Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His lungs weren’t taking in enough air.

The only thought Tommy was able to make out during the run of his life — literally . His breaths were coming in short, desperate gasps, as he ran as fast as his sore legs would allow him. The cool air scratching and burning his throat with each tired pant.

The terrain was rough and his feet were bare — stinging and probably bleeding, though he couldn’t make sure. He had to keep moving. He couldn’t afford any breaks. They’ll find him. They’ll take him back to-

He tripped slightly on a loose pebble. Towering buildings stood on either side of the wide road he was frantically rushing through, clearly some type of shops — albeit dark and unable to see through the windows.

That would make sense, he guessed, it was pretty dark outside, it was probably night. That's okay, easier to hide when it’s dark. The cold air was increasingly sharp against his face and thin clothes, numbing his fingers and causing tears to spring up in his eyes.

Or was that because of his aching muscles?

The streets were oddly empty, a contradiction to when Tommy was first brought here against his will, to the lively and bustling city he’d seen and heard before. (Maybe they used weird space measurements for time instead?)

Fuck, he needed to stop letting his mind wander. Focus.

He had entered a part of the city that was definitely less sinister, the roads now being lit up either side with a warm glow, the previously ominousness that had been shrouding buildings ceasing to exist — win for Tommy!

He spotted a more secluded area that was barely peeking out between two… columns? Probably some sort of entrance to the city. Complete with what looks to be like some sort of bushes on the other side. The leaves were a black-ish brown and thin, looking more like twigs, and lots of them, close together, in the distance. Maybe he could hide there?

But what after that? Does he just live homeless on some far off planet he doesn’t even know?

Shit, focus . 

What comes after is for future Tommy to deal with. Right now the goal is to not be dragged back to the shithole he just ran from.

The bushes were closer now, and he could now see that it wasn’t just bushes, but trees behind too! At least he thought they were trees — short and plump, with thick white stumps and equally thick blue-ish green leaves.

He steps through a thin gap in between 2 bushes that his underfed, skinny build had no problem getting through, win no.2 for Tommy!

He sat down and let himself catch his breath for a moment in the cover of the wilderness. His head tilting down, and breathing still unbelievably difficult. He learnt about this in school hadn’t he? The cool air reacting with his airways, causing them to tighten?

It had been one of the few Biology lessons he had actually listened to; his having teacher turned out to be a complete dickface. But that specific lesson had been one of the first — he was blessed without knowing how biased his teacher would be against him in the future.

Mr asshole had always preferred the guy who sat next to him, Freddie? At Least he thinks that was his name. He was all around a pretty chill dude and helped Tommy in biology more times than he would like to admit. It had been a while since they talked. Even without the whole not being on earth thing.

Something cold dripped off the end of his nose.

His hand immediately came up to feel his face and came away wet and glistening. He’d been crying?

It’s been a while since he cried, he supposes, but even then, he hadn’t even known Freddie well enough to cry over him.

But maybe that was why it hurt. He hadn’t stayed on Earth long enough to become close friends with him. Hell, he couldn’t even remember Freddie's voice. And now Tommy may never get the chance to even see another human, again, let alone form a bond with one.

He stays there for a moment too long, staring at his hand, just… thinking. What if he could have had a friend, back on earth? What if he could have had someone he cared about? What if he had never gotten taken off of his home planet? 

But that moment was over soon, his hand scrubbing at his eyes. He had no time to be slacking; he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Tommy needed to get off this planet, and he needed to get off yesterday.

He pushes himself to his feet with a grunt and far too much effort, and turns to keep walking. He hoped the forest-like place would help him to stay hidden, but maybe aliens had some sort of weird night vision? 

Whatever, he wasn’t going to let them drag him back. It was either he kept his fragile ‘freedom’ or died escaping.

Tommy continued walking past the bushes, his heart thumping so loudly in his ears he was worried he may miss something; it’d stupid to think he was alone in this forest.  As he scanned the dark landscape, his chest constricted with fear; something was watching him. Tommy was sure of it. But as he looked around and tried to find the source of his unease, he found nothing. It was probably paranoia.

By the time he finally saw the metal glinting between the shadows, he hadn’t known whether he had been searching for minutes or hours. He walked as quick as his strained legs would allow, finding it to be a spacecraft of some sort. His relief at finding something overshadowing his doubt about it.

As he scrutinised the ship, it looked strangely high tech, even if he didn’t really know anything about space crafts. It was plated with a shiny, untouched dark metal, as opposed to the dented and dirty silver he was transported through space on, previously.

An especially strong breeze caused him to shiver and pause Tommy’s thoughts — he could think about the morales breaking into a possibly rich persons ship later, right now he needed to not freeze to death. Immediately he got to work and looked for an opening for him to enter it through. Soon enough he saw a small hatch he could enter, granted it was nailed.

It was nothing the Tommy Innes couldn’t fix! he brought up his chipped and overgrown nails to unscrew the vent. 2 of the screws managed to come out before his nail broke — badly. Blood poured out the wound while tommy sighed, wincing slightly when it began to sting. He just brung up another finger and repeated the motion. By the time the hatch opened, tommy had sacrificed 2 of his nails, both broken and 1 close to the same fate — all of them bleeding.

He sighed and rubbed off the blood stains off on the outside of the ship as best as he could with his tattered shirt. The tunnels he had entered were big enough for him to crawl through with little wriggle space.

While making his way through the said tunnels, Tommy had managed to realise that he was currently in a sort of ventilation system, leading to what he thinks is most rooms on the ship. Eventually he moved to an intersection, where it was a little bit bigger.

He dubbed it “The Tommyinnit Cave™️” and it would be his home for however long it needed to be.

With that thought in mind, he finally let himself succumb to his exhaustion.

____________

“I am so glad that’s finally over.”

Techno snorts in response, walking relaxedly through the dim city, “y’looked like you were ‘bout to burst a blood vessel in there”

Scowling, Phil immediately rushed to defend himself with an offended squawk. “They kept going in circles!! You can’t bargain down the price of blaze powder, everyone knows that,” he huffed, sounding pissed.

“The prices were shit, but we got what we wanted in the end, anyway.”

The blonde scoffs, rolling his eyes “Don’t act like you didn't want to pull your blaster out on them, too”

“Couldn’t if i wanted to,” Techno huffs, “they had like 3 guys in hiding with snipers.” He crosses his arms with a small wrinkle near his brow, irritation clear in his stance. 

“You could’ve taken them.” Phil says matter-of-factly, his feathers fluffed up from the earlier interaction, but smoothing out as they walked back to their ship.

“They probably knew what they were doing and thought they had the upper hand.” The Nether species sighed, mentally taking notes not to take deals with them in the future. And that he was hungry from all the hassling they had to do in the 2 hours.

The two continued walking in comfortable silence, the wind whistling 

through their ears and filling the silence. They make it through to the forest and he’s reminded of why they had to make such a journey — Phil having insisted last cycle that parking in the forest was cheaper, despite them being very much able to pay off the parking fees in the warehouses.

“I wonder if Wil’s back, yet?” The older man wonders aloud, the ship clearly coming into view for him first as he beelines through the trees. His elytrian biology having allowed him to have much better eyesight than Techno, who’s eyes were built for the bright red and orange glows of netherrack and lava.

“Wil’s probably g’nna stay the night, y’need to stop worrying so much.” He snorts, catching up with Phil as the ship comes into view for him as well.

Hearing the reassurance, his feathers smooth down just a little more as they round the side or the ship. Techno frowns as he makes a mental note of some reddish brown stains on the exterior, an injured animal probably got too close. Probably need to clean that off sometime.

The door opens in front of him and he enters quickly, eager to get out of the chilly night outside; Piglins weren’t made for cold environments. Shedding his jacket onto the back of a chair as he walks into the ships living room, he hears Phil enter behind him and he opens his mouth to ask if there was any food.

“There are leftovers in the kitchen from last night,” answering his question before Techno even asked, “I’m not hungry, so I'm gonna head to bed. we’re leaving tomorrow morning, wil should be back by then. If he’s not-“

“- I’ll call him in the morning and he’ll be back. Go to bed, y’look like you're about to drop dead, old man.” Techno finishes off, taking in his droopy eyes and tense shoulders — his rant from earlier having tired him out.

Phil nods gratefully and leaves the room. Picking up the book he had abandoned on the coffee table, Techno prepares a late cycle meal. Soon leaving his plate in the sink and preparing for bed, the dirt stains distracting him too much for an actually good reading session during his meal.

As he sinks under his blanket, he still can’t shake the feeling of something being wrong, his ears subconsciously picking up that the vents were making slightly too much noise.

