don’t have graveyards. They don’t bury dead cats. Well, people do, but cats don’t. Cats bury their poo, not their dead friends. Did you know that?”

“Yeah, it’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“Cats also are really good at climbing because they’re quite light and really really flexible, and they have retractable claws so they only ever poke you if they mean to unless they’re falling or they lose their balance or something.”

“You were saying about identity?”

“Yeah, so I gave them names, so I’d remember them, but I think I’d remember them even if they didn’t have names, because I cared about them and I knew them. So I don’t think names are quite as important as I thought, cause it’s identity that matters.”

“Wow. Yeah. Hey kid, you could almost teach this stuff, that is a really interesting take.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you wanna sit on the couch?”

“Sofa.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Techno sat, and began flicking his thumb against his nails.

“What did you want to tell me about earlier?” Tommy asked, sitting on the other end and lifting his feet onto the cushions.

“Huh? Oh, uh— I can’t remember now. Gimme a minute, I’ll get it.”

They sat in silence for several seconds.

“Do you think you’ve—“

“Ranboo!! That’s it, sorry I interrupted.”

“I was only asking if you nearly had it, it’s ok.”

“Ah good.”

“What's Ranboo?”

Techno chuckled. “Ranboo is a kid who lives with us sometimes. Well, every three weeks. He lives with Schlatt for one week, then Puffy for one week, then us for one week. Normally, we’d have next week, but Puffy can’t take him for three of her days.”

“Does he like it like that?”

“Yeah, he insists!! He kinda has… ooh, don’t think that’s mine to tell actually. But it’s his choice to do it like this. Well, we worked out the logistics, but you know. Um, my point is. He normally sleeps in this room, but for now he’ll be in the study on an air mattress. He'll be fine with it, don’t worry, ok? What I’m asking is, do you want to meet him?”

Tommy thought. It could be nice to meet someone else, and maybe they’d be nice too! 

“What’s he like?” 

“Ranboo… well, he’s a person, I can’t describe him in words in a way that does him justice. He’s very sweet, always honest, um...”

“Kind?”

“The kindest. Says sorry a lot, even when he doesn’t need to.”

“What does he look like?”

“He looks really cool, like seriously cool. His hair is split down the middle for a start: half is black and the other half is white. His skin is similar, one half is pale and the other is like… purply-black? And it shimmers! He’s really tall for his age too ‘cause he’s an enderian hybrid, and… oh yeah, he has this thing where his eyes are two different colours, it’s called heterochromia. One eye is red and one is green.”

“That sounds so cool!!”

“I know, right? It’s so cool! It’s so distinctive, it’s great. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen it on anyone else.”

Something occurred to Tommy. That kid in his memory. He had a two-toned face. And black hair. And, if he really focused, he could almost imagine his eyes — one red, one green.

“You alright there?”

Tommy nodded.

How strange.

“Ok, I'm gonna go now because I haven’t actually eaten yet, and I am pretty close to just passing out right now. I’m glad you liked the curry, I’ll get Phil to make it again soon! Bye!”

“Bye, Tech!”

He waved, the door shut, and footsteps receded up the stairs.

It was almost 7:30 now, and he’d gotten up super early that morning, and he didn't really have anything else to do, so he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his clothes so they could dry overnight, and turned off the light.

He tucked himself into bed (god, it was still so comfy) and curled up, tail looping around him.

Soon enough, he was asleep. 

It was not a dreamless sleep. 

As he drifted off, he saw the Woman with the Black Hat in the green field, lit with sky and cloud above. She leaned over him and, though he couldn't remember her face, she smiled warmly.

“I love you,” she whispered, like it was a secret she shared only with him, but solidly, so that it wouldn't drift away on the breeze. He could smell black roses, and then it changed.

He was younger than he was now, and sat on the floor holding a small, green, wooden, toy train. He spun the wheels across his hand, and looked up. Across from him sat two boys his age. 

One wore a green shirt, and his brown hair almost completely covered his eyes. He had goat ears, but they blended in so well with his hair, it took Tommy a little while to notice. He was engrossed in building an elaborate track for the trains using the wooden pieces strewn across the floor.

The other had black hair, and his face was split down the middle – one side white, the other black. Both sides shimmered a slight purple under the living room light. He was looking down at the train he held – a brightly coloured red, yellow and blue one.

“Tommy?”asked the black-haired one, looking up. One green eye, and one red.

“Yes?” He replied.

“Do you think we’ll ever be split up, us three?”

At this point, Green Shirt interrupted; “Don't be silly, ‘boo. We’ll always be together.”

“Yeah, that’s right, Tubbo!” Tommy cheered. “Together forever!”

Black Hair looked down at his train again.

“Yeah, but my moms said, they said sometimes things just don’t quite work out, so things have to change. But you guys aren't gonna leave, are you?”

Tubbo replied, “Not if you don’t, Ranboo. I pinkie promise.”

“So do I,” said Tommy decisively, holding out his pinkie.

“Three-way pinkie swear?” asked Ranboo.

They linked their pinkies together and shook on it.

