Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the edge of an abandoned town, across from an abandoned orphanage and a row of burnt, uprooted trees, is a half-collapsed church made refuge by a witch.

It’s old but large, with broken windows and fallen pillars half-hidden behind overgrown weeds. Inside, there are hundreds of things someone wants to avoid— holes in the floorboards, nails sticking out of place, glass on the ground. Splintered pews and shards of cement and tripping hazards, there’s dirt and dust and cracking sculptures.

There’s pots to collect rain and a bird’s nest and rocks in every shape and size.

There’s a box of matches, a couple torn blankets in a basket, and drawings of old memories; cages and whips and a little, golden dragon sketched onto paper. A book to remember and fill with dreams, full of little scribbles and a mess of wild thoughts. Beads to protect against storms, crystals to ward off the dark, and clothes bundled together; ropes and knives and things to survive tied together next to a to-go bag and an old, worn down grimoire.

Spells left a sharp tang and wards battle the mold in the back. A bed full of soft things and a container of food hidden behind a false door where the altar used to stand.

It’s everything someone needs to survive, to stay hidden.

It’s everything one lost witch has.

Tommy isn’t phased by a lot of things anymore— his childhood from when his hoard had yet to find him assured that.

Before Technoblade and his red scales, warm hands, and all-encompassing love, there was no care and only hard hits. Before Wilbur with his guitar and gentle, wispy magic, there were empty rooms and cutting spells that dug down to bone. Before Phil, with his sparks and blue eyes and crooning voice, there were insults and cold cages and punishments.

There was a time when the clinking of metal chains, bruises, and the snap of a whip was his regular, a time that had too much pain and too little food.

Then he escaped. Then he wasn’t the lost little dragon, but a loved one.

His coven didn’t let a day go by where Tommy doubted that love. The kindness was always a given and never had to be earned. He was welcome here and wanted, never used or hurt or pushed aside.

Wil was always there, steady hands over his or ready to bicker, Phil just a step away with a laugh and keeping them on track.

Techno was his protector and always will be.

But there’s only so much that his dad can protect him from.

Nightmares are not one of them.

They’ve been strange, recently— flashes of the past that don’t make sense, things or people he’s never seen before, all too real to make up. They stick with him when he wakes, painting his mind into a confusing mess.

Always, he goes to wherever Techno is sleeping, whether that’s their nest or the smaller one used by the whole den, and curls up next to his protector. He listens to the rumbling chuffs until he falls asleep again or until the sun peeks over the trees, a habit he thinks he’ll never quite break even after all these years.

The little dragon isn’t so little now, he’s grown into his wings.

Eighteen wasn’t too old, especially not for a dragon, but it let him grow. Now the size of a big dog when shifted, he can fully tackle Wilbur to the ground when playing and Phil is no longer scared to get too rough.

His wings are the same size as both a human and a dragon, his horns growing by a couple inches.

He’s tall now, taller than Phil and only a couple inches away from Wil— though, no matter what form he’s in, Technoblade still dwarfs him.

As big as his dad’s paw but still growing into his own, the golden dragon goes on practice flights with him now, soaring up to the clouds but never venturing further than their territory.

He’s still too young to officially leave the nest— which won’t happen for decades.

That’s okay, though, because these are all his favorite people and he loves their little home and the forest and the small shop of beautiful, magical things.

But, the more he has those nightmares… the more he feels like something’s missing.

Tommy doesn’t remember a lot from before. There’s years missing, chunks of time that have been lost, time he has no desire to find. The rooms he remembers aren’t pleasant, the contact with people even less, their faces are always blurred but their hands are always clear.

This one witch, though, they’re kind.

The first time the golden dragon dreams of the boy with stars for hair, it’s of them laughing together, quietly, on the opposite sides of a cage. Next, he’s getting food snuck to him. Then medicine for a particularly unpleasant punishment.

A blanket when a blizzard hit and he’d almost gone blue, unable to shift to scales.

A spell, a blessing, a gentle hand over his wings, never letting them stay hurt for long.

The witch was young, too young to be there, just like him. They had gentle, mismatched eyes and a crooked smile. Tall with broad shoulders, a deeper-toned voice speaking words he can never understand.

Each time, each dream, Tommy wakes sweating and shaking— longing for someone he doesn’t even know the name of.

He doesn’t understand why he never remembered them until now. He doesn’t understand how he could forget someone so intricate to how he used to survive. He doesn’t know how he could’ve gone eight years without a single thought of the starlight boy with mixed eyes.

He doesn’t understand.

“You can’t be here,” Tommy pleads, pressing as close to the cage’s cold metal as he dares. “You’re going to get in trouble!”

“Don’t yell,” they scold, eyeing the door for just a moment. “I’ll be fine, star, it’s not like I’m the one in the cage.”

“Cage or not, they’ll still hurt you.”

“I’m okay with that. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other and your hand’s still all cut up.” They raise the small, red stone in their hand, a grin on their lips. “I’m going to fix you.”

“They’ll notice,” he says, but doesn’t pull away when their hands find their way through the top of the cage and wrap lightly around his wrist. The heat of their skin almost makes him cry. He winces, staring at the bruised and blooded limb.

Slowly, purple magic twists around his fingers and palm, cold and soothing.

It takes only a couple seconds before his skin is stitching itself back together, the black and blue bruises fading into a nasty yellow.

“There,” they smile, bopping him on the nose. Tommy tries to bite them. He misses. “All better.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Now go away.”

“I’ll be back,”  they promise.

"I know,” the dragon rolls his eyes. “You’ll always find me, just like I’ll always find you.”

When Tommy wakes up, shaking and clutching at his own hand, he wonders if the him he used to be knew how much those words would hurt him now. He doesn’t remember if he believed those words or not. He doesn’t remember if he always thought this little witch of his would come back.

He doesn’t know why the possibility that they might not ever find each other again terrified him.

Standing at the edge of the kitchen, Tommy hesitates to enter, watching Technoblade make potato stew, his wings tucked away but his horns and tail staying out even in this form.

He’s still too young (by about a decade) to hide his own dragonic features.

Technoblade just hides them, most days, for the pure convenience of it.

“I can feel you lurkin’, Theseus,” his protector grumbles, tilting his head back just a bit to look at him as he jumps. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” The golden dragon shuffles awkwardly. “Dad?”

“Yeah?” Techno shifts to face him fully now, worry evident in the pinch of his brows. He turns the burner down and puts a lid on the pot, steam quickly clouding the surface. He moves to lean against the counter, gesturing the youngling over.

Tommy dutifully goes to him, sliding himself easily into his dad’s arms, tails winding together. He feels some of the tension leak from his shoulders but the frown over his lips stays.

Love-love-love, mine, gets rumbled at him. Safe-yes-good?

Safe-loved-safe, he growls low in his throat. Yours-yours-yours.

“C’mon, treasure,” his dad murmurs, resting his chin on his head, mindful of his horns. Safe-protected-safe. “You’ve been distracted for a while now and it’s not that I mind it, but I get worried when I wake up and yer right there, lookin’ more tired everyday. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Confused-concerned, the youngling whines, wiggling closer. “M’just— I’m having these, these dreams and they’re weird. Really fucking weird. I can’t figure them out but I remember— ”

He cuts himself off, choking on a sharp inhale.

Techno’s chuffs deepen, his hands soothing rubbing up and down over his wings. He whines again, hiding his face.

“I’m not goin’ to judge ya for anythin’ you say, love,” he says, clutching him closer. “I just want to help, tell me as much as you want— or need— to.”

“I know,” Tommy whispers, throat all tight, heart pounding. “Back there with, with my— the catchers.” Techno tenses underneath him and he’s quick to purr a safe-safe-loved up at his dad. He knows how angry his coven gets at what happened. “There was this witch, I actually don’t really know them, not even their face or what specifically they did. I don’t have any memories of them until now, but they… they were kind to me.”

Technoblade’s silent for a moment. “And you’re just remembering ‘em?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “They were… I think they’re my age. They were smaller than everyone else, though much bigger than me. I think— dad, I think they’re the one who made me escape.”

“They…” his protector’s rumble stutters for a moment before coming back full force. “I thought you got out on your own?”

“I thought so too,” he hugs his dad tighter, wings hunching up as the memory plays out in front of his eyes. “They kept me in a, uh, a fuckin’ bird cage, it was really small so I-I couldn’t move around much. And, well, and they had wards on it to keep me from getting out. A lock on the side so even if the magic failed or some shit, I couldn’t leave.”

Technoblade took a deep breath, anger stinging the golden dragon’s nostrils the more he talked. It didn’t scare him, though. He knew that no matter what happened, no one in the coven would hurt him.

Angry or not. Annoyed or not. They wouldn’t.

“And they got you out?” There’s a hiss to the red dragon’s voice, a possessive shift in the way he’s being held, and Tommy purrs louder in response.

This conversation is difficult, it’s why he hesitated to bring it up.

“I woke up, I think I just got a punishment or whatever.” He shrugs, not wanting to go into detail. “The lock was… the lock was broken, the magic weaker than usual. I used to— all I used to remember was the broken lock, the door opening, the struggle to— the struggle to get out. Did I ever tell you that’s how my leg broke? It hurt. But now I just, I-I don’t know. There was those things but now their face on the other side of the cage, they’re trying to take down the wards so I don’t get hurt but they’re so young dad and— and people are coming, they’re going to hurt the both of us because we’re, we’re doing something bad and we’re not supposed to be. We’re never supposed to be. And— I get out, I got out and we were supposed to do it together .”

He snuffles, upset, feeling the way his claws edged out. The other shifts against him, trying to soothe. “Theseus— ”

“We were supposed to do it together because, because we— we had to, we needed each other but I-I can’t, I can’t remember why they cou-couldn’t, they couldn’t leave with me. I can’t remember why they couldn’t leave with me,” he gasps. “They were gone. I was— I was all alone and, and I didn’t even remember them! How could I, how could I not have remembered them?”

“Shh, sh, treasure,” Techno pulled him closer, resting them together until the youngling’s ear was over his heart— the beat strong and steady. He gasped again. “You need to breathe, okay? Can you follow along with me?”

Tommy gives a shaky nod, gasping breaths trying to match his dad’s inhales.

The youngling breathes in as the red dragon runs his hands up his wings, exhaling shakily as he brings them back down, whole body trembling slightly even as the panic fades away.

They stay like that for a while, only breaking apart when the stew starts to bubble and boil, him silently crying except for the occasional sniffle.