Almost like another breathing pattern.

____________

The roar of the crowd deafened his ears, cheers and boos in another tongue filled the makeshift stadium. The air hot and sticky from the packed area.

He rolled over onto his stomach and spat, blood staining the ground. He gathers himself as best he can and gets up, swaying slightly. Stealing a quick glance at the crowd, some were cheering him on, others looking livid as he got up again, snarling and spitting at him.

Losing now wasn’t an option, he thinks, staring at his opponent head on. The guy’s lizard-like tail swaying behind him menacingly, claws stained with blood- his blood.

Steeling himself, he clenches his jaw as he charges at the lizard, tackling him into the ropes marking the ‘walls’ of the ring.

The fights a blur of wrangling and wrestling. 

Lizard guy leaves his side open, he uses this to his advantage immediately. A sharp punch to the soft area has lizard keeling over. Another kick to his back has him on the floor.

He ends up on top of the guy.

Punches thrown at every part of the body he can get to.

His nails clawing at the guy's soft tissue near what would be his collarbone.

Bones breaking under his fists-

A whistle rings out. He stops.

Staff swarm into the ring instantly. It doesn't seem like lizard is dead, though heavily injured and bleeding.

He stands up, adrenaline pumping through his limbs, once more. The crowd is rowdy, screaming, howling, wailing. Overwhelming. He’s called out victorious as his vision blurs. 

Tommy doesn’t feel victorious.

They bring in the next fighter, he readies his stance.

____________

Tommy awakes to the strange feeling of weightlessness. Opening his eyes blearily, he realises he’s just that — weightless. Floating in the small space of the vents, he struggles to wake himself up completely, sleep still clinging to his mind. Had he even had any drea-

BANG

After being slammed back down into the vent, gravity suddenly deciding to work again — Tommy no longer struggles to wake up.

Chapter Text

Tommy guesses that it had been maybe 3 days since his great escape. Although, hungry, tired and cramped — he couldn’t find any ounce of regret at the decision.

Tommy also hadn’t left the vents at all, only shuffling about through them and always coming back to The Tommyinnit Cave™ . Most of his time was spent watching the 3 aliens on board, an activity that big men like himself enjoyed. Sort of. It was strange, they all seemed so… human. Talking, making strange noises and working. Entertaining themselves, and sitting down to eat together.

It was different to the aliens from before. The ones who hit and kicked and punched, who snarled and growled. The ones who saw him as just some thing that can make them good money.

But weren’t humans like that too?

He followed them a lot in the first 2 or so days, moving stealthily in the vents. He was always stealthy. Tommy was just that fucking sick. The little feathery one walked around lots and spent his time with the other 2. Otherwise, he checked what was probably the ship's controls or used the strange little holograms. He talked a lot when using them, maybe it was some sort of space phone. 

The pink one looked fucking sick — all leather skin and thick scars. If  Tommy’d been pitted against him in the Frair Ring, he doesn’t know if he’d have survived. But the man from his first ship had told him humans were strong — more than those back on Earth ever knew; his reputation in the Ring hadn’t disproved it.

Pinky often carried around some sort of gun, similar to what the guards used to have, just more fancy, and spent a long periods of time in one specific room. Pouring lots of shit into bottles and small little portions, then leaving some of those in a cabinet and others under a white light. He didn't like watching him as much as Feathers, but that was alright. Pinky just wasn’t very interesting, although sometimes he did some sort of training. It was intimidating. Tommy never liked watching that either. 

Horribly enough, everytime Tommy did watch him, he always looked straight at the vent — giving him a heart attack as he stops his breathing and slowly counts down in an attempt to get the eyes off him. It was fuckin’ creepy.

The last one, all bony and pale and thin, unsettled him. His strange way of moving around, like he floats. Maybe he does. But he did seem to be the most expressive one — or at least expressive in a way Tommy could understand.

Ghosty, as he had affectionately and very creatively named him, was always doing something. Whether it be talking into what must be some means of a communication device, or writing something on papers or even just chatting with the feathery one. He was never staying still, never sitting down and reading like Pinky, or watching stars like Feathers. He was lively.

They all were.

____________

“Could you be any louder?” He snapped agitatedly, Phil’s nervous tapping having been pissing him off for the last few minutes.

Squawking offendedly, Phil responds quickly, feathers bristling, “You couldn't even have heard it from over there?”

“My phantom hearing-“

“To hell with your phantom hearing, you're on the other side of the commonspace, watching some shitty show on your holo.” He says, the words coming harsher than he had meant them.

Wilbur sighs resignedly, Phil’s tapping hadn’t been that loud, if at all. “I just- i don't know what’s gotten into me,” he admits, “I’ve been so on edge lately.”

“Ever since we got off A62-NEC?” Phil guesses, he’d been feeling it too — the tension since the planet had been growing. The feeling of eyes on his back lately, following him to every room. He knew the others had been feeling it too.

Wilbur nods, digging his palms into his eyes as he flops himself across the sofa. “I don't know what it is. But there's gotta be something wrong on this ship. Maybe quackity is playing a trick or something.” After a beat he sighs defeatedly again, “No, he’s too busy with his new hotel.”

Phil thinks as well, coming up with… well- nothing. He doesn’t know what’s stressing them. “Maybe we all just need to chill out a few days, stop working and take a break. The last trade did go a bit haywire,” it sounded weak, even to him.

Wilbur snorts, no doubt thinking back to when Techno briefed him about it the next morning. Mind flashing back to the guns and shitty threats. “Understatement, but maybe you're right”

They all lapse into silence, thinking about the strange tension and unusual silence coursing through the ship.

“ Gods , it’s like a ghast flew through here. What’s wrong with y’guys?”

Admittedly, Phil jumped a little, not having noticed when Techno entered. The man was always strangely silent despite his chunky hooves, Phil registers his words after a beat.

On the other hand, Wilbur was quick to answer, eager to vent his frustrations out, “Something’s wrong! I’m really flighty and Phil’s pissed and the energy in this ship’s all off! ” 

Well, Phil wouldn’t have exactly phrased it that way, but he elects to ignore it, instead watching as Wilbur’s eyes take on a luminous look. Emotions clearly running high as he picks at the skin around his knuckles; a bad habit Phil had thought he’d dropped years ago. He lets it slide this once, however.

Techno hums, noncommittally, “i mean, yeah. It’s weird, the vents are making a lot of noise…”

Wilbur makes a strangled noise, “You hear it too?”

Putting the pieces together, Phil gasps, “Do we have a gas leak? All of us are irritable, and vents are making a shit ton of noise. We might need to emergency land and get the vents checked.”

His words had a weight to them, being captain it meant his orders were taken too seriously for his liking. Though that might also be because he was essentially the two’s father. Techno hums in thought, clearly weighing it out, “It's worth it, we can’t risk anything. Gas could be lethal”

“So it’s settled, emergency touchdown at the nearest planet that offers service.”

____________

Tommy was experiencing minor setbacks. He was not struggling, despite what anyone else may say. 

See, the aliens from before had given him some things to help him fight better. Namely, alien drugs. Now, it hadn’t really been much in the beginning; but as he kept fighting and consequently kept winning, they had continued to up his dosage. 

And now Tommy was experiencing what must be withdrawal.

Laying in a nauseous state, arms wrapped around his stomach as he shivers violently yet sticky with cold sweat. Something the frigid, whistling vents was not helping with. Not only that, but it felt like the vents were closing in on him, pressing against his chest, pushing all air out his lungs.

Groaning quietly he feels the sudden urge to leave. He wants out. Out of the vents. Out of the ship. Out of space.

He wants to go back to Earth .

Turning over onto his side, Tommy clasps a hand against his mouth. Overwhelmed with the urge to throw up his guts.

After successfully not filling his already limited space with vomit, he pulls himself up, grunting quietly with the effort, and drags himself over the nearest vent opening. Somehow managing to pull off the grate in his hazy state. Everything feeling like a dream and too much all at once.

His already tunnelling vision begins to get blurry with tears, memories flashing through his mind. Tommy hisses as a particularly sharp pain flashes on the side of his head — maybe a migraine?

His parents comes home late after drinking, laughing and drunk off of their asses. His mother stumbles into the kitchen to open another bottle. She knocks over a vase of flowers and the cup she was pouring.

The shatter of glass wakes him up.

The kind man talking him through his feverish state and never-ending pain on a previous ship. His soothing voice travelling between their respective cages. Talking about his kids, his wife, his best friend. Tommy had fantasised about being good friends with his daughter, Beau. Her hot spirit and sure-headed stubbornness meshing well with his loudness.