Tommy looked at the train he was holding.

“Ranboo?” he asked. “Can we trade trains?”

“Sure,” Black Hair replied, holding out his train. “It matches your carriages better.” 

Tommy took the multicoloured one from his hand, and replaced it with the green one.

“I think the green one fits your carriages better too.”

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Dream stepped out, snarling, and started to pull Tommy away, through the alleys, back into the old flat. He dragged him through another door, and now it was pitch black, like that cupboard. Like the cupboard. Not the cupboard, no no no—

Tommy screamed out for Ranboo, for Tubbo. He pinky promised them he wouldn’t leave!!

They left first, Dream’s voice said. Don’t you remember?

// Tommy heard the shink of the axe.

Even your own mother left.

Footsteps, then the door opened, and it was bright, and suddenly, the axe swung, pain flashed, red ribbons flew, and Tommy was awake, and he was screaming. ///

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, it was 7:30pm, and Techno had just come up from Tommy's room. He saw that Phil had finally joined Wilbur at the table, and chuffed cheerily at him.

“Tommy really likes curry,” he started, putting the empty plate and glass of water by the sink, and getting his own serving of curry. “You should do it again sometime, while he’s still here. Also, Tommy—”

He saw that Phil was staring into his coffee mug, swirling it around in his hands. Techno sat  down quietly. Phil had put his wings away for now, but an agitated, silent wind was ruffling his shoulder-length hair. Techno tucked his long pink hair down the back of his jumper to stop it blowing into his food.

“I told Tommy Ranboo’s coming?”

Wilbur glared at him, picking at the seams of his sleeves.

“What? Was I not meant to?”

“No mate, that’s fine. Good, even. It’s about Tommy.”

“Oh. Does Wilbur already know? ‘Cause I’m getting the vibe that he—”

“Yes, I know, and you will too if you shut up.”

“Fine. What’s going on?”

Phil finally looked up from his swirling coffee, and looked directly into Techno’s eyes. Green eyes bored into burgundy. Techno swallowed.

***

Tommy woke up screaming. It was always dark when he woke up in the room, and for an awful few seconds he thought he was in the cupboard again, that nightmare’s cupboard, except it was real , and he was there, but he wasn’t, he was in his room at the house, and he needed to breathe, but now he couldn’t, and Techno wasn’t here to help, and—

He heard hurried footsteps on the stairs. He froze.

The door opened, and Phil turned on the light, turning it to the dimmest setting.

“Tommy? Are you ok?”

And that was all it took for Tommy to start sobbing. Phil rushed over, and, dad instincts kicking in, sat on the side of his bed and held the child close. Tommy held tight to the back of Phil's hoodie, fists buried in the fabric, and he pulled the boy in and silently comforted, rubbing his back as Tommy cried into his shoulder.

He stayed there for ages, and Tommy’s sobbing turned to crying turned to sniffing, and only then did he pull away. 

“Are you ok?”

Tommy nodded, wiping his nose on his hand.

“Nightmare?” he asked, offering a tissue from the nightstand.

Tommy wiped his nose on the tissue and nodded.

“You wanna tell me about it? It might make you feel better.”

Tommy shook his head.

“That’s okay. It’s about 6, so I could make us some breakfast, or you could try and go back to sleep, if you like.”

Don’t leave me by myself.

“I won't, I won’t. Hey, tell you what. Techno and Wil aren’t up yet, so, if you want, you can come up to the kitchen with me while I make breakfast. How's that sound?”

Tommy nodded enthusiastically. I’ll get dressed first! Of course, he was wearing his shirt and boxers, but his shorts would be appreciated.

Phil waited outside the bathroom while Tommy got dressed and brushed his teeth, and let Tommy go up the stairs first, who bounded up them with no hesitation. He began to put bread into the toaster, buttered them when they popped up and placed one slice butter-side-down on top of the other so that the butter would melt in, and Tommy sat on the counter, swinging his legs. The window over the kitchen sink let them see out onto the street, where sunlight was only just beginning to illuminate the roofs.

Phil handed Tommy a plate of toast cut into triangles and a glass of orange juice, and leaned against the counter next to Tommy with his own plate. They ate slowly as the sun lit more and more of the houses opposite in purple, then pink, then a warm orange, and the birds sang. When it hit 7am, the sun was solidly in the sky, and Phil began to hum quietly to himself, and washed the plates. 

“Wilbur might be down soon. Do you want to stay here?” 

It was an offer, but there was no pressure, so Tommy slipped off the counter and gave Phil a quick hug before going back down the stairs to his room.

He had a whole shelf of books there, anyway.

***

The day after Phil told them the news, Techno woke up at 7:30 ish. He absent-mindedly picked up a book from his bedside table, and got dressed in a hurry at 7:58 because Puffy was dropping Ranboo off soon on her way to Steve’s. It was the spring half-term, so he wasn’t at school this week, hence the short notice.

While he brushed his teeth, the doorbell rang. 

Techno heard a crash, then a thud, then Wilbur saying “Hi Ranboo, glad to have you over! How are you?”