Techno pulls away just enough to see his face, raising an eyebrow. The golden dragon nods, loosening his hold from where he had his fists clenched into the other’s shirt. He steps back, wings tucking around himself, as his dad stirs the stew and turns off the stove before returning to him.

Tommy falls back into the hug, breathing easier even with the way his lungs seem to burn and how air feels coarse against his throat.

He wonders, not for the first time, how much of his past he actually knows. 

How much of it is real— if any of it is.

“It’s not your fault,” his dad says once their arms are back around each other. Tommy looks up, eyes stinging with tears still, blue to red. “You were goin’ through so much, runt, it’s normal not to remember traumatic things. You said they were kind… even if you couldn’t escape with ‘em, I’m sure they’re happy you still escaped, love.”

“It doesn’t— feel like me just not remembering, though,” the golden dragon grumbled. “It feels like something is just, missing?  Fuck, I don’t know. This feels like it was on purpose instead of just me not knowing. I don’t know why they didn’t get out with me but even if they’re happy I left, I’m not happy they stayed.”

“I know,” Technoblade said, giving his shoulders a squeeze. “Do you want to find ‘em or somethin’? I didn’t see a kid when I, uh, paid them a visit. I’m sure we can find out where they went, Phil’s great at trackin’ people down.”

“Can we?” Tommy asks, wiping the tears from his eyes as he pulls back to stare at the familiar. “Oh, please, can we try to find out more?”

“Of course,” his protector shrugs, feigning casualness even after all these years of the youngling knowing he’s a softie. “S’not like I have anthin’ better to do.”

“Thank you,” Tommy says, heart finally calming down.

“Anythin’ for you, love,” Techno kisses his forehead.

When he falls asleep that night, it's with hope bubbling in his chest and a witch he can't remember haunting his dreams. Even faceless, they are loved.

Chapter Text

“It’s okay, starlight,” they whisper, huddling down next to Tommy as they watch a witch storm down the corridor. As their hiding spot gets passed by, both of them hold their breath, wide eyes tracking the footfalls until they fall out of view.

His heart hammers in his chest, claws clenched over the other’s wrist.

It’s always scary, sneaking around. One wrong move, one time being spotted, and the witches won’t be happy. He’s supposed to be in the cage, the witches don’t like him out of it.

But not all the witches.

This witch, the one hiding with him, will not be angry.

They’re his, after all. His hoard. Nothing is more important than that.

They’re trying to get Tommy to the big window, so he can see the sun. He hasn’t touched sunshine, let alone been outside, for so long . It’s no good for him to be without it, he’s weaker and heals slower.

“Go,” a hand on his back, pushing forward. “Go now, before patrol comes back.”

Time is irrelevant, here, nothing makes sense.

They’re standing in front of the window, then, one second or one hour later.

Outside has always amazed Tommy.

It’s large and it’s free, tall trees and wide, blue skies. Sunlight casting over big, puffy white clouds that he dreams of flying over. Today, the sun is bright and warm, soaking into his skin.

He exhales, eyes not leaving the golden light.

“One day,” they say, hand over his and giving it a light squeeze. “I’m going to get us out of here, star. We’re going to leave and never come back, we’ll get a small house and a cow and anything else we want.”

Tommy turns to them, frowning. “I don’t want anything but you.”

“I’ll be there,” they smile. “No matter where we go, it’s us forever.”

“Us forever, really?”

“Of course. Where else would I be if not with you?”

Voices carry over to them, twisting and angry.

They run down the corridor without saying a single thing, movements all faint and hazy, like it’s not actually happening. He wants to comment on it but the panic of hearing people talking from just around the corner brushes everything away— 

His witch shoves him, suddenly, into an empty room.

It’s small and dark and he whines, a hand clasping over his mouth as a body presses into his. The door shuts silently behind them.

“Be quiet,” they whisper, gasping. “We can’t get caught.”

With their fear palpable in the air, there’s no way that order is going to get ignored. He nods, reaching up to grab their wrist, tugging it from his mouth.

Tommy looks up, expression twisting up— the witch is faceless.

None of this is real but— 

He remembers this, it was one of those rare days that were good.

He remembers the sunshine, the closet, the giggles muffled between them as they escaped notice once again. He remembers sneaking back to the cold, empty room, to the metal cage. He remembers shifting, getting in.

He remembers a promise made to him, a promise to let him out again.

Those were before the wards, before the lock stopped being easy to pick. Before the cruelty got worse, before the constant nightmares, before he escaped.

Before, before, before. But not now.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers. “This already happened. What’s going on?”

They pause, jerking in their place. “You’re… you’re here?”

“Yeah?” He frowns, hands sweaty and heart pounding but when he clenches his fingers around their shirt, his hand is stiff, steady. “Oh. This is a — I’m dreaming.”

“...we,” they correct, hands hovering over his shoulders. “We’re dreaming.”

Tommy looks up at them. They’re still faceless. He still does not understand.

No longer are they those young boys, no longer does his wings shake. He’s back in his body now, but not, wings steady and back straight. Strong once more.

He’s no longer that little dragon stolen from his clutch, no longer can he be hurt.

“Please,” he says, reaching out, trying to grab them closer. He can’t. He can’t and it’s heartbreaking. “Please don’t make me leave you again.”

“C’mon, starlight,” they laugh. It sounds sad. “First time here and you’re already crying. You know I hate it when you cry.”

“No, no I don’t,” the golden dragon sobs, hanging his head against their chest. They feel cold, solid in the way that fog is not. See-through. “I can’t remember anything. Your name, what you look like… all I know is that I love you— I love you and I can’t even remember why.”

“I did that for a reason, y’know,” they sigh shakily, bringing up a hand to his cheek. “I never wanted you to have a reason to risk coming back.”

“That’s not fair!” He cries. “That’s not fair, it’s not.”

“It was necessary. I know you, star. You would’ve done anything for me, including going back to… to the old coven. I couldn’t let you do that for me.”

“But you stayed, why did you stay?”

“To give you time,” a hand he wishes he could feel the warmth of runs through his hair. “And look at you, you did amazing. You survived. You have a life.”

“Not without you, not without us together,” he vows. “I’m going to find you.”

“No,” they say, simple and sure. “I’m past the point of finding.”

Then, well— then Tommy wakes up.

After the third time in a dreamscape, the youngling brings it up to the coven.

The witch, the one who he remembers, the one he visits in his sleep— they’re an endwalker, able to slip between this world and the space beyond physical matters, into the hidden connections between people. Able to hide in shadows and twist through the night sky, able to visit other’s dreams.

It makes sense, when Phil tells him this, how they were always able to get away with sneaking him things or visiting when they weren’t supposed to be.

How the dreams that are too real but too foreign fit into place.

He keeps his head down, eyes on the kitchen table. They’ve finished eating, the coven in their respective chairs, all paying attention to what he has to share.

“They said that they wanted it this way,” Tommy admits, voice quiet. “That I wasn’t meant to remember because— because they said I would’ve gone back. For them, I would’ve gone back.”

It’s a truth, a solid, immovable truth.

Because even after all this time, even after he hardly remembers them, hardly remembers their face, the way his heart aches and hands sweat and the way he loves them— longs to be with them— cannot hide how he once felt.

This witch used to mean everything to him. He would’ve given up freedom for them.

Wilbur sucks in a breath, fingers clasping tighter over his guitar strings with a twang!

Phil frowns, wings ruffling behind him, and his protector leans against him more, offering silent support but not saying anything.

There’s no words that can fix this kind of pain.

“They’re young but they’re powerful,” the phoenix starts slowly, all back to business. “Endwalkers, void witches, leave traces of their magic behind, no matter which side of their powers they’re using. The amount of nights you experience these dreams, there’s enough there to track them down. If we’re going to find this witch, that’s a good place to start.”

“How does that even work?” He scrunches his nose. “The magic’s in my mind, innit?”

“In a way,” Phil gives him a patient smile. “Do you know how we can find each other through our coven bond?” He nods. “Well, endwalkers have to create a bond of sorts to be able to visit someone’s dreams, they always leave a piece of themselves behind.”

“Basically,” Wilbur says, interrupting, “Phil finds what that piece is and lays a spell over your mind that will let you follow it to the source, to this witch. You follow it, and we follow you.”

“But what about the store?” Tommy says, anxiously bringing one of his dad’s hands to his lap to fiddle with.

“We’ll get someone to look after it,” Phil waved away his worries. “Niki will probably be up for it.”

Niki was a witch who owned the bakery that was right next to their shop. She was a kind soul, sweet and soft-spoken but with sharp eyes and burly magic twisting around her. She was strong, both physically and with spells.

The youngling really liked her; she always gave him cookies.

When he began to venture out a while back, to see more people than just those in his coven, she was one of the first he met. Patience and gentleness drew him in almost as much as her quick wit. Her familiar, a large firebird named Jack, bantered with him and introduced him to the art of pranks.

They were a lovely little coven— though, apparently, they weren’t the only ones in theirs.

“Jack will, at least,” Tommy says, feeling a buzz of fondness and worry push towards their bond. “Fucker loves being in charge and bossing people around.”

“Be nice,” the phoenix scolds, though there’s no heat behind it.

Everyone knew by now that them being bitter towards each other was purely for show.

“When do ya want to go?” Technoblade asks, squeezing his hand lightly as he brings back focus to the conversation. “Is there, like, a special day or somethin’ you want to leave on?”

“No, no special day,” the golden dragon curled closer towards his protector. “As soon as we can, I guess? It’s been years since I saw them, I know they got out but… they felt lonely.”

His dad cocked his head to the side, red eyes moving away from him and to the surface of the table. A spike of something— sadness, maybe?— flashes in the back of his mind.

“Do you think that they’ve been alone, all this time?” Techno asks. “You found us but we don’t know what they’ve been livin’ like. Should we be prepared for anyone more? What mindset are we goin’ in with this?”

Valid questions, Tommy knew, but they made him shuffle uncomfortably.

He didn’t like to think about it, think about his witch all alone out there.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “I think we just— we need to be careful. If they’ve been alone, they won’t know what to expect. You guys will be a big fuckin’ shock. Maybe treat them how you first treated me? So they know you’re not a wrong’un or whatever.”

“So,” Wilbur says. “It’s safe to assume he’ll be heavily traumatized?”

Tommy held back a frown. “Yeah. I think they were using him, too.”

A heavy pause, anger a mere thread underneath the waves of love weaving into the bond’s surface. He’s used to the protectiveness of his coven and tries to push that aside.

There’s nothing they can do to change the past, after all.