Tommy had wept himself dry when he hadn’t woken up the next week.

The disgusting rations he was given at the Ring, barely enough to constitute as a meal. And yet the only one he was given a day. Constantly having to run off of fumes — but he still got more than the other fighters, his win streak did have a few privileges. The slop tasted like wet dust in his mouth. He was thankful nevertheless. 

They could always have just stopped feeding him.

Despite not remembering the journey, Tommy finds himself stumbling into the kitchen, beelining for the cabinets. Strangely enough, they have no handles, though he is in space so everything is strange. He attempts to claw them open, pulling as hard as his body can allow.

Fuck… he should’ve had a lot more muscle, given that he’d been fighting people most days for hours, but he wasn’t given enough fucking food. If you could call it that. The potions and the golden fruit they had gave him most of the reason he’d been able to hit so hard. Granted they were also the cause of his very state right now.

He moves on after the cabinets refuses to budge, instead opening something which, visually, wasn’t dissimilar to the oven Tommy had on Earth. It swings open easily, much larger on the inside than he had initially anticipated. 

Immediately he goes to grab something, his hand landing on a bar of… something. It reminds him of a granola bar though and through his haziness he finds a small bit of comfort in that. Something from home soothing the burn of space.

So he grabs it, along with a few… packets of cereal looking things but larger. Quickly ripping open the wrapping of the bar, he chows down on it — finding it was rather soft and mushy, a strange goo inside of it oozing out. He grimaces at the nasty taste, certain he would have been gagging had he not already developed a stomach of steel.

After making his way through 2 of the bars, a packet of cereal and some water, he feels far too stuffed for what he’d eaten. Not eating for a few days had definitely messed up his perception of feeling full. 

Although it still felt like moving through water and fire at the same time, Tommy found he was much more aware of what he was doing once he had eaten. After retracing his steps, a lot of wrong turns and wandering, Tommy shimmies himself back into his safe space as quietly as possible, finally letting out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

… What if he had eaten something poisonous? The space equivalent of cyanide? For such a morbid prospect, he was strangely calm about it. Scratch that, what if they notice the missing food?

Fortunately, the thoughts drift away as quickly as they came — it was nearly impossible to get his brain to stay thinking about one thing right now. Like trying to hold sand as it slips between your open fingers. 

Similarly, it was becoming quickly apparent that thinking about anything was proving difficult, the feeling of a full stomach lulling him to sleep. The last thought he had was of his mother — a tight-lipped smile and disdain in her eyes.

____________

Wilbur frowned, “Phil, did you eat my Hirji bars?” 

Turning around to face the man, Wilbur’s met with a dismissive flap of the wing, “no, mate. I don't even like that shit, why?”

“I have less than I remember buying, Techno!” He calls. A grunt acknowledges him from the other room, so he yells out again, “Did you eat my Hirji bars!?”

He’s only mildly surprised as Techno’s bulky frame appears in the doorway to the kitchen, “Why in the name of the Nethör would I ever eat that,” He deadpans, his mouth tilting downwards and his brow furrowing in disgust.

“I- I dunno! But there’s less than i bought on A-NEC, and-“

“Maybe you're imagining things, Wil,” Phil cuts in. “You do know that the economy on that planet is inflated, you have to spend more to get less.”

He knows how inflation works, thank you very much! Wilbur is the one who deals the finances on this ship, right now. Still the words don’t leave his mouth as he contemplates the situation. Logically, he knows he has no way to prove anything was missing.

Maybe he had eaten more than he noticed over the last few days. Letting it go he huffs and instead walks over and grabs some fruit, absentmindedly noting that Techno had left at some point, probably to go and work in the labs.

Resigning to go and find their next deal, Wilbur makes his way out of the kitchen, leaving Phil to finish preparing whatever dish he was going to make tonight. 

He’d also have to put the guys from A62-NEC on the ban list, and organise all the measures to stop them from contacting again, and do taxes- 

Wilbur groaned at the thought of all the work he’d been procrastinating. Walking into the threshold of his office, he suddenly stumbles.

 The overwhelming feeling of wrong wrong wrong wro- coursing through his veins. 

His nails quickly catch on the skin of his wrist as he lets out a hiss of pain, picking at the flaking bits while he tries to let the feeling pass. Taking deep breaths through clenched teeth. He swears to destiny that whatever was fucking up the balance of energy on this ship — whether its an insect or stray rodent — was gonna suffer his wrath.

As it subsides, he takes what feels like the first breath of fresh air he’d had in months. Granted none of the air on this ship was fresh . Wilbur stands up (when had he gotten on the floor?) and promptly wishes he  could turn around and bash his head into the walls when he sees the mound of paperwork on his desk.

Whatever, time to get to work.

Chapter Text

Tommy’s parents had never taken him camping. Or really on holiday at all.

They’d always cited a hundred reasons why: they were tight on money; they were too busy with work; Tommy had school to go to, an education to complete; the destination wasn’t suitable for kids; Tommy was supposed to stay humble and thankful — lavish holidays would ruin that.

The last one was absolute bullshit and had him rolling his eyes when it was said. It also had him grounded for a week, as if they even cared enough to check whether he actually did stay at home.

Despite all those excuses, however, Tommy knew the true reason why his parents never bothered to take him on holiday: if they didn’t bother with him at home, why would they want him with them during their romantic getaways.

An escape from him .  An escape from the mistake they were forced to keep.

The fact never really bothered him that much, even when Tommy had cried himself dry throughout his childhood — asking desperately to the Gods above why didn’t his parents love him the way his classmates’ parents did?  

But as he grew older, he realised they were strangers. And Tommy wasn’t forced to love them either. So began their mutual relationship of sharing a house, but not a life.

Even so, he did wish he had gotten out into the wilderness. The stories classmates would tell in school — of a fun weekend filled with flashlights and campfires and laughter and tick bites. Of a family simply existing together in a place with no stresses of the real world.

Tommy especially mourns the experience now, as he goes over his plan again, sitting on his grimy floor. Not that it can even really be called a proper plan; a shoddy little thing that consisted of hitchhiking and getting off at the next stop at whatever ship that he happened to stumble upon. How he was planning to survive on a random planet, (nevermind that he wouldn’t even have tried to do the same thing on earth) Tommy has absolutely no idea.

A loud ‘ clang’ suddenly sounds through his door. Debating whether he should check, he eventually decides to bite the bullet and peek through the door of his room to check another fight hadn’t broken out as  another, more desperate, yell rings through.

Tommy was forever grateful he had been promoted to a room with actual walls and a few ratty blankets — the rooms that resembled cages more than earth prison cells, had made him feel extremely exposed; the guards snarling nastily as they patrolled past the bars, constantly leaving him on edge.

Instead now they would just silently move through, routine checks done by peeking through windows and analysing through open doorways — they wouldn’t dare invade a champion fighter’s space. Not after seeing what they did to others in the ring. Regardless of the guards’ weapons and advantages.

He gets thrown out of his thoughts when a couple of pairs of eyes blinded by rage snap onto him. Immediately, Tommy recoils, not wanting to get involved. But a desperate cry falling from the person on the floor underneath his attacker compels him to stop. Just for an extra few seconds.

Clenching his jaw he quickly assesses the situation. No guards have intervened yet meaning the fight hadn’t drawn them out. Strange, usually they’re positioned at every door, with 2 stomping up and down the hallway every 30 or so minutes. His eyes widen as the attacker gets off the injured person, blue blood on their claws and a foot landing in a sticky puddle underneath as they advance forwards.

Tommy’s hands shoot up with his palms out in surrender, words spilling out even though he knows no one here speaks english. “Hey man, I don’t wanna mess with you. I’ll- I’ll go back into my room and I’ll pretend I didn't see anything if you just let me go. In fact I wasn’t even awake when thi-“ Tommy’s rambling quickly gets cut short as the other throws a fist (or a ‘palm’ with 8 appendages clenched tightly) at his face.

Narrowly avoiding the spikes on the back of the other’s hand, Tommy gulps. Instinctively, he squares his shoulders and widens his stance, catching the other's arm as they throw another punch at him. cursing, he shifts his weight as 3 other punches and a heavy kick is performed in quick succession, and jumps backwards to gain time. Now that Tommy thinks about it, it’s not very fair that the other gets 4 arms and Tommy has 2 measly ones, which are tiny in comparison!

Still, nothing in the Frair ring was particularly fair. so he grit his teeth and fought as best he could until guards arrived and detained both of them about 15 minutes later, the body dragged out with a dark blue trail left behind.