Techno exited the bathroom and hurried down the stairs, gold bracelets still cold on his wrists. He saw Ranboo in the hallway with his duffle bag and little backpack chatting to Wilbur, and waved at him. 

“Hey, Ranboo! Nice to see you. Holding up ok?”

Phil appeared in the doorway of the living room.

“Yeah, well, it's school, yknow? Not this week though. That’s good!”

“It sure is. Also, um, not sure if we mentioned this to Puffy, but, uh… you’re not gonna be sleeping in the spare room this week because… well, do you want to sleep in my room, Wil’s room or the study?”

“Why not?”

“We’ll tell you in a minute. Where?” Wilbur helpfully took over. 

“Um, the study’s probably easiest, right? The air mattress is in the cupboard by the kitchen, right?”

Phil nodded in confirmation, and Wilbur agreed, “Yeah, it is! It's impressive that you remembered that, Techno doesn't.”

“Why aren't I sleeping in my normal room?” 

Techno, Wilbur and Phil exchanged a glance. Phil took Ranboo’s bags and began to take them over to the study, letting them tell Ranboo.

“Why don’t we show you?”

Techno went down the stairs first, and paused at the door.

“Ranboo, we should probably warn you, there’s a person in here.” Techno internally cringed. There were better ways to say that. Well— yeah, ‘There’s a person in here’ was like, the worst way he could have said it. 

“He’s your age, he’s called Tommy, and he is selectively mute, which means he probably won’t talk to you, ok? It’s not because he doesn’t like you, it's just… how it is, ok?”

Ranboo, perhaps fairly, looked like someone had told him that all 27 residents of a tiny village in France had superpowers. Or that all chinchillas were secretly evil until their brainstems were snipped. Or that lighthouses in Scotland directly affected the digestive systems of sheep in the Orkneys.

Well, no time like the present. He opened the door.

“Tommy? Ranboo’s here, do you want to say hi?”

Techno stepped into the room, letting Ranboo see the boy who was standing up from the sofa.

Ranboo let out some kind of strangled cry. “Tommy!”

Tommy locked eyes with those bi-coloured ones, and he knew . He would have broken down sobbing right then and there, had the taller not sprinted across the room and engulfed him in a gangly, fierce hug.

“I remember you!” Ranboo half-cried. “I know you! We were friends, we were— it was me, you and Tubbo, remember? I'd know you anywhere! It’s you!”

Tommy held tight, and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew he sounded familiar when Techno described him yesterday.

“I missed you, Tommy.”

Tommy wanted to sign to him, but he also wanted to never let go. They’d promised they’d stick together, Ranboo’s moms weren’t right – things didn't have to change. 

“You know each other?” Wilbur blurted out.

Tommy nodded, pulling away. We were friends when we were younger.

Techno was still getting used to understanding sign. It was complex, but he was thankful, at least, that Tommy used SSE and not full BSL. There was a passage in the book they’d used which explained the differences: in short, SSE (or sign-supported english) followed english grammar rules and structure, while BSL had its own sentence structure rules and grammar – it was a language, obviously it was complex, but he'd simply not given it much thought before. 

Tommy had also taught himself sign, so it was probably a little funky compared to someone who’d been around other sign language users before.

Ranboo, still looking interestedly at Tommy’s hands, replied too, “We knew each other as kids, back before everything went wrong. I can actually remember him too! I guess maybe it’s ‘cause we had to move before— uh— you know. Anyway, it was awesome.”

Tommy squinted at Ranboo’s face.

Why does he sound like that?

Techno chuffed amusedly. Wilbur gave him a very layered look, culminating mostly in an expression of ‘what the fuckity fuck was that chuff about??? what???’

“The accent? His moms were American, so he got it from them.”

You do too.

“Yeah, I grew up in America, ran away, well, it’s a long story and it is too early for that story right now.”

I feel I should have noticed this earlier.

Techno chuckled.

“What are you guys saying?” asked Ranboo.

“He noticed you’re American.”

“Well, only a bit. I've always lived here.”

“Anyway,” interrupted Wilbur, “It’s good that you know each other, because Phil is insisting on me doing this thing, so you two are going out with Techno.”

“They are? What thing?”

Wilbur shot him a look . Ohhh. That thing.

“Well. I'll make breakfast, then. Do you guys want to come up and help me get some food?”

Wilbur gave him another, different look. He ignored it.

***

Techno now understood what the look meant. He’d asked Ranboo to get the cereal out, which must have dislodged the bag of flour beside it. Techno had bumped into the counter lightly while putting bread in the toaster, and (because it was just his luck) the flour had promptly fallen hard onto the floor, leading to a large cloud of the flour coating the kitchen.

Yippee.

Phil chose that moment to come into the kitchen, look at the floor, Tommy, Ranboo and Techno, and resignedly leave again. Techno got out the dustpan and brush, and began to sweep up the flour from the floor.

“Ranboo, can you get a cloth from the sink and wipe the counters, please? Maybe try to not step on the flour.”