“This might not be the best time to bring it up,” Wil says, clearing his throat as he sat up straighter. His glasses slid down his nose but he didn’t push them back up, hands too busy messing with the salt shaker. “But we don’t really know what they did to you. It’s kind of hard to be able to assume what they then did to this witch of yours.”

“Oh,” the youngling grimaced. “Right.”

Another pause.

His dad bumps their shoulders together. He bumps them back.

“Do you, like— want to know?” Tommy asks after a couple moments.

“Yes,” the witch bluntly said. Phil slapped Wilbur on the shoulder, making a face at him. “Ow! What? Did you want me to lie?”

“No but you should’ve at least been more considerate,” Phil sighed, giving Tommy an apologetic look as embarrassment poked through Wil’s emotions. “You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not comfortable sharing, mate. I know things like this are really hard to talk about.” He hesitates, then, blue eyes going a little sheepish. “Saying that, specifics might be a bit useful. We’re going to be dealing with someone new, triggers need to be taken into consideration.”

“Oh.” He hadn't thought about that.

“Runt,” Technoblade tugged on his hand, making him look at his dad. Red to blue and so much concern he almost wants to melt into it. “You come first, okay? No matter what. If you can’t share, then don’t. There’s no use in pushin’ yourself, we can figure it all out later.”

“I know, dad,” the golden dragon said, giving Techno a light purr. He gets a rumble back within a second and smiles. “It’s just— you all get so upset at it. At what happened.”

“That’s okay,” his protector reassured. “Let us get upset. Let us feel it, let us get angry. We won’t stay angry, we’ll calm down ‘n then we’ll move on. Let us handle ourselves, alright? Our emotions are not your responsibility, treasure.”

Tommy, though warmed at the reminder, dunks his head down.

The love pouring from his dad— bond,  rumble, tone and all— is enough to overwhelm him sometimes. Never in a bad way but the part of him that still fears cold nights staggers at the freely given affection.

It’s hard to believe sometimes but it’s never forgettable.

He takes a deep breath, holds it. Waits six seconds. Releases it.

“I don’t remember the first couple of years with them,” the youngling admits. He keeps his eyes on his dad’s hands, not his own. The scars feel shameful, somehow, like they’re less than just because they’re his own. “It’s all a blur, really. The rules were clear but what happened if I broke them… I’m not too upset with forgetting.”

Technoblade tightens the hold on their bond, dwindling it down until just a peek of his coven’s emotions can be felt through his dad’s soft, blunting cover.

He’s thankful for it, he doesn’t know how much he could share otherwise.

“I was kept in a cage, no matter which form I was in but usually, I kept my scales on. The room they kept me in was cold and dark, there were no windows and no light, it was empty besides me and the cages.” He remembered how the walls echoed, his pleading squeaks calling back to him. He felt forever alone, there, in that room. “I’d be let out every few weeks and slept whenever I could. Food could be taken away or limited at any moment, they never gave me enough— I think it was to keep me weak.”

Tommy kept his emotions held close to himself, trying to get through this without breaking. He needed to be understood, now, not comforted.

There’ll be time to break down later.

“The witches were strong but it wasn’t natural. They would— they’d take our magic. Their familiars were, I think they didn’t have a choice. They didn’t want to be used, but the alternative— ” Tommy’s breath hitch, shoulders coming up to his ears. “They took our magic by force, using it for spells or to give themselves more power, I’m not really sure. All I know is that they used it against us, keeping us in place. Obedient, docile, scared.”

Safe-safe-safe, Techno rumbled when his voice got too wobbly. Protected.

Loved, he shakily growls back. Safe.

“It was never good enough, though." He continued when he could no longer hear his own heartbeat. “Nothing was. The punishments were… they were cruel, everything about these witches were cruel. Whippings, beatings, magic getting ripped from us or spells used to hurt us. I-I wasn’t really good, at first. I didn’t know how to listen. They didn’t like that.”

“Bastards,” Wilbur muttered darkly.

The youngling gave a weak chuckle, nodding. “Yeah, they fucking sucked.”

He took another deep breath, resting his forehead onto his dad’s arm.

“My endwalker would… they’d sneak me things. I, uh, I remember this one time I had gotten used as practice for— I was, I got hurt. Really bad.” He squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring the phantom pain that comes with the memories. “They healed me. Or, or they’d sneak me food or sneak me out— before the wards kept me in and the, the lock got changed. I-I would talk to them and they would talk to me. They took me to see the big window.”

The golden dragon laughs again, sad and small.

“That’s when they visit me in my dream, actually.” This is confessed barely above a whisper. “The time they got me out to see the sun. We didn’t get caught, it was a good day.”

A pause. A long exchange.

“There were a lot of bad days, though. Days I would be forced to do things or hurt when I refused. I’d imagine it was the same way for them— made to feel like we deserved anything that happened to us, to never question them. I wouldn’t run. I wouldn’t make noise because even the smallest of sounds weren’t allowed. I had no value, I was lower than them.”

“You’re everything,” Technoblade snarled, low and challenging.

Calm-loved, safe, Tommy snuffles softly at Techno, wiggling closer until both of his arms and his wings are around his dad. “They didn’t— they never saw me as anything but, as anything but something to use.”

“Never again,” his protector says— a promise.

“Never again,” he agrees.

“This… endwalker will have scars like you?” Phil asks once the tension breaks, voice calm but even the glimpse of his emotions shows that the older blond is anything but.

“Probably,” Tommy says. “I don’t remember.”

“So,” Wil says, frowning over at him, brown to blue. His magic dances around them, wispy and upset. The rest of them aren’t much better. “The basics: no loud noises, no abrupt movements, no spontaneous uses of our magic. Broadcast everything we do, no silent walking, no sneaking up, no touching without permission. When they come back with us— ”

“Come back with us?” Phil interrupts, looking startled.

“Yeah?” The witch raises an eyebrow, looking between each familiar. “Aren’t they coming back with us?”

There’s no response.

Tommy honestly hadn’t thought that far, thought past finding them.

“If… if they want to,” the youngling tentatively started, “could they? Stay with us, I mean.”

Technoblade doesn’t say anything, both him and Wilbur turning to look at Phil. He’s always thought it was so funny that even when the head of the coven, technically, was their witch, all three of them deferred to Phil with most decisions.

He was Wil’s dad, afterall, and Techno was bad at social situations. Tommy just thought his pseudo-uncle was really cool. Philza Minecraft, the best of men.

“Yeah, mate,” the phoenix meets his eye, expression soft. “They can come back with us. We can even get a room for them, too, so they have somewhere to relax away from us.”

“The spell to create a room for them would be easy,” Wilbur says.

“We can do it before we leave.”

“Speakin’ of that,” Technoblade says, a low growl still in his throat. “When should we go? We gotta get everythin’ ready ‘n ask Niki if she can look after the shop.”

“Next week?” Tommy offers.

“Next week works,” Phil nods.  “We’ll leave Monday morning at dawn.”

One week.

One single week and then he might get the chance to find his endwalker.

Seven days feel like it’s too far away but too soon at the same time.

His protector pulls him closer, rubbing up and down his wings. He has all he needs here, to be happy. He has his dad, his coven, a warm bed and books and enough food to never go hungry.

But now, now he wants something more .

He wants to find them, he wants to make sure they’re okay, he wants to not only remember their past together but to make more memories for them now.

He wants, wants, wants.

And for once, well, Tommy’s not afraid to.

Niki agrees without pushing to know what the purpose of their trip is for.

She goes over the inventory with Wil, gets shown the routine by Phil, and discusses the little things she has to look out for with the big dragon during the lunch break.

With Tommy, she’s shown the best hiding spots, and they spend the whole time laughing to themselves as his old perch next to the herb’s shelf.

Given a six day notice, the witch also prepares her familiar to watch their own shop.

Jack’s used to doing it, just not alone, but everyone agrees that it’ll probably go smoothly. At the very least, they’re sure the shops will at least be standing when they return.

At the very most, the cookies are going to be edible, albeit a little burnt.

Five days left and Tommy spends the time talking over his worries with his dad.

Technoblade isn’t the best with emotions, or conversation, but he’s good at picking apart the youngling’s thoughts and getting to the real issue. He asks the right questions and never leaves his son without comfort.

They talk more about what happened to him with his old abusers.

It feels nice to get it off his chest.

He didn’t notice how much it weighed him down to hold onto all of that alone until there was someone else to help hold it up.

They’re back in front of the window, sunshine pouring over them.

It stings his eyes, the warmth fuzzy, not quite real. In the memory, he’s too busy trying to memorize what the witch looks like than he is staring at the sky.

In the dream, though, their face is always blurry.

The clouds are better to look at, now, when everything feels so tilted to the side. It’s better than seeing an old friend he can’t remember.

It’s better than feeling a love he doesn’t understand— that, though, never really can be ignored. It’s omnipresent, sticking to his heart like spilled honey, golden and sweet. If he cannot remember anything else, he at least will always have this love.

His endwalker is looking at him, their positions flipped.

Tommy doesn’t know what they see, what they make of him.

Is he still that small, broken dragon locked into a cage? Is he the young boy he had to save from open wounds and an empty stomach, or is he how he is now? Cheeks full and hair golden, scars fading with all the years that have passed by?

Do they see the youngling how they remember him or how he actually is?

Do they wish, like him, that it could all be different?

“You’re crying,” they say, hand reaching up towards his face. He leans into the touch, knowing he can’t feel it but needing something— anything— to let himself believe they’re together. “Did something happen, star?”

“No,” Tommy moves closer, hugging a body he cannot feel the warmth of. “I’m just sad, tonight, I think. You seem so far away.”

They pause. “I’m right here.”

“But you won’t be when I wake up.”

“It’s better that way.”

“But why?” He whispers.

“I’d just ruin you,” they say, voice harsh like the words themselves are a sin. “And you’ve been ruined enough in one lifetime. There’s no need for more pain.”

“Being away from you is painful.”

“Being away from me has saved you.”

“For how long?” He wonders. “How long do I need to be saved for? How long are you going to call a dead man’s hate dangerous? How long are you going to pretend a dead wolf can still bite?”

Tommy remembers then, suddenly, how they used to talk in metaphors to each other.

Truth wrapped in truth, pain made into silliness.

Whispers in a time where everything around them was screams.

“For as long as they still have teeth,” his endwalker hisses, pulling him closer. “And trust me when I say I’m still picking some out from my bones.”

“You’re letting them haunt you,” Tommy says.

He looks up, their face there one second and gone the next; it feels like he can never hold onto them tight enough. He can never get close.

“Let them,” they say. “Let them haunt me, it keeps them away from you.”