Even as he was led towards isolation rooms — with guttural sounds he recognised as some sort of insult and what translated as a threat even through the intergalactic language barrier — Tommy still couldn’t get the hazed over anger in the others eyes out of his head. With uncoordinated, barely controlled movements and foul breath spilling from his unhinged jaw. 

Not that it would be the last time Tommy sees that exact animalistic fury. That senseless movement and unawareness. A whole new danger was presented, ever since moving up the ranks: overdosing on gapples or 

potions. 

It made sense Tommy supposes; there was a sick system set, where the more fights you would win, the more drugs you would be given. Still, he was shook with almost irrational fear every time he saw another one lose themselves. Some were luckier, he supposed. Instead, blessed with a quiet death. blood pouring from their eyes or mouths, a bit of gurgling as they twitch a bit before finally succumbing to it.

However, be it speed potions, strength, healing or gapples, they all went to the same grave.

So Tommy made a vow — he wouldn’t let himself throw away his life for the drugs. Even when addiction was inevitable, he couldn’t let it end like that. Not when he’s fought so hard his whole life.

____________

Tommy knew it was a bad sign when there was an obvious change in the aliens’ behaviour. From loud, carefree shouts across the ship at one another to hushed, tense whispers and quiet conversations. But still, Tommy refused to believe it, convincing himself all his suspicions were in his head.

Maybe they suddenly developed a fear of the vacuum of space? Yeah, that definitely wasn’t it. But he couldn’t understand why else the once easy and predictable aliens are suddenly acting off . And Tommy wasn’t about to fault them for their fears, it had taken himself a month of space travel to get used to the inky darkness and cold of it all — a telltale low ambient hum of space haunting his nightmares for weeks.

Either way, he took comfort in knowing for sure that he hadn’t been found out; a human on the ship would definitely alert much more panic than whatever weird middle ground is currently going on. 

Tommy still remembers the palpable shock he had felt when he found out humans — weak, squishy humans — were considered some sort of death worlders in space. His mouth had been hanging wide open before he picked it back up just long enough to question her sceptically. 

“Have you seen the aliens on this ship? they look like they could rip me limb from limb without breaking a sweat” He speaks quickly, a constant tremble in his fingers while he cracked his knuckles — it was a persistent habit he had for the better part of his life. However, conversely to most adults in his life, the woman in the cell next to him had no annoyance at the practice. 

A quiet laugh sounds out next to him as Tommy’s eyes focus on a particularly deep dent on the floor in his cage. “Well, they are a particularly strong species, but they lack basic adrenaline responses to their environment or injury. However they do still produce it, just not as well or often as humans”

He makes a face, tilting his head to the side, “Why does that matter?”

“… You did do this in school, right?”

“I didn’t really bother to listen, the teachers were all shitheads anyway”

She nods with an understanding look, “Right, well adrenaline helps us fight. increases shit like heart rate and prevents pain receptors from going off when injured so you can continue fighting. really useful.” 

“How do you know all this?” Tommy asks with a disbelieving look, after considering it for a beat.

“I literally just said it's in the national curriculum.”

“Not that! I meant how do you know the aliens don’t do all that?”

“Read their reports”

Tommy’s jaw falls open for the second time in ten minutes. “WHAT!? but those are in common! How??”

The older human chuckled and shushed Tommy, fondly, “keep it down man, or the guards will separate us. I didn’t read them, but i had a friend who did. She was before your time.”

Tommy tenses at the use of past tense. “Where’d she go..?”

She clocks the look on his face but doesn’t attempt to cover the truth like she once would’ve. “got sent away. She was clever, and constantly doing things to piss them all off. I once saw her snag a wire on the way back from testing and stab it into a guard's leg.”

“I respect her whole-heartedly and I believe she’s girlboss.” He says, eyes filled with wonder.  A wry smile forms on her face.

“You should. Her name was Puffy. She was absolutely fucking fearless. Her big, curly hair was dyed a very pale blue, I thought it was just white when I first saw her. And she was wearing the most kick-ass jacket when she was taken. Before they took it off her.  And she also learnt common — no clue how but she constantly hurled insults at the guard and scientists. But once she went a bit too far — made a bit too much trouble — and was dragged out, kicking and screaming. Never came back.

“I miss her. But she went out in the way she wanted too — an explosion, y’know?”

Next to him, a quiet sniffle can be heard. Tommy quickly averts his eyes respectfully, holding his silence despite his burning questions of just what she did, while she collects herself.

“Anyway, she found some reports of us — just general stuff. Apparently they were comparing everything about us to their own species. Self-absorbed bastards.” She continued.

He murmurs a small ‘ oh’ while he digests all this new information, his brow furrowed in thought.  A companionable silence draws out between them. As tommy tilts his head back, staring across the room trying to imagine a Puffy being dragged out, months and months ago. Before he even knew other sentient life forms existed outside of earth.

He wonders if one day he’d be the one dragged out, kicking and screaming. (obviously not in common, though. Tommy wasn’t that smart.) 

The thought didn’t scare him as much as he thought it should’ve.

Regardless, Tommy never was taken that way anyway— just sold in chains and cuffs like a bunch of other humans. Boring!! Like, what’s the point in having the coolest, stolen from earth backstory if not all of it was badass? He snorts at his own thoughts before remembering he’s supposed to be sneaky. 

The Tommy Fucking Innes was the sneakiest bitch ever.

A fact that proved true when he’d been following the feathery bitch throughout the ship for the past hour, watching him do menial tasks. Although, he’d been doing the space equivalent of laundry for the past approximately 20 minutes  — so fucking boring. Currently, he was smoothing the wrinkles in a cloak before hanging it in his closet.

Ugh. He turns his head and leans it on his arms and imagines himself sighing loudly; the real thing would blow his cover.

A near silent ‘hiss’ of the door sliding open causes Tommy to perk up. The pig guy steps into the bedroom, immediately grunting and snorting some sort of shit to Feathers. Tommy takes note of the tenseness in his limbs — oooh, maybe he’s arguing with Ghosty? Or complaining to Feathers about something?

Tommy had loved drama on earth so, this is sort of like a reality tv show! A reality show in another language and with non-humans. Entertainment, either way, he concludes. In a very untimely manner, his stomach growls loudly. 

shit.

Immediately he slows his breathing to a stop as Pinky’s gaze snaps to the vents, fear curling its familiar claws in the pits of his stomach. He tenses all his muscles as if ready to flee, or fight. Instead he forces himself to freeze until the danger has passed. 

Really it was all the aliens' fault, for this. Tommy’s no fucking stranger to starvation, in fact he hasn’t been eating right since before he got to space — so he was well-accustomed to having an empty stomach. But that didn’t mean he was equipped for not eating a whole damn week without the side effects.

When he’d first gotten on ship, he’d made regular food trips to the kitchens every couple nights. That was at least 2 weeks ago. Recently, however, the kitchen had been locked. Who the fuck puts a lock on their kitchen door!? So he’d been going hungry for longer — checking for any new developments every night.

Still, he shuffles away as quietly as he can from this particular vent opening and goes back to The Tommyinnit Cave™️, extremely reluctantly. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t grateful he hadn’t been exterminated! It was just that… Well there wasn’t exactly much to do in the walls of a ship unnoticed. 

However, on the way back, the side of his skull begins to throb and his balance teeters. Slamming the other side of his skull in the wall, he groans and sighs: now both sides of his head hurt. Tommy fucking hates migraines.

Boredom was beginning to eat him alive in this hellhole. He had mostly just slept away the hours (and days) or stared at the vent walls around him and imagined various things, stories, lives. Other lives. Ones that he wished he had the chance to live before this personal hell created for him by whatever sick fucks up above — no doubt laughing at him. 

However, his favourite lives so far were ones in which he had powers. Strong ones. Stuff that would help him, save him from sticky situations and help other people: people he loved and people he didn't know. (Maybe then he would have some control over his life).

Perhaps healing powers, helping a mysterious villainous crew and the bad guys were good. He would save them from the sidelines and not get involved! yeah, that sounded nice, Tommy helping everyone around him he could.

Or maybe, a world in which his life wasn’t limited? A life which wasn’t a life — immortality reigning over him. That would be so cool! He wouldn’t be bound to suffering or attachment and he could ensure his own safety while still learning about the endless world beyond.

A world in which life was some long forgotten game that nobody knew how to win anymore, so they just played.

And with that comforting thought Tommy drifted into a new life he built for himself.

___________

Somewhere else on the ship that night, the crew gathers in the cockpit once more. The elytrian breathes out a sigh and looks at his boys.