Ranboo, heeding the latter instruction, leaned across the kitchen on his tippy toes to catch himself on the sink counter, and did as Techno said. “I’m so sorry, I did not mean to do that—“

“It’s fine, these things happen. Tommy, can you please get the broom from the hook just outside the door? You’ll find it.”

Tommy did indeed find it, and after they had (mostly) cleaned up the kitchen, they sat down at the table to eat.

Tommy was surprisingly eager to communicate, so Techno found himself playing translator a lot. Unfortunately, he still didn’t know too much sign, but he was trying his best and generally got the gist of it. Once, Techno could not for the life of him understand what Tommy was saying, and, exasperated, Tommy just whisper-yelled “bacon!!” 

It was alarmingly tense for a moment until Ranboo began to laugh, melting the strained atmosphere.

Eventually, Techno looked across the table properly and realised Tommy was still covered head-to-toe in flour. So was Ranboo. Looking at his hands, he probably was too.

“You guys should probably shower and change clothes before we go out.”

Tommy looked nervously at his plate, which had previously held a slice of jam toast, and Techno narrowed his eyes. Hold on a minute. He tried to imagine every outfit he’d seen the kid in. Red and white T-shirt, grey shorts, green neckerchief. Red and white T-shirt, grey shorts, no neckerchief. Oh dear. He knew they’d forgotten something.

“Do you need to borrow some clothes off us? Do you have any spare clothes?”

Tommy stayed very still.

“It’s fine, Ranboo, we have some of your smaller clothes in the attic, would you be willing to lend them to Tommy?”

“Totally! There’s a T-shirt which Tubbo gave me which nearly matches the one you have now, if you want that. Or there’s one with a rainbow dinosaur, or one with a sun wearing sunglasses that says ‘cool’, but that one makes less sense the more you think about it.”

“There’s also jeans or sweatpants, but you can have a look yourself.” Techno intervened. “We can get you some of your own clothes today though, we’re going to the library anyway.”

“We are?”

Who?

“Us three. Did I… did I not mention that?”

***

“Dream replied,” said Phil.

“Dream replied?!” Techno responded. “What did he say?”

***

Ranboo went off to get showered and changed, and Techno went to get the box of clothes out of the attic. Tommy stood awkwardly in the kitchen, not entirely sure where to go.

Phil appeared again in the doorway. “Hey mate, how’s it going?”

Phil?

Hiya! Is Ranboo being nice?

Yeah, he’s really funny. We were friends when we were kids. 

Really?

Yeah, I remembered him earlier and he remembered me too just now. It's great!

“That is crazy luck, I mean what’s the chances of that?”

I know, right? There was another boy too, in my memory. He had goat ears and a green shirt and he was building the train tracks. 

Who do you think that was?

I don't know. Ranboo mentioned… he wasn't sure how to spell it, actually. “Tubbo?”

Phil’s expression flashed into shock for a moment, before regaining an interested look. “Holy crap, do you actually know each other?”

Techno appeared then with the large box of clothes, and nodded his head towards the basement door. “Come on, kid, we gotta look for something you like.”

Tommy happily bounded after him. Phil panic-texted Techno.

Holy fucking mother of fuck Tchno, Tommy just spoke???

* Techno

Sent 10:05am

????

Sent 10:09am

We were just talking in sign ans he just spoke??? I think he didn't know how to apell Tubbo so he just said it! He actually trusts me enough for that!!!😄

Wait…

They all knew each other? The boys?

Sent 10:10am

Congratulations!

Yes, ask Wilbur. He was there for the conversation. Busy with Tommy now.

Sent 10:10am

***

“Sorry, just a text I had to deal with. Where were we?” Techno gazed across the floor, carpeted with T-shirts, shorts, trousers, and jumpers. Right. Clothes for Tommy.

I like this one, he pointed at an orange jumper with a star motif. But I don't like… “Jeans . ”

“You don't have to wear jeans, you could wear these joggers. Or these ones.” He pointed.

Tommy stood like a middle-aged man looking at a DIY project which was going a bit wrong – hands on hips, feet apart, disappointed expression – as he looked down at the small sea of clothes.

“Right.”

“Do you want to take like 3 different options into the bathroom and pick whichever is comfiest?”

Tommy’s tail swished a loop. “That,” he said, “Is a brilliant idea.”

He grabbed the ones Techno was holding for him, and leaped over the fabric ocean.

“See you!”

“I’m having a shower too,” Techno called through the now-shut door. “I’ll be out soon, but you can wait in the living room with Ranboo if you like. Take your time though, there’s no rush!”

Once they were all cleaned up and changed, Techno met the two kids in the living room. Ranboo was chatting to Tommy, and Tommy was miming and writing down his responses. They had gotten out some lego, and while Ranboo had a rather nice… creature coming along, Tommy was simply building stacks of bricks, ordering them by shape.

Techno stood silently in the doorway for a moment, and observed. Ranboo was being incredibly patient, clearly wanting to understand what Tommy was saying.