“It keeps you away from me, too.”

His endwalker inhales sharply and turns away.

Tommy knows they’re looking out the window even without seeing their eyes.

“Can we just enjoy the sun?” They ask, hand falling back to his.

“Is this all we will ever enjoy together?”

They have no answer.

They stand there, sunlight over their skin, neither feeling the warmth of it.

When he wakes up, there’s tears still streaming down his face. He wipes them away, stands, and walks to the biggest window he has— the one over the kitchen table.

Tommy moves the curtains away, frowning. It’s still night.

He waits there until dawn, until the sun is over the trees. He doesn’t sleep.

The sun looks different from before, he doesn’t know how he never noticed.

“Hey, mate,” Phil leans against the porch right next to him, the moon illuminating the phoenix’s face. Tommy hums in reply as he’s joined in looking up at the sky, breathing in and out evenly.

They stand like that, shoulder to shoulder, for a while.

The youngling isn’t really sure how much time passes.

“Can’t sleep?” Phil finally asks. He nods and leans further into the other’s warm. “Me either. It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Tommy doesn’t reply but he knows the phoenix understands why. Some mornings are just meant for silence. They watch the sun come up together, not saying a single word.

He’s glad he’s not watching it alone.

“Why can’t I see you?” Tommy asks. “You see me, we should be even, I reckon.”

“Star,” they sigh back. “It’s part of the memory curse, we’ve been over this, man.”

“I know, it’s still shit though. I keep waiting for the answers to change and they never do.”

“...why then?”

“What?”

“Why do you still wait for me?”

“The fuck you mean?” Tommy gives them a glance, brows pinched together. “I said I always would— that I’d always come back to you.”

His endwalker is silent for a moment. “I thought you didn’t remember that.”

“I remember enough.” He shrugged. “Why do you think I want to find you so bad?”

“Because you’re stubborn.” He can’t see them but he swears that they’re smiling.

“Oi!” The golden dragon knocks his head into their chest, the only thing he could really do in the cramped closet. “Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you have to say it, prick.”

“You’re getting bold,” they note, voice all soft and wistful.

He tilts his head, hand reaching up to hold onto an always cold wrist. “Is that a bad thing? I know I can be, uh, loud sometimes.”

“It’s wonderful,” they correct, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “You deserve to be as loud as you’d like, I’m… I’m happy you have that. I’m happy you’re safe. That’s all I ever wanted, y’know?”

“You’re not being fair again,” Tommy whispers, leaning into the touch he couldn’t feel.

“How?” His endwalker asks.

“You’re saying all this but you’re so far away. I’d rather you be happy right next to me.”

“The distance is what keeps you safe.”

“It’s driving me crazy, it’s like I’m losing my fucking mind. Nothing feels real anymore, all my memories are off. There’s pieces missing and I can’t get them back. You’re missing and I can’t get you back, either.”

“I don’t know how to make it better, starlight.”

“Yes you do.” Tommy scoffs. “You’re just scared but — I can protect myself. I can protect myself, it should be my decision. I want you to be next to me. I want you, here, with me. I just…”

“Star…”

“I want you,” he says. “You’re so far away.”

“I want you too,” they reply.

And that should be enough.

That should be enough— because here they are and here’s this love, but they’re lost. They can’t seem to find a way to come back together. He’s too hurt and they’re too scared and it’s a mess.

This is his endwalker, his witch, his.

And he’s theirs, their dragon, their familiar, theirs.

It should be enough. It should be.

So why doesn’t it feel that way? Why isn’t their love enough?

Chapter Text

“We’re leavin’ tomorrow, runt,” Technoblade reminds him, red eyes pinned onto his frame as he hugs his dad’s leg to his chest. “Phil told us to be productive.”

“This is productive,” Tommy said.

Sitting on the floor in front of where his protector is perched on the couch and basically latched onto him like a leech, the youngling looks up to meet his eyes, red to blue.

Keeping to the eye contact, he wiggled his wings until they weren’t squished against the front of the couch and until his tail was around Techno’s foot, too.

“Heh?” His dad frowns, reaching down to pat him on the head. “How?”

“I’m recharging my mental health, it was low as fuck.”

Tired-safe-love, he growls softly.

Loved-loved-safe, is what’s rumbled back at him.

“Rough night?” Techno hummed, running his fingers through golden locks, careful not to let his rings catch on anything. He nods. “Wanna talk about it?” He shakes his head, snickering when his horn knocks into the other’s knuckles. “Alright, do ya want me t’read you a story, then?”

“Oo,” Tommy pulled himself closer, eyes widening. “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” his protector chuckled softly and reached over to grab one of the books on the table. The golden dragon poked his cheek as he got closer, smiling when he got a raised eyebrow in return.

He leans back in his seat, checks the cover, and looks back down to the youngling.

“Do y’want to hear about ancient merfolk or the fae?”

“Mermaids,” Tommy rests his head onto his dad’s knee.

“Hm, alright,” Technoblade ruffles his hair before clearing his throat. “Once, before the great mountains were formed ‘n all the giant oceans had yet to fall, there was an ancient race…”

“It should feel like a… tugging, of sorts.” The phoenix stands in front of him, smiling softly but nervously, feathers fluffing up before settling back down repeatedly.

“I know, Phil.” Tommy sighs, having been told three times now.

Technoblade was shifted, red scales gleaming as he laid in the field for them to finish.

His dad’s snout was between him and Wilbur, he could barely see the witch besides a fluff of brown locks and slightly smudged glasses. Their bags were packed and tied together, stuffed into a small, endless bag Wil had enchanted earlier that week.

They had just completed the spell, the one used to track the endwalker.

It made Tommy nervous to have magic used on him, even if he was used to his coven’s magic. He had shifted reflectively, his body apparently not convinced it’s okay even after all these years. It was bullshit, if you asked him, that the past made him all huffy and panicky around people he felt completely safe around.

Regardless of the small flashback and how the big dragon had circled around him and growled at anything that came close until he calmed down, the spell went well.

Wilbur’s proficient at casting and pairing it was Phil’s abilities, the tracking will be fairly easy, supposedly.

Now they’re just waiting for it to link up with the endwalker.

Who, they assure him, won’t be able to tell he’s being tracked, as they already have a line of magic between them— what is getting tapped into via the prehnite and sodalite charm around his neck.

“Is it happening?” Wil asks, peering around Techno’s snout to look at him.

Phil hits his arm lightly. “Don’t pressure him, mate!”

“Says you!” The witch wrinkles his nose at the familiar. “You’ve been staring at Toms for like, five fucking minutes, man.”

“Have I really?” Phil, at least, has the decency to look embarrassed as he turns back to the youngling with wide eyes. Techno snorts in amusement. “Sorry about that, mate, I’m just…”

“Worried? A mother hen?” Wilbur inquires. “A wee bit of an old man?”

“Shut,” the phoenix points a finger at his face.

Red eyes turn to him and Tommy blinks up at the big dragon, breathing deeply as he leans against the other’s scales. He’s warm, like always, and the youngling can’t help but to relax slightly.

There’s a pressure forming in the back of his head, insistent and pushing.

It’s not the covenbond, it’s— 

“Oh,” the golden dragon says. “I think it’s working.”

Nothin’ hurts? Technoblade growls out immediately, lowering himself further to the ground to get closer. Safe-steady, yes?

Yes, he snuffles, hand moving up to hold his own forehead. “Fuck, that’s weird.”

It’ll ease soon, treasure, his protector noses his legs. You okay? Runt?

“I’m fine,” Tommy clenches his jaw, trying to sort everything out.

“Is it too strong?” Wilbur comes to his side, a frown on his face as he lowers them to be face-level with each other. “I can weaken the magic a bit, I think.”

“No, it’s just— I’m not used to having spells on me, anymore.”

The magic is pressed right against his own, not suffocating but hovering in a way he’s not really sure if it’s meant to be or not. Every other spell used on him was pushing, tearing; it constantly tore at him.

This doesn’t hurt, it’s just… there.

It builds up, shoving him gently, swaying towards something no one but him can feel. On the other end, a light wispy thread leads back to the witch.

“Oh.” Wil gently rests a hand on his shoulder. “Are you still comfortable with it?”

“Yeah,” the youngling says but grimaces. “It’s reminding me of before, that’s all. It doesn’t hurt, none of that shit.”

“Like we’d ever make you do a spell that hurt you,” Wilbur snorts.

Tommy’s lips quirk up, a curl of relief in his chest.

He knows they wouldn’t hurt him.

“Well,” Phil says, creeping over to them too. “Can you tell which way you want to go?”

“Yep,” he nods, putting his hand back down. “Very fuckin’ clearly.”

“Good.” The phoenix smiles— laughing when Techno nudges him more forcibly and he almost folds in half. “I think he wants you to shift, mate.”

Correct, Techno growls, looking far too smug.

Can I be with you, Tommy replies. Or should I sit with the hoard?

Your choice, just be careful, his dad rumbled. Safe-loved-loved. Comfortable-good?

Good-safe-comfortable, yes-good, he replied, clearing his throat as he looked up at the rest of their coven. “We’re leaving now?”

“Fuck yeah,” Wilbur said, grabbing the endless bag and quickly walking over to his familiar’s side.

The big dragon snorted a laugh before bending his wing down to let the witch climb up it and to the small soft space between his neck and back— they all knew how much Wil liked flying with them.

Tommy couldn’t wait to get older, bigger— to be able to carry Wilbur high into the skies, too.

Both the youngling and the phoenix shifted but from where he easily hooked himself onto one of Techno’s horns, letting himself hang by his wings to rest against the other’s jaw, Phil took to the sky’s with a sharp caw, wanting to start the long flight with his own wings.

Technoblade growled after the familiar, the trees echoing it and leaves shaking.

Tommy squeaked, cheering. He always loved it when his protector was in this form, loved seeing him take flight.

Long, ruby wings spread wide, wide, wide; they took up the entire space of the field, long hooks brushing against leaves as they raised. The big dragon’s head rose high above the oaks and pines, the mountains in the distance seem to be smaller, somehow, in comparison.

Legs tensing, body lovering slightly, wings coming down in a sharp, powerful burst and— Techno’s in the air, hundreds of feet up within seconds.

Wilbur screams in delight and Tommy garbles a laugh, content to feel the wind on his face and the sun as it pours unfiltered onto his scales.

Once they’re above the clouds, Technoblade evens out, tail coming behind him for balance, giant wings remaining out stretched wide, not needing to flap nearly as often as the golden dragon would if he were the one flying.

The sun rains its light down on them, the horizon stretching before them like an endless road.