“So… What the hell do we do?”

Techno looks at him with disbelief, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Obviously, turn it into the GC?? We aren’t gonna keep it as a pet.”

Phil ruffled his feathers, on the defensive. He won’t be teased for ‘dad’ instincts — he was just, well- just empathetic.  “On the holo, it looked so young!”

“It looked like it was taller than you Phil.” The Nethera species argued.

“Well that's just humans in general! Besides, how do we know the Galactic Council won’t open further investigations into us? It's too risky to even try.”

At that the three lapsed into silence, torn between keeping the violent deathworlder on ship or risk arrest because of their maybe legal operations. Until Wilbur finally spoke up, a thoughtful look on his face, “We should talk to Tubbo about this. Isn’t he taking that extra class on predatory species? He’s bound to know something about humans.”

No objections were raised by him or Techno, so Phil opened a comm on one of the large elaborate screens in front of the captain’s chair. It began to ring.

The cockpit was relatively spacious, and a bit too impersonal for Phil’s liking. Still all controls for the ship were located here. The large floor-to-ceiling windows covered all 3 walls, except the door, felt permanently cold. Various screens and hardware sat on a shelf connected to one of the glass walls. It was futuristic, and definitely not cheap.

His call was answered with a dim room and a groaning Tubbo; Phil thought he had a pretty good guess of what the time was on the academy’s planet. Nevertheless, he winced as tubbos thick scruffy hair filled the screen.

“Mrnghh, whaddya wan’ phil…” Tubbo half mumbled, half growled, sleep still clinging to his voice.

Phil rushed to apologise for disturbing him, “Oh i’m so sorry, i didn’t know you were sleeping but it is kind of urgent-”

“What do you know about humans?” Wilbur interrupted his apology, bluntly.

Tubbo yawned again and he blinked a few times, whether from tiredness or confusion, “What? I- they live on earth, obviously and are sentient..” 

“Yes, yes but what else?” Techno asked impatiently on the other side of him. Phil rolled his eyes, they were both so restless. Didn’t he teach his boys that patience was a virtue?

“Fuckin’ hell- Let me wake up first. Allow me so graciously to get a drink then we’ll talk..” He grumbled as he stood up and walked to his dorm's kitchen, and then immediately grabbed some sort of juice and began piling even more sweetner in. Phil had to stop himself from reprimanding Tubbo — there were more serious matters to speak about.

However, in the tense silence Ranboo had just strolled into the kitchen, dressed and chipper. 

Wait, now Phil was confused… Was it not late at night? Did Tubbo just fuck up his sleep schedule? Phil resolved to just scold and make sure Tubbo fixed his circadian rhythm when he came back on ship, soon enough.

 Ranboo waves to the comm and grabs himself a pastry before asking, “What’s up?”

Smiling despite himself, Phil asks again, “What do you know about humans?”

With a more confused smile Ranboo answers, moving closer to the comm and completely ignoring Tubbo’s brewing storminess next to him.

 “Well, I mean they aren’t supposed to be off their home planet at all. But I’m sure you know  some people in space pay a pretty penny to have them as pets and in underground markets. And in the really horrible cases, they’re experimented on by other species.

“They're also really strong, mostly due to the Epinephrine chemical they produce. Most species don't produce it on the same levels homo-sapiens do, and not nearly as efficiently. And also due to some other biological stuff. Hence why they’re ‘deathworlders’. But nobody who’s actually right in the head has seen one in ages . They’re kept pretty hush-hush, y’know?”

Tubbo, who’s decided he’s done brooding for now eagerly chimes in, “They’re also pack oriented! And can fight with missing limbs.” Phil feels Techno tense beside him as Tubbo begins nodding like he’s just blessed them all with that information.

Phil takes a deep breath and decides how to go about letting his two youngest know that one of these deathworlders was spotted on his ship. He then thinks a bit harder about whether he should even let them know.

Fortunately his moral compass overrides his urge to keep his children from worrying. “Sooo…” he starts off, “A few nights ago, our motion sensor cameras picked up an unusual movement. And we reviewed the footage-”

“Did Wilbur have a midnight snack and then slip and bang his head?” Tubbo interrupted giddily, just not reading the room at all. Seriously, did Phil forget to teach his kids about the concept of patience? Or manners at all? Or the classic speak one at a time rule? Whatever.

“Fuck you, Tubbo. No.”

Ignoring Wilbur’s displeased remark, Phil sighed and continued on, “No, it um- well- Hypothetically, say it picked up a human walking through our halls, eating our food and disappearing into a vent? What would you make of that..?”

It was a few moments of dead silence with both Tubbo and Ranboo having unreadable expressions. Suddenly, they both broke out into panicked yells and their faces crumpled into horror.

“Phil what the fuck- Why would you let me interrupt with that Wilbur thing!-”

“Oh my void. Oh my dragon- You guys aren’t serious-??”

“GUYS GET OUT OF THERE-”

“oh my void!! TECHNO WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU STOP IT-“

“BLOW THE SHIP-“

Phil flinched as techno raised his voice over them, effectively silencing their panic. “Alright, You two! Firstly, Ranboo what the fuck. How was I s’pposed to know we had a category 9X species in our walls?? Secondly, I know y’scared, but we’ve disoriented it by locking the kitchen so it can’t access our food; it’s most definitely too weak to do anything, now.”

“How do you know that? Tubbo just said that they fight with broken limbs . They’ll survive a few days of starvation! And what about when you sleep? If it breaks into your room?!” Ranboo’s nervous rambling filled the air, while Tubbo stayed silent — fear still evident with the upright fur along his cheeks.

This time Phil speaks up, his throat feeling tight with emotion. “It’s been a week. If it’s not incapacitated, it’s probably severely malnourished. The only reason it hasn’t died is because it's been drinking from the bathroom taps.” He felt his face contort into a grimace at his last sentence. He hadn’t had the heart to kill it by locking the bathroom doors too. “Also, it doesn’t come out during the day, and seems to still be under the impression it’s hidden. At night, we have our rooms locked with motion sensors on high alert.”

“What if it uses the vents to come through?” Tubbo spoke up, his trembling voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Techno’s reinforced it with a shit ton of welding.” Phil answers, before his voice softens from the previous captain's tone, “Don’t worry guys, we’re safe and the human looks small. It’s most likely a child.”

Wilbur on his other side chimes in, “Ignore him, his Dad instincts are acting up. It looked very capable of killing. But don’t worry, we’re staying up tonight to monitor it, and so far it’s not been violent or anything.” Ignoring the pair’s horrified faces at that, Wilbur begins humming as if he hadn’t made Phil’s job ten times harder.

“Wilbur!” He chastises, ready to deny it before Techno cuts him off. “There’s no use lyin’ to them Phil, they’re grown enough. Yeah it’s pretty much as tall as me. But that’s average human height. And it’s sluggish and thin. I honestly don’t think it’ll be able to kill any of us.”

They all sat in silence, the air thick and charged with worry. Finally, Tubbo speaks and his signature morbid curiosity shines through, “You guys are coming to pick us up, right? I wanna see this human.”

Ranboo shoves him, and vehemently shakes his head, “Do not come get us unless that thing is in strict containment. Or just take him. Y’know what you can sacrifice Tubbo to the human, for all I care, but keep me out of it.”

Tubbo glares at him and what he says next is too quiet for the camera to pick up — but Phil thinks he has an accurate idea when Ranboo’s ears perk up and he swallows nervously.

“Stop threatening him Tubbo. And yes, we have plans to contain it. Beyond that, no idea. Maybe we just live with a human now. And yes, we’re picking both of you up, but not before said plans have been accomplished.”

“We’re gonna leave a plate of food in the spare room, and lock him in there!” Wilbur smiles, too pleased with the idea of trapping a human in their ship.

“That seems too simple.” Tubbo accuses immediately.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Techno agrees. “But they don’t buy it.”

“Because it’s literally starving! It will definitely fall for it.”

Techno grunts a negative but Phil’s already talking. “We’re just gonna try, if it works, it works. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Besides, I really don't think we’re gonna be killed.”

Despite clearly not having anyone’s support besides Wilbur and Ranboo’s half shrug ( It counts !), no one openly refuses it. And so that night, when Phil makes dinner, he makes an extra portion to leave, hot, in another room overnight.

(When he sees Techno’s nervous fidgeting with his blaster and Wilbur anxiously picking his skin, he pretends he doesn’t.)