Suddenly, Tommy caught sight of Techno out of the corner of his eye and whipped round, tail puffing up and shoulders tensing, until he realised it was Techno. Ranboo looked too, and waved.

“Are we going out now? ‘Cause Phil came in and said he could give us a lift if we left in under 15 minutes.”

“When’d he say that?”

“Like… 10 minutes ago? Him and Wil are waiting in the car.”

“Oh shoot, do either of you have a water bottle?” Techno asked, turning and grabbing his shoulder bag, rifling through to check what he had.

“I do… Tommy says he doesn’t.”

“Ok great, Ranboo, can you get Tommy a bottle? Tommy, you get the raccoon book from downstairs please, we need to renew it.”

Tommy chirped confusedly, barely noticeably.

“Do you know how libraries work?”

Tommy shook his head.

“I’ll explain in the car, we’re running out of time. Get the book please, kid.” He didn’t mean to sound aggressive, but managing 2 kids was, for some reason, 4 times as hard as managing 1. He’d always found that. Tommy rushed down the stairs.

He checked his bag again. Phone, keys, earplugs… he needed water, he needed… snacks for the kids! You never left home with a kid and no snacks unless you enjoyed mad uncontrollable little beasts complaining about every single thing in the world, no matter how small, it would matter.

“Techno, there's no clean bottles in the drawer!” Ranboo called.

“Have you checked by the sink?” Techno asked as he rushed into the kitchen, grabbing a few cereal bars and apples and chucking them into a paper bag, which he put in his brown crossbody bag.

“...Ok, got one!”

“Great job, could you do me one too?” He said, taking the full bottle from Ranboo’s hand. “Actually no, go get in the car, tell Phil we’ll be out in like a minute. Don't forget your backpack, it’s on the sofa.”

Ranboo ran out, and Techno filled his own bottle, putting it with the other. He looked at his bag. What was he missing…?

The book!! Was Tommy okay? That shouldn't have taken that long.

He poked his head down the stairs, and called Tommy’s name.

“Coming!”

“Ok, come faster!”

I am here! Tommy snapped one-handedly, jogging up the stairs.

“Great, we need to get in the car fast, we’re leaving in,” he checked his watch, “Literally a minute. Do you still need a child seat?”

It's fine, Tommy said, shoving the book into Techno’s hands. We’re going now .

“Fine, yes, I know. Do you want to sit next to Ranboo or me or in the middle? Actually, let’s get out first. Come on.”

Tommy hung back a moment as Techno double checked he had his phone, keys, etc. 

He clapped quickly to get Techno’s attention. 

I will get the book back, right? He asked nervously.

Techno’s voice softened. “Of course you will, I promise. You ready to go?”

Tommy took a breath and nodded. Techno opened the door, and Tommy felt both the cold sunlight and a wave of vague fear wash over him. What if Dream found him while he was out and took him away? He had only just met Ranboo again, and he was the nicest person ever!! Well, apart from maybe Phil, but they shared a similar patience and kindness.  

And Techno. Especially Techno, Tommy thought. And, if he was willing to admit it, Tommy would say he really loved Techno’s presence. He was warm. There wasn’t really a better way to describe it. He was warm, not just because he was literally warm (he gave fabulous hugs), but because he cared so deeply, and so kindly, and so quietly. 

He stepped outside, and Techno opened the green car’s back door, inviting him to sit in the middle seat. Ranboo was already sitting on his left, and Techno sat next to him, placing his bag on his lap and doing his seatbelt.

Tommy wriggled awkwardly, trying to find his own belt. Techno handed him the buckle. He squirmed around and managed just about to buckle in. Safety section 1 done.

He sat still now, and looked out at the house through the gap between the front seats. It was a nice house. Three floors, four if you count Tommy’s room in the basement, and pretty windows. They were smaller and shorter than Dream’s windows, but they looked nicer, and Tommy thought pigeons probably didn't fly into them as much.

Phil flexed his hands before he turned on the ignition, and then Tommy felt the rumble of the motor. The car began to move, a barely controllable beast, and Tommy was smushed in the middle of this massively heavy steel enclosure with a growling metal engine in, and he looked back at the house as they rolled down the street.

It was all too similar to that last time.

He’d been in a car maybe 3 times, that he remembered. 

Once when Dream had found him and taken him back to his flat, because he’d been out in the city, and Tommy was trying to take some food from the shop because he was hungry, and Dream caught him, and looked at him, and offered him a warm bed and food.

Once when Dream said he needed to go to the doctor a few years ago, and they’d stabbed him with a needle and taken his blood, and it hurt, and the nurse was trying to be nice but she stabbed him, and he’d screamed and scratched her, because he didn't know what was happening, so then she left and a different nurse came in, but she was mean. Dream clipped his claws after that.