Phil flutters around the big dragon’s head, going in circles to swope down towards their witch or to land by the youngling for just a moment.

They move like this for a while, Tommy directing his dad and going between staring at the earth below them or talking softly with the other dragon. It’s amazing how long Techno can stay in the air, currents don’t even bother him and other winged beings avoid him.

It’s amusing, too, to see creatures on the ground pause whatever they’re doing as the large shadows pass over.

There’s no humans that he could see, so far, they are pretty far out into the wilderness and the mountains they’re going towards are even more remote. Tommy’s heart feels like a lump in his throat the whole time, beating oddly and sending a pulse of anxiety through him.

He wonders how long it’ll take to find his endwalker.

He wonders if they’ll be mad, if they’ll understand his desperation.

He wonders if he could convince them to actually come back with him.

They go for hours, stopping once to relieve themselves and to eat before going again. Phil, at some point, shifts back to sit with the witch, tired with trying to keep up.

The sun starts to dip lower in the sky, colors bleeding out the blue from the sky. He watches it set with slow blinks, warm wind against his scales and the gentle rock of his dad’s flight underneath him.

At some point, Tommy must’ve fallen asleep— the next thing he knows, he’s waking up cuddled with his dad.

The golden dragon is completely covered by Techno, curled in between two massive paws and the rest of the big dragon’s body around him. From what he can tell, Technoblade basically fell asleep into a giant ball around him, protective and warm.

His head’s barely peeking through past his talons, red eyes shut and a rumbly purr in both of their chests.

Tommy yawns, stretching his wings slightly as he shifts back to two legs.

His protector stirs, big eyes squinting open at him.

“Did we— camp for the night?” He asks, rubbing his face.

Yes, Techno growls. Hoard’s safe, they’re in their not-den.

Ah, Wilbur finally figured out how to set up a tent.

“How long was I asleep for?”

Three hours, I believe, Technoblade moves slightly, untwisting from his position slowly. Spells like that take a lot of energy to create, it surprised me you didn’t sleep sooner.

Surprise-tired, he snuffles lightly. “I’m just that amazing, big man.”

His dad rolls his eyes and his head’s moving back, cool night air replacing the space as Techno gently sets him down, grass soft as it tickles his legs. He shifts back, so Tommy takes the opportunity to tackle his protector in a hug.

“I love you,” he says— tired still and feeling all warm.

He woke up without a doubt that he’d be safe, that his dad and coven would take care of him. With the past being brought up so often, it’s easy to see the parallels between now and when he used to be too scared to close his eyes for even a moment.

He’s grateful, more than he could ever properly express.

“Love you too, treasure,” the big dragon’s arms wrap tightly around his shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Everythin’ okay?”

“I think so,” he shrugs. “I just don’t know what to expect.”

“The unknown is scary,” Techno says. “But you have us, it’ll be alright. No matter what happens, we’ll help you through it. You think they won’t be happy t’see you?”

“I think they’ll be scared, I think they won’t know what to do.” Tommy sighs. “But no, I… I think they want to see me. I think they’re just so used to being alone that they don’t know that the rest of the world's still waiting for them to get the fuck out there and find it.”

“That’s what you’re here for,” his protector hums, holding him closer. “They’ve obviously just got lost— imagin’ being so cringe— and we’re goin’ to find them.”

“They said they don’t want to be found, though.”

“No one deserves to be alone, ‘specially not some kid terrified to lose more people.”

Tommy frowns and says nothing, letting Technoblade rub soothing circles into his back as he’s guided to the tent. They curl up between Wilbur and Phil, his dad’s body heat making the tent twice as warm as before.

“Go t’sleep, love,” his protector pushes his knuckles into the youngling’s head lightly. “Nerd.”

“Dickhead,” he yawns, curling up with one wing over the witch and the other over his dad. “You’ll be there when I wake up?”

“Always.” It’s a promise— and he believes it.

“I still love you and I’m starting  to see why,” Tommy admits.

His endwalker pauses. “Your heart’s always been too big for you.”

He wakes up before he can reply.

Traveling isn’t as boring as he thought it would be.

There’s just so much to see, so much he never even thought about before.

Waterfalls and towns so small that if you sneezed, you’d probably miss it— there’s trees so tall the tips cut into clouds and clouds so small that they disappear into mist and water droplets against his scales when Tommy slams into them.

The places they stop in are always bustling with people, all different kinds with all different sorts of magic twisting around them.

It’s beautiful and the sunrises never look the same.

They meet another phoenix, a tall woman with dark skin and a lovely little butcher shop, and about fifty nature witches like Wil (though, never ones as strong as those in his coven).

They don’t, however, see any other dragons.

Tommy’s a bit sad but he knew that he wouldn’t; creatures like him are rare, to meet another one would be a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he already had that with Techno.

A week goes by and the direction never really changes.

Wherever his endwalker is staying, he’s not moving very far from it.

It’s a bit worrying but he doesn’t say anything, the youngling content to just go about the days following the bond and falling asleep half-anxious for them to visit.

It’s not so bad.

The wait isn’t too good, though.

He’s glad his family is with him.

They’re in front of the large window again.

The sun looks brighter this time but the hallway around them is darker.

His endwalker is humming, side resting against the wall’s edge and Tommy resting against his other side. Their hands are clasped together, squished slightly between their bodies but neither cares.

They’re holding hands because they want to be close, to trick themselves as if it would be enough, but the golden dragon knows it's not.

Neither of them are warm.

Neither of them can truly touch the other.

When Tommy had been complaining about it again, about not having the ability to truly hug the other, his witch had asked: when is close close enough for you?

When it stops aching, he had replied.

They didn’t have anything to say to that and just tightened their arm around him. Tommy sighed, it’s always like this— they shy away when he says anything a bit too honest. A bit too hurt.

It’s not very often, because half of the time they do just sit there talking softly about nothing that matters, and for even more of the time they’re just staring at him.

It’s not bad, in truth. 

At least now he has the endwalker here to be with him, even if it’s not face-to-face.

“What would you do,” he asks, because he has to know, “if I found you?”

“You won’t.” The reply was so confident he almost laughed.

“But if I did?”

“Well, uh… I suppose I’d give you that hug you’re always complaining about, star.”

“Would you be mad, though? That I found you, I mean, even when you don’t want me to.”

“Hm,” they tapped their fingers on his arm. He only knows because he’s looking. “I think I’d be upset, because I still think us being together is dangerous, but I miss you. I’d be… happy.”

“Really?” Tommy tilts his head, relief flooding him like a tidal wave. “And you’d— would you stay with me?”

“Stay… with you?” They questioned, fingers pausing. The golden dragon nodded and moved closer. It’s not enough to trick his mind into giving him the comfort of touch. “What do you mean? Stay with you where?”

“If I found you, would you come back home with me?”

“In your— house?”

“Yes?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“You just don’t talk about it,” his witch shrugs. “I know you’re safe but uh, I didn’t know you had like, a proper home, dude.”

“You’re an idiot,” Tommy decides.

“Rude,” they sigh, hesitating just a bit before asking: “Is it only you, in this home?”

The youngling hesitates too. “No, it’s— I got adopted? I guess?”

“You… guess.”

“My dad, he’s a dragon, too.” He says. “I was fucking terrified when they found me a couple years back and…”

For the rest of their time together, and the next couple dreams after that, Tommy explains his coven and how he came to be with them. He talks about Technoblade and how kind Wil is— trying really hard to explain that this witch is nice, too— and how hard Phil makes him laugh sometimes.

He shares memories and moments and all those silly little realizations he had. The ones about being wanted, about touch not hurting, about everything and anything.

His witch is quiet for most of it, just taking in the information.

They don’t have much to say but, in a voice barely above a whisper, they confess that his family sounds lovely and that he’s grateful they helped the golden dragon.

Tommy asks but… they don’t have anyone.

The confirmation of what he feared broke his heart just a bit.

They’re close.

They’re really, really close to the endwalker.

They’re walking now, all of them, because Techno kept just flying in big circles around an old, worn down town, and the youngling kept having him turn around because the bond would shove him this way or that.

By the time they figure out exactly which building the youngling’s getting pulled towards, it’s well into the night, and the coven decide it’s best to just camp out.

Both apprehension and excitement thread through Tommy’s chest in waves.

He can’t wait to see the endwalker but he knows that night is not a good time to sneak up on anyone, but he also knows that sunrise is only a few hours away, but a few hours is a long time so he doesn’t want to wait, but he’s tired so he should sleep but— 

Wilbur gives him some lavender and chamomile tied around a malachite, a small enchantment attached to the herbs to make him fall asleep.

He accepts it, curls up next to his dad in his dragon form, and sleeps.

“Wilbur,” Phil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stop being a little shit, we’re staying here and that’s final.”

“But I want to go,” the witch whines, pouting from where he’s sitting around their small camp, arms crossed and pouting. “Why can Techno but I can’t? He’s more intimidating than I am!”

From next to Tommy, his protector rolls his eyes.

The golden dragon just snickers, bouncing on his heels.

“He’s Tommy’s dad, for one,” the phoenix says which, consequently, makes both dragons' faces go a little red. Even after all these years, titles and easy fondness still makes the both of them all squirmy. “And for another thing, you’re a witch. They don’t have the best history involving witches, you know this, Wil.”

They didn’t want to overwhelm the voidwalker more than they already will.

“I know.” Then those warm brown eyes are turning to him, narrowing. “You’ll get us if you need help, yeah? None of that ‘I can handle it myself’ bullshit?”

“You’re so fucking clingy, Wil,” Tommy grins, but relents. “Yes, we’ll get you guys if we need you. Now please, can we go? I haven’t seen them in literal years and you’re making me wait longer, dickhead.”

The witch pulls a face but nods, so the youngling takes off to where he can see the ruins of the town poking out between the trees without saying anything else.

“Behave!” Phil shouts after him.

He hears Technoblade sigh from behind him and then the pounding of feet as his dad easily catches up. He gets an unimpressed eyebrow raised at him when he slows to a fast walk not even ten minutes later.

Not everyone can have the stamina of a god, bitch.

Walking along the end of buildings, Tommy can’t help but to wonder how exactly everything went down.

He knows that his dad came here years ago and killed everyone— but the endwalker, apparently— that had to do with his old coven. That he burnt their homes to the ground, that he uprooted the crops.

He wonders how long it took for everyone else to abandon this place, for people to connect it with bad omens or evil souls. If they even knew what happened, why it happened, or just saw a giant, scaled creature ruin everything and everyone in sight.