_______________

Turning into another dead end, Tommy internally names every curse word he knows once again. He doesn’t know how, but he somehow got lost following the same path to kitchen’s he’s been taking the last 5 nights. Actually, he knows exactly how the fuck it happened: all the goddamn hallways look the same!

Coupled with the fact he’s feeling a lot more lethargic after wandering around for the past 20 minutes, he really wants to just lay down, pass out and never wake up again.

He doesn’t do that though and turns around. Wandering back down the hallway, he contemplates what the aliens would have done with his body, had he chosen to give up.

Tommy likes to think they would have been decent enough to treat his body with dignity. Maybe they throw it out into the vast open space.

Is that even legal? Just chuck a corpse into space? Would his body even decompose properly, with no oxygen? 

Man he knows absolutely nothing. Kind of depressing to think about, to be honest; a new space government, with new rules and guidelines and people and he knows jackshit about it all. Was he even allowed to be on this ship? Did whatever universal authority here even allow humans exist outside of Earth?

His eyes begin to sting as he wishes — far from the first time — that he was back on Earth. Things were safe there. He had a home, parents (albeit they weren’t the best), a school, teachers and classmates (that he didn’t really know) and a routine he followed. It made sense.

And now he was left scrambling to survive.

A hiss of air and a small click had him whirling around, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

His eyes frantically search at what had been an open door seconds ago. Fuck, had he really just wandered into a random room and and got himself trapped? If the aliens didn’t know about him already, they definitely were going to know in the morning. 

Anxiously, he looks back towards the rest of the room and tries to desperately find some sort of vent opening he could get himself through. Coming up empty he curses aloud for the first time in weeks; he had been sure that every room had one! 

Upon closer inspection of the room, he didn’t recognise it at all, from his travels around the ship — it looked like a bedroom. He might’ve guessed a guest bedroom, with the perfect bed and cleanliness, but it looked far too personal. The walls had something that looked like an LED sign in a some symbol and there was a bench in the corner filled with… honestly he didn’t know but it looked like bits of metal and a toolkit.

Suddenly, the morbid realisation that the aliens would most definitely kill him for invading their personal space struck him. Fear crawls up his throat, scraping and bleeding its way through to the rest of his body. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t mean to. Tommy wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to sink to the ground and make everything around him disappear.

He just really wanted to be on Earth. In his too quiet home with the sound of his own too loud voice fighting it.

Teeth grinding together, fear recedes to make way for anger — his fists clenching and nails digging into his palms. He’d been tricked, and too dumb to see it: the locks meant that they knew he was here. A startling absence of presence in the past few days that he brushed off because he didn’t want to face the truth.

The animalistic snarl that sounds through the room would have surprised even himself, had he not heard this exact anger before. 

(The sick crack of flesh against flesh rings through the air like a siren, a howl of pain from a nearby cellmate. He hears his own voice yelling distantly. Soon he was the one being hurt for his own disobedience and insolence)

So with no other outlet for his anger, he turns back towards the door and raises his fists, slamming them against the door. He lets out another noise somewhere between a growl and yell, keeping the repetitive jagged motions of him throwing his arms at the door. Not that any of his ‘punches’ would have hurt a real person very much.

If he’d been thinking clearer maybe Tommy would have realised that nothing was going to change with the metal door, no matter how many guttural noises and sloppy hits he threw at it. Instead the more he goes, the angrier he gets: thinking about this ship quickly leads to all other ships he’d been on before.

Images of various places flash through his mind: the cages they’d been kept in on the original ship that took him from Earth; the cramped space they left him in for hours and hours and days and days while being sold; the grimy rooms ( if you could call it that ) he was given in the ring.

With a cry that contained more sadness than anger, he hits the door as hard as he can. A sickening crunch cuts through his haze of anger, as pain immediately flares up. Letting out a muffled scream, he quickly shoves his other hand into his mouth, biting down on it hard as he tries to breathe through the pain as much as possible.

Tears well up in his eyes and blur his vision. Tommy carefully lowered himself to the floor, trying his very hardest to muffle any noises of pain. His eyes stay glued on the ceiling for at least 5 minutes. 

One forced glance at his hand reveals his finger is ever so slightly crooked and his knuckle is red and swelling quickly; his hand would most definitely be out of commission for a few weeks back on Earth. Even more tears force themselves out his eyes as he lets out a pathetic whine. It looked worse than it felt. Or, at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

Pathetically, he loses all will to move and just cradles his hand, gingerly. He tries his best to continue breathing shakily and tries to comfort himself. He swiftly thinks of his other lives and settles on the one in which he was a god from earlier.

So while his cold tears drip down his cheek defeatedly, he pretends he’s on some faraway planet with soft white wings and an affinity with flowers.

Chapter Text

“Well your plan was a hot mess.” Wilbur whistled, way too relaxed for what just happened.

Turns out they managed to successfully trap the human. Just not the way they originally planned.

The first phase of their scheme had gone off without a hitch: preventing the human from getting back into the vents. It was simple enough, close a few doors, conceal them and the human was off down the hallway with the food.

Until it just walked straight past the room where Phil had hidden the food. Didn’t smell it or anything. At first he guessed that maybe humans just didn’t have as advanced a smell as people said, but after redirecting it down the same corridor three times, he was more than a bit skeptical about the galaxy’s knowledge on humans.

Every time he tried to get the human to go in, the human would just walk past the room — as if it couldn’t see it! 

(And he’d never admit it to his boys, but he did really just want the clearly very young child to eat.)

Despite the human's passiveness so far, he could tell Techno was beginning to get antsy with the deathworlder wandering through the hallways. So Phil decided that the next time the kid walked into a room, he would lock the door behind him.

That room just so happened to be Tubbo’s.

“Aw man!!” His voice sounds out through the speakers; the pair had insisted on joining in on surveillance. “Phillll-”

“Did you want it trapped or not?” He huffs, ignoring Tubbo’s further complaints.

“Phil y’gotta admit you coulda done it anywhere else.” Techno reasons. 

“maybe..” He admits, “But would you rather have it walking around for longer?”

There was a small silence before Ranboo — still shaken up at the human’s violent display — speaks up, “I thought you guys said it would be weak…Malnutritioned. That didn’t look weak at all.”

“I- I don’t know. I thought it would be too weak to do much more than walk by now… Maybe we misjudged its abilities.” Phil replies, trying to make sense of the human.

“Maybe!?” Tubbo snorted out loud, “What it looked like was the human  most definitely being able to get Wilbur’s ass even while being severely malnutritioned.”

“Okay so why am I catching strays?-” Gasped Wilbur, who’d been quiet other than his initial comment, with an unneeded amount of disbelief.

“Just stating facts, man — I mean look in a mirror, your entire species is quite literally just skin and bone”

Sighing and ignoring the argument that ensues, Phil decided to instead have an actually meaningful conversation with Techno. “So… where do we go from here?”

“I mean. We could always just leave it on some planet.”

Phil gasps at the suggestion and brings back his defence that seems to be coming up a lot. “Absolutely fucking not! It’s still a child; that hasn’t changed just because it punched the door a few times.”

“A few punches that could’ve killed someone like Wilbur.” 

Upon hearing his name,  Wilbur gives Techno a hard look. “Someone like me what?”

“… The human could’ve taken you easily, Wil.” Techno reiterates, bluntly.

Ranboo’s eyes begin glowing dimly with a vague purplish hue and he somehow becomes even more uneasy. “What’s gonna happen?”

Phil, having already made up his mind about the human staying alive, takes the opportunity to bring everyone’s attention back to him. 

“We’re feeding him — no Techno, what it should be nutritionally gaining, we are not underfeeding it. That is a non-negotiable. We're also planning on keeping it a secret and not handing it over to the GC for risk of further investigation into us. Maybe we’ll socialise it or something. Until we pick you up, Tubbo and Ran start researching everything you can about humans.”

Tubbo gasps quietly, then much louder exclaims, “We’re keeping it!? fuck yes!!”

“It’s not a pet!” Surprisingly, it's Wilbur who chastises him, “You know it’s actually intelligent like us.”

Turning away from Tubbo’s sheepish smile on the screen, Phil feels his stomach tighten again as he looks at the now still human on the security camera feed — maybe it was asleep. Do humans even sleep with open eyes? The galaxy really does know next to nothing about humans.

Phil can only hope that the Academy library has some sort of research and documentation on humans beyond the bare basics and rumours going around. Fuck that, they better have it, he thinks annoyedly: he does not pay such an egregious amount every semester for some “prestigious” school to not know jackshit.

Logically, he knows they have top tier education and special resources tubbo and Ranboo benefit largely from, (and that he would pay any amount for his kids to be happy and bright) but private education is a fucking scam.  