Once when he’d followed Dream out of the flat secretly, and he'd been caught at the bottom of the stairwell, but people were there, so Dream took him along in the car, and he was promising pain the whole journey, and it was scarier than the nurses and the cupboard and even the shink of the axe and the clink of the knives and the clunk of the arrows in the quiver, because he could hear them even in the car, and he wasn't going to survive this time, and Dream was saying “Prove you’re not dead weight and I might let you off,” and he had to prove himself, because he had to survive, and he was lucky Dream had forgotten to clip his claws recently—

He felt a hand on his. Ranboo. He took a breath and looked through the windshield again. They were whizzing along the roads at a frankly unreasonable speed, and the car lurched unpredictably, and it was like every rollercoaster crash he’d read in the newspapers he rescued from the bin to read.

He felt bile rise in his throat. His stomach jumped around as they swung around a corner, and he felt all hot and cold at the same time.

“Tommy, are you feeling alright?” asked Techno.

Tommy nodded, exhaling shakily when the motion made his head spin.

“You’re looking a little green, do you want to stop a minute?”

He nodded, defeated.

“Phil, could we—”

“Already on it, mate.”

He pulled over gently to a side road, and Techno let Tommy out of the middle seat.

Tommy closed his eyes, feeling the cold, crisp air on his face. He felt cool hands pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. 

“You're alright mate, deep breaths. You’re ok, take your time.”

Tommy took deep breaths, like Phil suggested. His legs felt shaky. Eventually, he felt more or less (well, less) okay, that he wasn’t about to throw up, anyway. He opened his eyes.

“You get carsick, hm?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Alright, I’m guessing you haven't been in a car too much before, if you don’t know if you get carsick?”

Tommy nodded vaguely, looking past Phil rather than at him. Phil gently put his hands on his shoulders, which Tommy appreciated. It made him feel more solid, so he stopped feeling like he was about to float away or collapse.

“Do you know what’ll help? You’ll sit in the front, and keep your eyes on the horizon, ok? If you feel like you’re about to puke, open the window and I can pull over. Got it?”

Tommy nodded.

“Good, you ready to get back in the car then? We've only got a few minutes left of your journey.”

Tommy got into the front seat, glancing at Phil and the others to get confirmation that yes, he was allowed to do this.

He took a deep breath and sat down. The rest of the journey went mostly fine, and Phil soon told them to get out of the car around the corner from the high street.

Tommy stood out of the car and swayed in place for a moment, leaning on the door, before stepping away once the wave of nausea had ceased. 

Ranboo held his shimmering indigo-black hand out to Tommy, a silent offer. Tommy took it with both hands, and studied the way Ranboo’s fingers curved, and the little bumps of the knuckles, and the arcs of the nails. His fingers were thin, thinner than Phils, and the nails were longer and painted in rainbow colours. Techno’s hands were built like him – stocky and broad, but precise. He didn’t really know Wilbur's hands (‘yet,’ part of his brain supplied). Tommy tried not to look at him too much because he knew he’d only see dislike in return. He ignored the slight twinge of sadness he felt from that.

Techno came round the side of the car, putting his shoulder-strap bag on. Tommy dropped Ranboo’s hand.

“Library time?”

Ranboo nodded, and the three began to walk. Tommy did a little running-step and turned around, so he was now walking backwards a few feet ahead of Techno and Ranboo.

What is L I B R A Y?? He fingerspelled the last word, because he didn't know the sign for it, so it took Techno a moment longer to register the meaning.

“Library,” he said out loud, “Libraries are places where you can borrow books for a certain period of time for free, and then once you return it, you can borrow another one.”

“Were you asking what a library is?” asked Ranboo, and when Tommy nodded, he continued, “‘Cause you can borrow more than one at a time. I normally get two or three, and then I read all of them over the two weeks we can have them, but Techno normally returns them for me because he knows Eret outside the library from… work.”

Tommy nodded, slightly overwhelmed by the new information. 

What if you don’t finish it on time?

Techno translated, and began to answer, but Ranboo got there first.

“You can renew them! That just means you borrow it again. And if you finish the books early, you can return them early too.”

And if you don’t return it?

“Then you have to pay a fine. Mind—!”

Techno had grabbed Tommy and tugged him to the side. Tommy flinched, froze, turned, and saw he’d been about to walk hard into an iron lamppost. 

Whoops. Maybe he’d walk forwards now.

***

Phil took a breath. “Dream replied, and he made it clear that Tommy was no longer his responsibility.”

“So—”

“He doesn't want him back.” Wilbur stated. “Tommy’s ours.”

Chapter Text

They walked for a few more minutes, forwards, and eventually came to a high street. It was a quieter outskirt of London, but groups of people still milled about the shops and cafes. Eret’s library bookshop was one of the quieter buildings, and Ranboo, after getting permission from Techno, ran down ahead of Tommy and Techno into Eret’s. Techno trusted that Ranboo could take care of himself for two minutes, and Eret would certainly keep an eye on things too. So to speak.

Now, Tommy.

“Hey, are you doing alright so far? I guess it’s stressful being around this many people?”

Yeah, maybe. More people now than there ever were with Dream.

“Did you not get out much when you lived with…” Techno paused, conscious that they were in public. “...Him?”

No? He signed like it was obvious. There were bars on the windows! Even you don't have that and you’re vill—

Techno shoved his hands over Tommy's sharply, then immediately removed them and apologised.