He wonders how much it hurt— if they all deserved it.

Then he remembers the scars on his back and he knows that they did.

They travel to the town, Tommy in the lead and his dad not far behind him. They don’t run but their pace is too fast to be called walking.

He stops in front of a burnt, hollowed out building, the only wall still standing is the one facing him. It’s ruined, blackened. The roof caved in and the walls were scorched, the windows shattered.

Even with it looking so different, Tommy recognized it.

He’s in front of the big window, in front of where he and his endwalker stand. 

Technoblade stops behind him, letting him stare, letting him process. He takes a deep breath and then meets his protector’s eyes, his vision a bit blurry.

“This is where it happened, dad,” his voice breaks, his hands shake, and he cries. “This is where I lost them.”

“C’here, treasure,” Techno tugs him closer, gently pulling him into his arms. “It’s okay. I know it hurts, but we’re here now. We’re here now and we’re goin’ t’find them. We’ll find ‘em, love.”

“I know,” Tommy sniffles. “I’m just, I’m freaking out. A bit.”

“Wanna swear?”

Oh, his dad knows him so well— knows that being ‘bad’ helps.

“Shit, fuck bitch,” he easily replies, voice muffled by the others’ shirt. “Balls and cock. Cock and balls. Bitch. Shit and bitch and fuck. Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can you say bubbles?”

Technoblade sighs, hand cupping the back of his neck. “Bubbles.”

Tommy snorts, amused, and pulls away. The big dragon lets him move and silently wipes his tears away, brushing a gentle hand down his cheek to chase away the stiffness.

Safe-safe-good? He rumbles, nudging a hand against his horns. Love, mine-mine.

Good-safe, yes, the youngling nudges him back, butting his horns into his bicep. Love-protected-yours.

They continue looking through the broken-down town, following the pull in his chest.

Promising to meet up, and for the golden dragon to call for help if he needs it, they split up— Tommy goes into the ruined building with the big window and Technoblade stalks the outside, both trying to catch a hint of the witch.

The inside doesn’t smell as bad as the other buildings that Tommy stuck his head into, but by no means is it pleasant.

There’s a bunch of rubble on the ground, dirt and glass and random things knocked over and broken. All the rooms have been overrun by animals, nature, or left to rot in dust and what he’s sure is an unhealthy amount of smelly rainwater.

There’s a hallway though, one that leads to— what he can remember of the town’s layout— the church. The grime has been pushed to the side, almost like it’s been cleared out.

That’s… strange.

Tommy makes a face and follows the path of cleanliness (not clean but cleaner than everything else) to a bigger hallway, doorways without doors ending up the entire view.

The first three rooms were dirty but empty, like someone took everything even remotely useful out of it.

The last room had big double doors that rested off of their hinges and in the middle of the floor. He lightly kicks at them as he goes back, frowning as he stares at them, walking past it. There were these odd ropes at the top— why would someone put ropes on a door?

Shaking his head, Tommy continues on, squinting as he turns into the last room.

He’s blinded for a second by the sun and stumbles forward as some rubble slips underfoot— then he’s slipping, the ground shifting and unstable, throwing him backwards— 

Tommy shouts in surprise as a net comes from fucking nowhere and wraps around his body, pinning his wings into his back and putting him upside down.

Through wide eyes, he sees the thick oak doors hanging mid-ait by the ropes.

Oh, gods, this was a trap— a trap.

Someone had to have set this up, someone must’ve had to planted this, must’ve had to hook those up and put those there— they’re going to find him and hurt him, just like the old witches— 

This is where they lived, this is where they would have to be— 

Help! Help! Trapped-scared, scared-scared-scared, help! He screeched out, growling fiercely as he tried to claw at the rope, wings trying to flare out, burning as they’re restrained. Hurt, help-help, hurt-trapped! Protector, protector-help!

From somewhere outside, he hears Technoblade roar; both a warning to those who’d dare to hurt his youngling and an answering call.

Tommy calls back, crying out as something moves in the room.

It’s behind him— a shuffle, footsteps, they’re coming closer — 

Gods, someone’s in here already, they’re going to hurt him— 

Get back! Tommy shifts, snarling and growling, paws sinking heavier into the net than his shoed feet had. He shifts unsteady, puffing himself up. Leave me alone, sorry-sorry, didn’t mean to! Stay back!

Someone’s trying to talk to him but he can’t understand it past the panic.

All he can hear is his pounding heartbeat, hear his protector’s vicious snarl from somewhere to the side.

There’s give on the rope, gravity twisting, and he’s going down, down, down— 

His side hits the floor, wings getting tangled up as he tries to keep himself afloat.

This is bad, this is so bad— 

“Starlight, please.” Someone’s in front of him, they’re touching the ropes, touching him — it’s just like before, with the cage and the ropes and the cold hands— 

Back, stay back! Tommy snarls, everything a blur of colors as he throws himself back. Scared-sorry-scared, go away!

“No, no, it’s okay.” The person backs away, hands raised in front of them and he flinches, eyes following the moment— 

They’re tall, broad shoulders, no weapons and nothing in their hands to use against him, no twist of magic curling around their fingers but— 

But their face— 

Dark with white eyes, shifting like the night sky, tall eyebrows and a sharp jaw, open mouth moving with words the golden dragon couldn’t hear.

He recognized them, he knows who this is— 

Tommy freezes and stares, a pitiful whine stuttering to a stop in his throat. The magic leading him to his endwalker bursts in his chest, warm and popping.

They pause too, eyes widening slightly. “Starlight…?”

He goes to nod, he goes to shift, to do something, anything— but there’s a big crash, the whole building shakes around them, ground trembling and across from them, the wall gives him.

Technoblade crashes into the room with an angry snarl, concrete and dust surrounding him, the setting sun casting over his flaring wings, his sharp horns and making his burning red scales look like they’re dripping blood.

The air in the room tenses, everything’s silent for a single moment as his dad turns to them, pupils pinpricks and lethal talons sinking into the wood below them.

He sees the ropes covering the little dragon, smells the magic in the witch in front of him, and snarls.

Tommy pounces the same time that Technoblade lunges at his endwalker, heart jackrabbiting as he thinks for a split second that he simply won’t be quick enough— that this’ll be the end.

That all he’ll have left of his endwalker is memories.

But then he’s slamming into the witch and then into the ground, his protector growling furiously at them as his claws slam into either side of them, large body over them as his head points down— the golden dragon wrapping himself around his endwalker, ignoring their gasps as he gives a tiny whimpering, pleading.

His dad’s snarl fades, lips pulling back over his sharp teeth as he lowers his head to them.

The endwalker’s breath hitches, fear acrid in the air, and Tommy presses closer.

There’s hands hovering over his side now, shaking.

Scared-scared-scared , the youngling whines, raising his head to press their snouts together— 

“Don’t.” The witch gasps out, arms curling around his neck, trying to shield him. “Don’t hurt him, please, please, don’t hurt him— ”

Realizing that the pleading is for him, for his safety, Tommy snuffles sadly and eases back down, eyes coming back to their night eyes that are full of tears.

Technoblade eases back on his hunches, huffing with confusion.

Safe? His protector growls, making the endwalker whimper. Hurt, scared-trapped, hurt?

Safe, not trapped, hurt-hurt-scared, he growls back, glancing between his wings and his dad’s eyes. Hoard, mine-mine-mine. Safe-mine, scared.

Yours? Techno instantly starts to sniff along his body, making sure there’s nothing on the ropes that’ll burn him. Sorry-upset-worried. Hoard is safe, hurt-scared?

Hurt-scared but safe. Mine-mine, yes.

“Please,” the witch pleads again when Technoblade pulls back.

Tommy knows that to others, his dad looks always angry and a bit terrifying with his big body, muscles, and nasty scars. No matter the form, he’s scary.

With a soft growl that although he finds comforting, but the endwalker definitely doesn’t, the red dragon shifts back.

He’s left standing there, frowning at them, big hands hovering.

“Don’t shift, Theseus,” Technoblade orders, kneeling at their side despite the way Tommy gives a displeased grumble. “I know, love, but you’d be gettin’ hurt worse if you do. Just wait until we get back to Wil ‘n we can heal you, alright?”

He nods but doesn’t move, head lowering until it is on his witch’s chest.

Techno’s focus shifts with him, and the two strangers are left staring at each other.

“Hullo.” His dad blinks, hands already on the ropes and pulling them away. “Are you, uh, alright?”

The endwalker just stares, eyes wide.

“That was a bad first impression.” He grimaces. “I’m Technoblade, Tommy’s father ‘n this is gettin’ awkward, so I’m just goin’ to focus on my kid.”

Tommy wishes, with everything in him, that he could speak right now.

He feels like he did all those years ago when he was new to the coven, full of questions and comments but no way to voice them.

But he’s here. He’s here and so is his endwalker.

They found each other again and this time— this time Tommy’s not going to lose them.

Chapter Text

Everyone’s silent as the ropes are taken off of him and pulled away.

He spreads his wings once they're free, snuffling in thanks to his dad, who runs a comforting hand over his side, gentle and warm.

His endwalker makes an upset noise in the back of his throat, arms tightening a bit over his throat and pulling him away— Technoblade’s eyes flash to the witch in a second, hardening at the protective look on their face.

“I appreciate the concern, kid,” he says, tone flat. “And I know that you’re freakin’ out right now, but I’m not goin’ to hurt either of you. However, if you don’t allow me to check on my son, I will separate you two.”

Upset, upset, mine-mine, Tommy rumbles, flexing his wings a bit unhappily. No away.

“Nah, you don’t get to argue,” Techno shakes his head at him, hands keeping his wings open to make sure nothing was bruised or bleeding. “I know you guys just reunited but I refuse t’let anythin’ compromise your health. I told ya this when we first came out here. You’re the priority.”

The golden dragon only dunks his head back down and lashes his tail, upset because it’s true. His dad, no matter what, would always put him first.

“Star,” his witch said, shaky.

Tommy looks down at his witch, leaning his head towards their’s, facing them. He wonders now, looking at them, why he’s the one called starlight when their eyes are the ones that look like the night sky.

They’re frowning but their eyes are blown wide from fear, mouth slightly open but no words coming out.

As his dad inspects him for injuries, the golden dragon rumbles down at his endwalker, nuzzling his snout into the edge of their jaw. It’s okay, it’s okay. Mine-mine-mine.

They slowly reposition their hold on him, one hand resting against his side— still shaking— and the other pressed lightly against the skin of his neck. Tommy takes a deep breath and they follow.

He does this until they seem steady, a bit coherent past the panic, and gives the witch a light croon.