Tubbo’s scream of laughter and disappearance from the frame pulls him out of his thoughts. A lazy smile appears on his face as he watches Techno try and make sense of the situation and Wilbur’s expression of offense mixed with pure disbelief and Ranboo’s quiet snorting giggles: Phil knows he’s home, with his family, and that they’ll work around whatever violent creatures inhabit his ship.

_________________

His mother is stood in front of him, blocking the kitchen doorway.

Tommy half-heartedly listens to her while absentmindedly stirring his bland cereal around, at the kitchen island. He can’t exactly place just what she was complaining about. His grades maybe? No. Otherwise his father would be here too, sternly intimidating him into promises and sworn oaths to do better.

“I just can’t believe you're daft enough to have gotten yourself tied up in this mess!? I mean- Tom, the fucking galaxy! Could you not have just listened for once?” Her shrill voice yells again, dragging him back into their conversation.

Wait a minute. How did she know about that? Last Tommy checked, she was gone on some girls trip to a hot, sunny country, with her friends. And a lot of men.

“If you had sat tight and lived under our roof, guess what Thomas? You’d be on Earth, with food and a home and parents. Instead you wanted to be special and run away! Look where that got you. Just give up already, death is more merciful than continuing your a dreadful existence” She continues to sneer, looking down on him and taking a long drag of her seemingly never-ending cigarette.

He stands up to speak, to argue back: maybe something about the empty house with beige walls never actually feeling like home. Or his parents being nothing more to him than biological dead ends. Instead, all that comes out his mouth are rough, scratching noises — eerily similar to the language all the guards spoke in the Friar Ring.

“What? Too stupid to form words now? I always knew you were a useless piece of shit.”

He tries again. Desperately willing some sort of noise to come out. To prove himself right or wrong. To prove he’s still human enough to speak English. He’s still human. Still from Earth.

Instead of words tumbling out his mouth, this time it’s blood spilling past Tommy’s lips. Dripping onto the floor. Staining it blue.

Stumbling backwards he thrusts a hand out and slams it onto the 

kitchen island, searching for anything to ground him. His fingers twinge painfully. The table disappears from underneath his grip and he loses his balance — crashing into the now metal floor.

His mother steps forward, yelling more. Except it wasn’t his mother anymore: it was Puffy. Then it was a guard. Then a fellow fighter’s lifeless body he watched get dragged out the arena. Some distant classmate who’s face he couldn’t remember. Finally, it settles on Niki’s distant form turned away from him

“Niki!” His voice has returned, screaming in desperation. “Niki, I’m in a shitload of trouble! The aliens know about me. They know, they figured me out and they trapped me! I can’t do this again!! I don’t wanna die!”

She shakily turns around; her frame far skinnier since Tommy last saw her. He scrambles to get off the floor and run towards her.

“Thank god, Niki I- I don’t know how to fix this-”

His hand lands on her frail shoulder and his face goes pale as he meets her eyes. Immediately, he retracts his hand with a loud gasp. 

Her eyes had sunken in. Her usual brightish grey infected with a pure, pitch black. Extending to her sclera too. 

She looked wrong. She looked as if she had never lived before at all. She looked mortal. But that wasn’t possible — Niki was immortal, forever living on in his memories. She promised she would return to him. 

She promised Tommy would never be alone again.

He takes a frantic step back and shakes his head, hand dropping back down to his side. “No- no, no, no. Niki- you're not- not Niki. You’re a fucking liar! Stop it!”

There’s no acknowledgement from the empty husk. Just continuous staring: two tiny black holes etched into Niki’s face, sucking his soul out the longer he watches. It felt impossible to look away — drawing him even closer to Niki.

Maybe their souls would meet in whatever afterlife existed.

Suddenly, the trance is broken and Tommy jumps away from Niki’s rapidly crumbling body. Tiny fractures and cracks break along her skin as she stays motionless, getting wider and deeper until her fingers, arms, bones, face fall away as if she was being erased from existence. He tries to reach out to the lifeless husk that was once his friend, whether to aid her erasure or to rip her away from death’s claws, he doesn’t know.

(He doesn’t think he could have changed what happened)

He doesn’t get a chance to dwell on her disappearance, as a soft ethereal voice calls out.

“Hold on, Child. You will flourish: the Gods have not forsaken you.”

Before Tommy can process their words, he wakes.

____________

Waking up has never been a very pleasant experience for Tommy. Throughout his whole life, ringing alarms, snarling guards and the shudder of a cobbled-together ship in interstellar flight spelled out his fate: condemning him to another day for misery.

However, to his knowledge, this time Tommy isn’t ripped into consciousness because of anything particular. He is greeted with a killer headache upon arrival though.

Blearily opening his eyes, he takes a shaky look around the room. Bright lights that haven’t been dimmed at all (wasn’t it night time?? Aliens are real bitches.) It makes his headache worsen and he closes his eyes again reluctantly with a sniffle.

God, as if right now is the best time for his withdrawal ‘cold’ to be back. Cursing silently he reaches a hand to comb through his incredibly greasy hair. Don’t get him wrong, the Ring was a shithole but at least they offered champions a damp rag and a bucket of soapy water to clean off in.

It was very much needed (although, if the ring could, they would have foregone this too); with the amount of blood and sweat from fighting, infection would be inevitable. At least this way it was staved off for some of them.

Thankfully, this method of cleaning worked well for Tommy — unlike other species.

“Fuck!-” He curses out loud, lightning sharp pain darting through his hand, when he tries to wipe his nose off with his hand. He’s harshly reminded of his injury from last night and carefully lowers his hand back down, pain not easing or melting away and instead staying stuck in his hand. He could almost pretend he was just having a really bad hand cramp.

Keyword: almost.

Trying to distract himself, he takes a better look around the room. Pushing himself off the ground, he stretches his legs and back. Then he sluggishly drags himself towards the bed — which is very low to the ground and perfectly square?

It reminds him of ‘dens’ he used to make as a kid: throwing a blanket on the floor and lining the edges with pillows. Kind of crappy, looking back on it, but it was enough in the moment.

Sitting down, he finds the bed firmer than he would have liked, but he’s not gonna complain about a free bedroom. He glances around the room again and notices a vent he missed the night(?) before. The glimmer of hope in his chest is promptly stamped out when he realises the vent is welded shut instead of the flimsy screws. The aliens had really come much more prepared. 

Tommy sighs and looks away, clutching his growling stomach. His face contorts into a grimace as he is painfully reminded of the lack of meals recently.

Life could not get any more shit , he thinks. 

The aliens were surely going to hand him over to whatever government is present in space. Maybe they’d take mercy on him. House him and all that shit.

They certainly wouldn’t be returning him to Earth any time soon.

His hands unconsciously move to crack his knuckles before he pauses, unable to continue. Cursing himself as the compulsive need to crack his knuckles strikes him, he scowls. 

Stupid aliens. Messing everything in his life up. Can’t get shit done anymore.

As Tommy mourns the loss of the use of one hand he huffs and runs his tongue over his teeth — feeling his uneven canines and constantly aching gums. He hadn’t exactly been on top of his dental hygiene in space. Grumbling quietly as he remembers another thing he misses: gum!

It had been his favourite thing on Earth, the most effective fidget he’d ever had. Obviously though, it wasn’t like any of his captors in space were just handing out gum. Much less his favourite flavour, cherry.

Instead Tommy developed a pretty bad habit of chewing his cheeks. Scars and half healed wounds dotting the inside of his mouth. But it’s not like he gave a shit about that — he has a ton of unresolved medical issues.

heavy footsteps break him out of his thoughts and send a sharp pain through the side of his head, his migraine intensifying. Is this what hangovers feel like? He groans and decides to ignore the alien passing by his room; too exhausted to move. 

However, the alien doesn’t just pass by his room. Tommy hears the faint sound of whirring and suddenly a small square by the bottom of the door retracts into the wall — the same way the door had opened out from. It honestly pretty much just looked like a more complicated doggy door.

It sends alarms ringing through his head. And also pisses him off, he was not some dog or animal! As fast as he can (which isn’t very fast) he jumps to his feet and moves to the other side of the room, into the corner. There’s nowhere else to run, and he’s much too injured to fight, he thinks frantically. Still, Tommy raises his shaking hands and curls them into weak fists.

To his surprise, all that happens is a single bowl of steaming liquid is thrusted through the wall by some unseen hand. The square comes back and the wall is completely solid again. He hears receding footsteps. Anxiously, Tommy counts to sixty just to make sure before he moves to examine the dish.