“Sorry, sorry, just… maybe don't mention our professions here, yeah? Sorry for doing that, that was rude.”

Let’s just go to the library, Tommy signed, except he made the sign for ‘book’ in lieu of knowing the sign for ‘library’, because he didn’t often bother learning signs for words he didn’t know when there wasn’t a dictionary in the flat, and they started to walk down to where Ranboo had disappeared.

Techno never quite caught everything , even though Tommy slowed down his signing significantly when communicating with Techno. He generally got the idea in the end (because sign was generally fairly explicit in its meaning) despite the fact that Techno did generally rely on sound a lot – in the old house, he needed to know language choices and tones to know how to act and where to look. In the Pit, he made a point to overhear the conversations and (more importantly) the attitude between their captors as they walked down between the cages, so he could know where to stand within the cage (although it got less stressful when Tubbo arrived, and later Wilbur), and between that, he’d always used the intonation of the people around him to dictate his actions. 

Not having that was slightly unsettling, but Tommy was an expressive kid – you had to be, in sign, otherwise what you said barely made sense.

They entered the bookshop, and the little bell above the door jangled. Techno caught the way Eret's fingers drifted over the desk, which was built into the building, before she greeted them.

“Hi Techno! Who’s this?” they asked, as if they had no idea whatsoever.

“This is Tommy. Tommy, this is Eret, they’re the librarian here. If you want any particular book, they can try and help you find it.”

Tommy waved.

“Tommy says hi,” he said, and then to Tommy: “See Ranboo over there, in the kids’ section?”

Tommy looked, and then jogged over to join the other, who was looking at a Ruby Redfort book.

Techno watched the two for a moment, then stood by the desk and looked pointedly at Eret, leaning on the desk.

“Well?”

“Is this the raccoon hybrid you told me about the other day?”

“No, it’s a different one. Yes, of course it is! And— okay, update, Dre– he doesn’t want him back. What do we do?”

“Oh shoot,” He hissed, picking his hands up from the desk and interlacing them under their chin. “Have you told him?”

“No?”

“Is Phil planning to adopt or foster?”

“Straight to the point, huh. Probably adopt, if Tommy's ok with it?”

“How would you feel about that, if it were to happen?”

“Um… I think I'd like having him as a brother.”

“Have you discussed any of this— you, Phil and Wilbur?”

“Well… not really, no.”

“Okay, do that first. But for now… can I offer some information?”

“Depends. What do you want in exchange?”

“Nothing much, just a favour to be owed. Anyway, if I could read him—”

“Absolutely not. It’s a massive invasion of privacy, and I would know, wouldn’t I, F?”

“I told you I didn’t mean to do that, but we would have figured it out anyway at some point. It worked in our favour, but still, I am sorry. And you could ask him, you know.”

“Ask who what?” interrupted Ranboo, holding the first two Ruby Redfort books and startling them both. “Also, can I borrow these?”

“Yeah, sure. Can I have them a moment?”

Ranboo handed them over as well as his library card, and looked behind him to Tommy. “See? It’s not hard. You can put it on my library card if you like, ‘cause you don't have one, right?”

Tommy cautiously handed him the book he was holding – ‘The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe’. Techno was slightly surprised at his choice; a classic, but dense, with few pictures, and, if he was honest, the cover made it look very dull.

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Eret said, when it reached their hands. “Have you brought back the other book from two weeks ago?”

Tommy looked at Techno’s bag awkwardly, and Techno took out the book on Raccoons and placed it on the desk.

“Would you like to renew it, return it, or buy it?”

“Um, I promised—”

“Techno, I’m asking Tommy, thank you,” he said, carefully placing his palm on the counter and honing in on the movements of his hands. This was a test. Sign language was a physical thing, a visual one, so she should be able to understand it, right? They could understand any written language if he could touch it (ie.a printout), though handwritten notes were infinitely easier to get extra information from as more emotion got through to the page, and carvings were, by a small amount, the easiest.

Eret felt Tommy’s hands move, and focused hard. Come on…

I don’t ----- - need ---- --ok anym--e so can I ---urn it plea--?

Ok, they’d got… parts. Enough.

“Returning?”

Tommy nodded, a far easier motion to feel. It was mostly practise, she supposed. 

He’d had to get used to feeling people nod or shake their heads after she gave up her sight in exchange for the knowledge their ability allowed them. It was hard, but honestly they should probably been speaking, because Eret did use a white cane when they were out, partly to give people the cue of “hey, it’s way easier for me if you speak words”, but more for the sake of feeling where people were in reference to the floor, and where not to walk. It obviously came in useful for curbs and stuff as well, which they often overlooked (so to speak) with their power, and crossing roads, and accessibility in general, really. At the moment it was hanging on a hook inside the desk.

“You know sign language?” asked Techno, surprised. She heard the hidden question too: ‘how can you know sign language?’

“Well…” he glanced at the boys, and decided to tell him later. “Enough to run this place.”