The big dragon makes a noise from where he’s crouched by Tommy’s side and nervously, his endwalker licks their lips and dares to look over to him.

“Is— is he um, he’s okay?” They choke out, voice terribly wobbly.

“Looks like the ropes just scraped against his scales,” Techno tells them and Tommy watches his dad frown, red eyes briefly going to the other. “Easy to heal but uncomfortable. What were your ropes made outta, somethin’ with silver?”

“Yeah— yes.” The witch nods. Tommy can feel their heart getting faster in their chest and settles his head above in, breathing in deeply until they match his pace again.

Technoblade looks back at the scraped raw marks along his scales and sighs. “We gotta go back to our camp so we can treat this properly. I’d say you’re welcome t’join, but I don’t think you’re gettin’ much of a choice.” He gestures to where Tommy’s clinging to their chest.

His witch nods, eyeing his dad warily when the other stands and stretches his massive wings behind him. Years ago, he was just as intimidated by the familiar before them, but not anymore.

He wonders how long it will take his witch to adjust, to accept that they’re safe.

With you? The youngling squeaks out when his dad gestures to get up. Or walking?

You’re hurt. Worried-upset-loved, Techno growls lowly. You’ll be carried.

He grumbles but doesn’t argue— just folds his wings in as the last of the rope is dragged away from the ground and tossed to the side— it’d be a losing battle and at this point, he knows when to let go. Knows what to push and what not to.

His family never compromises on anything when it comes to his well-being.

“Okay, kid,” Technoblade turns to the endwalker pinned underneath his youngling. “Pack what ya want, we’re goin’ back to the camp after yer done.”

“You’re… letting me keep my things?” The witch blinks up at him.

“Yes.” He frowns, moving to crouch next to them, hands hovering over the golden dragon’s wings. “They’re your things, I don’t have any right to be takin’ them away from you.”

“Right,” the endwalker swallows heavy and Tommy hears it when their heart starts to go faster— but he can’t really do anything about it, because his dad is nudging the other’s hands away and picking him up.

It almost hurts to be taken away from his endwalker so soon— hurts because finally, finally, he can touch them. Hold them.

In the dreams, everything is cold, their touch an almost. Now, they’re warm. Real.

Instead of being able to be reassured of that, though, he’s cradled gently in Techno’s arms. His upper body gets curled around one of his large shoulders and his tail winds around one arm, wings relaxed but held close, snout pressed against the big dragon’s cheek.

They watch as the witch shakily gets to their feet, stumbling as they put things into a bag that never seems to get full. Food, clothes, a pendant, bottles of water, a couple objects he doesn’t know what to call.

Everything seems to get packed in less than ten minutes.

It aches to think that this is how they had been getting by.

All these years spent living in a hollowed out version of a town, in the corpse of church never to be worshiped in again. Alone, without proper help, stuck in the aftermath of a coven who never cared.

Tommy found his salvation all those years ago in the heart of a dragon’s hoard.

His witch never did, his witch never found a sanctuary.

And that— that hurts.

The endwalker turns back to them, bag slung over their back, straps pulled close to their chest with white knuckles. They meet Tommy’s eyes, so he croons lowly at them, and their gaze moves up to Techno’s.

His dad raises an eyebrow. “Ready?”

His witch nods, and then they’re on their way.

The walk back to the camp goes like this: Technoblade carries Tommy, his endwalker right by their sides, and anything that makes a ‘suspicious noise’ gets either investigated or roared at to make sure it’s no longer a ‘threat’. Then, after, they continue moving.

Every couple of minutes, though, his dad asks how he is or will try to start small talk with the witch.

Tommy learns that both the big dragon and his endwalker are awkward to the same degree: severe. Meaning, they have no idea how to communicate with each other properly.

It’d be amusing if he could talk with them, to make proper conversation, or if he wasn’t so worried.

He wishes he remembered if his witch was always like this or if it was something that developed after they got separated. A byproduct of isolation, of their childhood, of pain.

Tommy’s trauma made him clingy, made him terrified of gentleness. It made him have one foot in the door, never sure of what way he’ll go. Even with all the love and care, it made him wary; it brought nightmares and insecurities and doubt.

What did it do to the witch?

The witch who’s lived alone for years, who trembles at the sight of magic?

Because it wasn’t like this in the dreams, they weren’t like this in the dreams.

But that’s when they were alone. That’s when they could be themselves, could be an us instead of an I and a you.

Who are they outside of that, who are they really— and why does Tommy still love them when he can’t even remember the answer to that?

Their camp comes into view after they round a big willow tree— Wilbur’s pacing along the edges, face twisted up like he’s in pain. Phil’s sitting in his bird form on a log, a med-kit open next to him and what he thinks is a bowl of clean water boiling over the fire pit.

The closer they get, the tenser his endwalker appears, so Tommy wiggles free a bit (earning a grunt of disapproval from his dad) and wraps his tail around one of their wrists.

They meet his eyes, blue to the night sky, and gives him a small smile.

Protected-mine-mine, Tommy snuffles softly, a light squeak following. Loved.

He gets an almost-smile and it's enough to have a flare of warmth burst in his chest.

“Your witch,” they start, hesitant but shuffling closer to Technoblade, eyes moving from Tommy’s to him. “He’s uh, he’s okay with me coming, right?”

“Yes,” Techno nods, body getting warmer as a particularly big gust of wind causes Tommy to shiver. “Him and our Phoenix are very supportive of Tommy— and worried, apparently. Look,” he jerks his chin towards the camp, where neither of their coven mates has yet to spot them.

He wishes he wasn’t trapped again, he has so much he wants to say.

“Your phoenix?” The witch’s voice trembles a bit, wincing a moment later. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t um, shouldn’t be curious. I was just— yeah.”

“S’not like curiosity is goin’ t’get you killed,” Techno snorts. “You can ask any question you want to, no one here is goin’ to punish you for it. And yes, our phoenix.”

When his witch turns to him, a furrow between their brows, he nods.

His endwalker isn’t as… scared as he imagined they’d be, excluding when they thought they were going to get mauled by a giant dragon. It’s not like how he was— not skittish, not like they’re one second from running or cowering or begging.

They’re more worried, uncertain.

Over the years, they must’ve gotten stronger, assured they could protect themself.

It helps how much Tommy’s talked about them, how his endwalker knows that even if they believe they can’t protect Tommy from themself, that Tommy’s coven will protect him.

Maybe they believed him when the youngling told them they were kind.

He wishes he knew what the other was thinking. Wishes he could remember how to do so, how to press their minds together until they were one.

Across the clearing from them, there’s a shout— it’s Wilbur, he’s spotted them— and all their attention snaps to it, looking back towards the camp.

“They’re back!” He’s saying. “They’re back with the endwalker!”

Phil’s shifting forms, rising to his feet, wings all fluffed up with worry. Wil starts to run towards them, almost tripping over his own feet, dark eyes going from his familiar, to the marks going across the youngling’s wings, to the other witch trailing behind them.

Tommy puts his nose to the air, scenting it.

It smells overwhelmingly like dust and his two loved ones worry, their protectiveness. It also, past the rotten scent of the church that carried with them, stinks of magic.

Wilbur never was good with keeping his energy to himself when he's worried; Tommy can see the imprint his magic made on the earth from where he had been pacing.

Technoblade, in turn, was never good about feeling calm towards bursts of magic.

Hoard, ours-ours, Tommy growls, reminding his dad who had been getting more upset the closer they got— hostile to even one of their own, instincts running wild. Love-hoard-yours?

Mine, mine-runt-mine, Techno lets out a rather angry grunt, jaw unhinging as sparks start to spill between his fangs, a warning and nothing more as Wil comes closer. Mine.

Technoblade accidentally hurt Wilbur before, protecting him.

He’d do it again. He’d do anything to keep his youngling safe.

Tommy knows this and it’s terrifying.

So it’s no surprise that when the witch spots his familiar’s territorial gesture, he skids roughly to a stop, arms pinwheeling as he wobbles on his feet, a frown sprouting at them from a good ten feet away. Phil, at the action, grabs his son’s shoulder to keep him steady.

Both know that Technoblade would hurt them for Tommy, too.

“We heard you roar from here, mate,” Phil calls over, slowly stepping closer, pausing when the big dragon hisses aggressively towards him, red wings spreading wide on his back, one mantling and the other hovering over the endwalker— who flinches at the movement, edging back slightly. “Is Tommy okay?”

“He’s hurt,” Techno forces out, fangs flashing their threat as he stalks closer, fighting the instincts that the youngling knows can be overwhelming. His dad’s tail lashes behind them, not veering from his predetermined path, but not attacking anyone.

Phil, foolishly, takes that as the go-ahead to move closer and gets a large set of jaws snapped at him, and throws himself backwards, wings boosting him as he squawks.

That’s… not ideal.

Tommy feels the way his dad snarls with his whole body, shaking him slightly as he’s lifted closer to the other’s chest when Wilbur’s energy twists sharply in response. He croons towards the witch and the phoenix as he’s taken towards the med-kit, hoping to be reassuring.

Gods, if only he could speak.

They’re giving them a wide berth but the endwalker is keeping up, at least, his tail is still wrapped around their wrist.

Then, because his dad’s overprotective— but also because he trusts their coven mates— he gently sits down at the base of a log and turns towards them, one hind raising to wave them over after a good couple moments of deep breathing while the other holds him steady.

His endwalker sits next to them, face all twisted up, awkward, and hands twitching in their lap like they want to reach out but doesn’t think they’re allowed to.

It’s a good decision not to, honestly.

Wilbur instantly starts to jog over, Phil flapping his wings to get to them quicker.

Tommy wishes he could speak— he’d tease Wil about how dorky he looks running.

“Don’t touch ‘im, don’t know if I’ll be able to control my instincts.” Technoblade instructs as relief pours over both their faces once their coven mates are crouched next to them, able to see that the damage isn’t too bad.

“What happened?” Phil asked, words quick but soft, eyeing the youngling’s wings.

“Theseus got caught in some silver ropes. Hurt his wings ‘n got some scraps.”

Tommy doesn’t miss how Techno pointedly leaves out that the ropes were part of a trap that the endwalker created— probably because of their witch’s habit of overreacting.

Overprotective bastards, the lot of ‘em.

“We thought you got attacked,” Wilbur said, sitting a foot or two away, not caring that the pants he’s wearing is going to get grass stains. “Phil made me stay here, he thought that if someone was stupid enough to go after the gremlin that you’d be full fucking dad mode and kill us on sight, or something.”