It looked grim. It was a yellowish colour with stuff floating in it and under normal circumstances Tommy would not have gone anywhere near it. But it wasn’t normal, and he was starving (literally), so he began eating so quickly he didn’t stop to think whether it might have been poisoned.

He probably would have still eaten if it was — he was going to die eventually.

When he was done, he places it down back exactly where it was and nervously looks around the ceiling. He wasn’t doing anything wrong; if they didn’t want him to eat it they definitely wouldn’t have given it to him… 

But what if that was some sort of test, and he failed. What if he was supposed to leave it, prove he wasn’t greedy.. or whatever.

He starts to feel sick. Or maybe he ate too quickly. Either way his eyelids were getting heavy, and the bed wasn’t gonna be used by anyone else for a while. So he closed his eyes and slipped back into a fitful slumber.

_______________

Cursing, Techno chucks another book at the floor.

He (as one of the only people on this ship with their head on right) has resolved himself to scour through books and articles for information on the human. 

The only problem: most books were pretty vague. Nobody really agrees on anything about humans except the fact they’re all bloodthirsty monsters who would rip out the throats of anybody who came close.

The human onboard didn’t exactly look very hostile.

Techno had just gone to deliver the human’s meal since it was awake — keeping the security feed open on his communicator, of course — but it had just scampered away. Like some scared, wild animal.

Still, the books were useless. Some said the humans were like a large hairless, featherless creature. Impossibly long and lanky, almost like the enderman species but without the sharp angles. Abnormally large teeth usually accompany this description.

Some argued that humans were smaller and more proportionate. Short arms and stubby legs and flat, squishy faces. Small but razor sharp teeth, and silent as the night.

Others said that the humans were literally shadows, with no physical forms. Techno was pretty sure that whoever wrote that was some fear mongering kid or a horror novel author.

In any case, having seen a real human first-hand, Techno would say the first description was the most accurate. But they weren’t totally hairless, he’d realised: they have short but stubby hair on the tops of their heads. It was weird, but Techno wasn’t about to go around and fault them for their biology.

Frustratingly though, the behaviour and actual biology makeup of a human had the same problem. Content about the latter was already extremely hard to find, in the first place.

Some were saying humans were fighting until their last breath. Even when injured and maimed — like Tubbo said. Others were detailing how humans fled at the sight of people and enforcers. Some out into the wild.

Their dead bodies were recovered within weeks.

With a frustrated huff he shuts another book and leans back, burying his head in his hands.

The door hisses and opens. Wilbur’s annoying face looms above him.

“Damn, research not going well?” To Techno’s surprise, Wilbur’s not gloating. Or snide about it. Or any other synonym of being a pain in the ass.

“Nobody knows anything about humans! Most of it is old tales to scare kiddos… Or just plain fiction. Listen to this, “humans were made to take revenge on the galaxy for every species’ past wars and destruction”” He reads out, “The fuck does that even mean!?”

Wilbur, to his surprise, just bursts out laughing. “Please tell me you’ve found anything other than that.” He forces out between snickers.

Shaking his head, Techno groans. It wasn’t his fault! Everything seemed to be very vague or just wrong when it comes to humans.

“Whatever. Maybe just try and find out basic biology, food requirements, behaviours. Simple stuff like that?” Wilbur suggested. “I don’t wanna end up accidentally poisoning the thing.”

Techno can’t even string together words, just stares at Wilbur like he’d asked to 1v1 the human and give it a weapon.

“What did you think I’ve been looking for? How to kiss it goodnight??” Techno tended to be eloquent like that.

Wilbur just shrugs and walks out, his hand curling up into a fist, bumping it against his shoulder and flicking outwards: pretty much a ‘peace out’ sign in Wilbur’s culture.

Techno glares after his retreating figure and mumbles, “I hope Ranboo and Tubbo are having better luck..”

Then he realises that Wilbur was an absolute dick, and would never leave without annoying Techno one last time. 

“YOU DIDN’T CLOSE MY DOOR YOU ASSHOLE!!”

___________

The good thing about your family running an illegal trading business, is that money isn’t really an issue anymore. 

It also gives you the opportunity to go to special schools.

Okay. So Tubbo knows that Phil told him not to call it that… But it’s not like he’s lying!

“It is not a special school! It's a school that will help you flourish, and help with your guys’ disinterest in regular school and help your very special personality. Just because you guys are really neurodivergent doesn’t mean I’ll let you guys fail at learning stuff.”

…So Tubbo might have paraphrased Phil’s speech a bit. Whatever. Either way, the school helps manage his dyslexia and extremely badass personality, as well as Ranboo’s anxiety and general… Ranboo-ness. But it’s also a private school, meaning tuition fees and rich pricks. 

Fortunately, Tubbo has never had much of an issue with bullies; most of the time he can scare them off within a few weeks, despite his size. It was all thanks to his handiwork with machinery. 

(Ranboo told him scaring off bullies with lethal weapons is extreme and unethical. Tubbo’s decided to stop listening to whatever Ranboo has to say.)

Unfortunately, Ranboo didn’t tend to get off as luckily. His shyness and awkwardness around new people made him an easier target than you would expect from his appearance: his height was absolutely maddening, nearly twice Tubbo’s own. Although, Ran keeps insisting that “he’s short by enderian standards”. He kind of wants to sort of punch him when he says that.

What was even more maddening right now, was the stupid rich pricks were walking into the library where he and ranboo were currently working. Immediately to his right Ranboo begins to shrink down in his chair, which doesn’t even work anyway. You could shave a foot or two  off his height and he’d still be the tallest person in the room.

The two had been researching humans and doing their assignments (simultaneously for Tubbo) but watching the group of about 5 or 6 people lock their devious little eyes onto their table… Well it didn’t really seem like a good idea to keep all this taboo material open on their tables.

“I’m pretty sure nobody in their group even likes each other..” He grumbled to Ranboo under his breath, gathering books.

“Gee, what tipped you off?” Ranboo mutters, sarcasm still somehow dripping from his tone despite clearly being anxious.

Just as Tubbo manages to stuff the last book into his satchel, the group began to loiter at a nearby bookshelf. Ran looked like he was about to teleport away from them — but he promised Phil he would stop teleporting since it made him lethargic and unwell afterwards.

Although, so far they hadn’t done anything, so he just leaned over and gave Ran a hopefully reassuring smile and mutters, “Don’t worry they won’t try anything when I'm here.” He’s sure that with his words the grin looks a little bit more threatening than kind. Both work for him. 

Ranboo just gives a small smile back, which he would’ve given either way so it didn’t matter had he come off a bit alarming anyway.

To his annoyance, the nearest girl sends a nasty look over her shoulder and deliberately raises her voice. “My father said that The Academy lets anybody in these days; they’re standards must have really fallen” She had a strange set of 4 antlers on her head and an elaborate set of jewellery adorning them. Definitely against school rules. Her face was slightly furry and her limbs a bit awkward, and thin, but she was no less the pinnacle of evil in the group.

Tubbo hated her. Loathed her, even. If he’d ever seen a ‘friend-group leader’ , she was it. The worst part, her words seemed as if she was actually concerned. As if she was actually upset with the school and as if her words were anything else than a shallow dig at the pair currently at the table.

Quick enough another one caught on, his voice purposefully loud — just like her. “Mm, I know right. My uncle said they used to only accept students with actual talent and skills.”

Another chimed with a gleeful smirk that Tubbo wanted to explode off his face. “Hey, they probably just needed a few charity cases! It’s good PR you know.”

By now Ranboo had actually semi-successfully shrank down in his chair, with his dual coloured face flushing bright purple in embarrassment. Suddenly a whirl of rage burns through Tubbo’s chest. Anger and indignance and shame melting into each other the longer he stares at the now laughing group.

But Ranboo catches his eye and shakes his head subtly. Suddenly the whole thing dies down leaving only embers and a small part of him seething. He knows that if he did anything now, it’d get them both in trouble. After all, little miss group leader has power: her wealthy dad funds the school and if she wanted, Tubbo and Ranboo would both be in detention for a month.

Not that either of them would tell Phil about this. Tubbo knows that Phil would gladly raise hell on school for the corruption, but also he and Ran had come to a silent mutual agreement to deal with this themselves. They’d already been helped by Phil and Techno and Wilbur so much, the clothes on their back and the crazy tuition fees being paid for by their labour. The Academy — their school — is just for themselves, a challenge that they overcome on their own.

So even now, with the mean and annoying fuckers seven feet away from them, he turns away and continues working on his mountain of assignments.