They felt Tommy’s motion, and hastily tuned in.

That’s aw----e.

“Thanks.” She scanned the three books’ library labels, and double clicked the ‘b’ key to set them to be borrowed for two weeks. From the pitch of the beep, they knew it had worked, so handed them back to the others. “That’s due back in two weeks, enjoy!”

They left the shop, after a quick catchup – Goose, Eret’s cat, was doing fine, yes Tommy found the raccoon book very informative but a bit boring, Ranboo had enjoyed the Magnus Chase series so much the other week thanks Eret, and of course they’d be back soon see you next time okay bye!

Checking no-one else was waiting to be served (well, there was one old woman who’d fallen asleep in the armchair in the corner, but she did that most days, so he was alright with that), he took out his phone and texted Techno, using one headphone and the screen reader to proofread.

Techno ‘Blade’ Watson. Bring Tommy to the ice cream place in one week, 1pm. Civilian clothes. Do not tell him anything beforehand, I will explain. Phil is free to come too, but I have the right to send him away if he interferes. I will be there. I expect you to be too. Don’t be plate.

P.S. I’m paying.

* late fuck autocorrect my bad

Read 11:28

Techno and the boys now had a bit of a trek home, but they’d planned to go to the good playground on the way home, the big one with the massive slide. When he mentioned it to the kids, Ranboo expressed his excitement loudly, while Tommy looked at him like he was being a bit odd. Ranboo wasted no time in explaining rapidly all the best parts of the playground and how the sandpit was fun but sand got everywhere so they generally avoided it, but you could do the slide whenever and it had a great climbing section to get to the top etc etc.

That was about when Techno tuned out and began herding them vaguely in the right direction, where they walked in front of him. He checked his bag. Oh, snacks. It had been a while since breakfast, actually.

He offered the cereal bars to Tommy and Ranboo, who began munching away happily. Techno did the same with his own, putting the wrapper in the bin as they walked past.

Eret’s offer was tempting. Very tempting. If they could locate Dream, they could get him to… hmm. 

Now that Tommy was theirs, they didn’t really need Dream. 

Admittedly it was a cathartic thought, that he could show up at Dream’s place with his sword red-hot and ask him what the fuck he was thinking to keep an innocent kid locked up for years and years, even ‘punishing’ him to the point he had at least one scar, on his collarbone, but the way he’d said it implied there were far more.

Blood

Blood 

Blood

Blood

Make the evil bleed

But there was no justification. Well, not that Phil would see. Tommy getting comfortable with them was their priority. Revenge on Dream would not only scare Tommy, but it would be a prominent news story for a few weeks, at least. They’d have to lay low, and, while it would give them time, it wouldn’t really be worth the fuss.

Blood for the blood god

Make the evil bleed

Blood 

Unless they left no evidence… No. Not yet, anyway.

Blood

It just wasn’t worth it yet.

Blood 

‘Calm down,’ he told the voices. ‘Not today. At some point, but not today.’

Apparently satisfied with his answer, the chants died down to their normal background chatter.

When they arrived at the playground, Ranboo handed Techno his bag and ran off, holding onto Tommy’s hand and semi-dragging him over to the rope pyramid climbing thing.

“Tommy, have you ever been on one of these before?”

Tommy shook his head.

“It’s fun, it’s kind of difficult at first but once you get the hang of it it’s a bit easy. Then if you want we could play floor-is-lava-it.”

Ranboo turned, heaved himself up onto the centre of the first rope, then clambered up to the top like a spider in a web.

“Your go!”

Tommy eyed the structure. It seemed very tall, and the ropes were wobbling around the metal pole in the centre. Ranboo smiled down at him from the top, and he stepped over to the corner, where the ropes were lowest.

“You can hoist yourself up, and from there it’s not too hard if you think about what you’re doing.”

He held onto the higher rope with both hands and stepped onto the lower one. His weight pushed it to the ground. A new development. He took a large step to the right and tried again. Better. He lifted his other foot onto the rope, and took stock for a moment. The rope swayed beneath him, but he felt he could do it.

There was a rope within reach, so he stretched out the closer hand, his right, and dropped his weight forwards, putting his right foot further along the rope. Then, he stepped further, brushing his hands over the rope in case his foot slipped. He hauled up one foot onto the higher rope, then a hand, then the other, then he swung his weight up with the other leg.

He was getting the hang of this now! He sped up the higher he climbed as he got more confident, and he soon sat next to Ranboo on the top rope, grinning like an idiot as he cheered for him.

“You’re a natural! Do you want to stay up here, or get down?”

Tommy shrugged, gazing over the rest of the playground from his birds-eye position and watching all the people.

“Up here it is then.” Ranboo reclined against the metal pole, wrapping a wrist around the rope to keep him secure as he relaxed in the cold sun.

Tommy took a moment to locate Techno, pink hair making him stand out from the bench he’d sat down on, but his watchful eye had remained on them the whole time. Tommy wasn’t entirely sure if he found that comforting, knowing that he was still a hostage.

(But was this how hostages were normally treated?)