Techno makes a face, seeming offended. “I wouldn’t kill you, you’re mine.”

“For Tommy?” Wil raises an eyebrow. “Yes you would.”

Thinking about that for a moment, all Technoblade does is shrug.

Upset-bad-no, Tommy harrumphs, scolding as he butts his horns into his protector’s shoulder. Then he remembers something rather important. Title, meeting-new, title-meeting. Good, mine-protected-ours?

Sorry, no bad. Protected-ours-yes, the big dragon growls, eyes sliding over to the endwalker. “Tommy wants me t’introduce ya, but you can do that yourself since I’m goin’ to get his injuries takin’ care of with Phil.”

This makes the phoenix sigh, almost sounding disappointed in how Techno said that.

“Oh, that’s— okay. No, yeah, that’s okay.” Their eyes go wide as they lean back, gaze darting between Wilbur and the phoenix, settling after a tense moment on the other witch. They stick their hand out, reaching out over the log. “I’ve uh, heard a lot about you from St— er, from Tommy. It’s… nice to meet you?”

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he says, shaking their hand. “My name’s Wilbur, I’m an earth-based witch but I can do pretty much everything and tend to do a lot with meta-physical material reconstruction. Uh, fuck— that’s like, changing one object into another or it’s size, in case you don’t know.”

Tommy moves, letting his dad shift his position until he’s laying on his stomach, wings half-spread to let him work, and faces the two witches.

He watches as they talk, content to just listen but longing to join in.

“I didn’t, but that sounds cool, I guess? And uh, my magic focuses on the End. I draw power from the space between everything. Oh, right! My, uh, my name’s Ranboo,” the endwalker answers and Tommy lifts his head, crooning happily at them.

Ranboo, Ranboo, Ranboo. His endwalker’s name is Ranboo.

He hates that this is something he ever forgot. Purposeful or not, he had lost this knowledge. He hadn’t known what they looked like before, what their name was.

But now he does.

He does, and he’s never losing it again.

“You have an interesting name, Ranboo,” Wil offers a smile before gesturing towards where the phoenix was getting out some burn ointment to hand to Techno. “That’s Phil, he’s my familiar and my dad, kinda. Not by blood, obviously.”

“Technoblade’s yours, too, right?” Ranboo asks, sitting up just a bit taller.

“Yes,” Wilbur confirms.

“And— and Tommy?” This is said with fear, like the answer is something so wretched they shouldn’t have asked in the first place. “He’s yours too?”

The tone makes his purr stutter slightly and he nudges his snout into the other’s knee, the only part of Ranboo that he could really reach from this position.

He wants to comfort the other, to have reassuring words or arms to hold them.

But he doesn’t, all he has are these small touches.

“He’s not my familiar,” Wil says, slow and sounding a little funny— there’s an understanding in his eyes that Tommy can’t place. “But he is part of my coven, he’s Tech’s youngling. Technoblade’s mine, so technically Toms is mine too, from the legal standpoint.”

“Oh,” Ranboo says. Tommy looks up at them, tilting his head and trying to process the relief he sees painted across their expression. “So he’s— ”

“Not bonded to anyone,” Wilbur says.

He hums a bit as Technoblade rubs the magic-imbued ointment onto his scraps, distracting him with a charm tune from the icy sting that made him wince.

His dad rumbles down at him, gentle hands running over his sides, calming.

“Just to be clear,” Wil starts. “You don’t have a familiar besides Tommy, correct?”

“Uh, we’re not— I mean, we don’t have a familiar bond?” Ranboo’s voice goes higher, a little confused and a little defensive. “We’ve never, we weren’t allowed to have an official bond when we were with, with them. So no. Nope.”

“Sorry for the assumption, mate,” Phil joins in, coming to stand behind Wilbur. “We thought that maybe you half-bonded Tommy as your familiar, but we weren’t sure.”

Before they started on this journey, the possibility of a half-bond was briefly brought up, but he hadn’t known that they gave it any more consideration once he denied its existence.

He didn’t know they thought that this is what their relationship is.

It’s not that Tommy’s opposed to the idea, or even upset about them thinking this, it’s just confusing — a half-bond is something that only happens when one of the pairing connects their energy to the other’s magic core without it being reciprocated.

Most often, the half-bond gets returned and turned into a full familiar one.

It can be removed but it’s rare, it damages both of the sides’ magic and affects their core energy. It affects their health, their very nature.

And to have that and not realize is such a little possibility— 

“A… half bond?” Ranboo looks uncomfortable.

“Do you know what that is?” Phil asks, no judgment. When the endwalker shakes their head, the phoenix calmly explains what it is.

“Oh.” They look greatly uncomfortable now but worse of all, they don’t deny it. “I-I didn’t know that that’s what it’s called.”

Wilbur looks concerned by this. “You were never taught about the different bonds?”

“No,” Ranboo winces, looking away, hands twisting together in front of him. “Our coven wasn’t— they weren’t very big on teaching.”

The rest went unsaid, the demands and punishments and horrors not needing to be voiced. The endwalker is the only one who knows all of it, the only one who remembers, but the rest of them know pieces.

They have enough to read between the lines.

Tommy has enough nightmares to stitch the pieces together.

“I get that,” Wil nods slowly, carrying on the conversation. “If you’d like, I could teach you about it all.”

“About the bonds?”

“No— well, yes, but I meant magic. I could teach you real magic, raw energy, the magic that’s kind and how to use your power without hurting yourself or others. Good magic.”

“I-I’d like that, I think,” Ranboo gives a hesitant nod, looking more than surprised at the offer. “Good magic. Yeah, I’d like to learn, please.”

“Cool,” Wilbur smiles. “We’ll start once Tommy can shift back.”

Annoyance-curiosity, ask about the bond, the youngling interjects, twisting to growl this at his dad, who raises an eyebrow in response. Please-curious, I’m anxious, wonder-please?

“What’d he say?” Phil questions, pausing from organizing the med-kit to give the two dragons his attention— the witches do the same.

“He wants Wil ‘n Ranboo to go back to talkin’ about the bond,” Technoblade says, voice a slow drawl as he finishes setting healing magic into the marks. “I think he wants to know if you have the bond.”

As soon as those words leave the big dragon’s mouth, the sour scent of the endwalker’s panic and shame slams into his senses, making him whine.

Techno rumbles at him, soothing the dread in his heart that’s weighing it down.

But it’s not him who needs the comfort— 

Why can he never be there for his endwalker when he needs to be? Why must there always be a barrier, always something that separates them?

“It’s okay, no one’s upset,” Wilbur gives him a worried look but turns to Ranboo, whose face is a little pale. His brown eyes widen slightly and he raises his hands a little, placating the younger witch a bit. “You’re not in trouble, Ranboo, it’s okay. We wanted to know, that’s it. It’s okay if you have a half-bond, bud, we don’t have the authority to get you in trouble and even if we did, no one would be upset, okay?”

The nod Ranboo gives is jerky and quick, followed by a sharp inhale.

It’s okay, Tommy nudges his snout closer, touching, and gives a soft snuffle.

The endwalker places a hand on his head, right below the base of his horns, and it says a lot that Technoblade doesn’t immediately snap at him.

“It’s okay if you need a minute,” Phil says, patiently. “Do you want a distraction?”

When they get another nod, Wilbur is quick to jump into a dramatic retelling of something that happened when he was a teenager.

The story is full of twisted descriptions and weird conversations and nights spent on cold streets but mornings spent in a warm building surrounded by laughter. Of moonlight midnights curled under the stars and afternoons playing guitar on a busy street corner.

There’s an old friend— a salmon familiar— who left him heartbroken.

There’s an old man, hints towards a bad coven life in the ‘before meeting Techno and Phil’ phase of his life, a deep creek with weird crystals at the bottom, and a large willow tree he broke his arm falling out of.

By the time Ranboo calmed down, they looked exhausted.

They’re trying to pay attention to the story as much as they can, but their eyes keep wanting to close, and they’ve curled themselves around Tommy’s head. Panic attacks are exhausting, and they’ve had two and a major anxiety-inducing surprise.

He’s careful not to move, lying comfortably squished between his dad and his witch.

His eyes, too, start to close on their own accord.

Tommy’s warm and safe, surrounded by his hoard. There’s no reason not to relax.

“— then, I got kicked out of this pub! It was bullshit!” Wil swears, tone contradicting the words with its softness, voice barely above a whisper.

When the endwalker doesn’t open his eyes, the older witch pauses.

“Let ‘em sleep,” Technoblade instructs, big wings shifting to cover the two youngling’s forms. The golden dragon sighs slightly, sinking into the warmth. “It’s been a long day.”

“Little gremlin’s taking a nap, too,” Wilbur notes.

Tommy wishes he could flip him off but, as it is, he can’t shift and is way too comfortable to do so even if he had hands.

Through half-closed eyes, he sees as Wil shuffles over to lean against the big dragon’s side. Phil shifts and perches on his witch’s knee— the familiar trilling quietly when pale fingers brush over the feathers on his neck.

“Eh,” his dad deadpans, letting them stay close. “Both of ‘em deserve the rest.”

“Mm, they do,” he agrees, reaching up to fix his skewed glasses. “Think Ranboo will adjust easily? Well, as easy as Toms did?”

The youngling lets the noise fade into the background, starting to drift off.

“I’m not sure,” Technoblade starts, sighing— he doesn’t hear, or doesn’t remember, what the other says before he’s asleep.

It's night-time when Tommy can finally shift back.

For the first time in months, Tommy’s sleep is dreamless. It’s odd, waking up and doing so slowly instead of having the fading realization that his physical body is starting to come to. More than odd, though, he’s grateful that he wakes up without any pain pulling on his nerves.

His wings are soaked with the warm buzz of the aftereffect of magic, skin tingling wherever it had been healed.

He could shift without risking anything— with ease.

 Stretching, Tommy looked around, realizing that most of his coven was asleep— Phil and Wilbur in their tent, Technoblade shifted and curled around the endwalker and him to keep watch.

It was a peaceful night, quiet and cool. The stars above them were bright and the only thing that offered any help to see was how the moon looked down upon them all.

He could barely make out his own paws underneath him.

Despite this, the youngling could tell that Ranboo’s still awake.

It was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind, one that let him know they’re awake, let him feel as they press up against his mental barriers; a silent reassurance of I’m here.

I’m here, too, Tommy pressed back into it, an acknowledgement.

It’s easy to slide off of his dad’s massive paw and onto the makeshift bed his witch made for themself, easy to slip under their covers and wrap his arms— arms because he could shift, because he has his voice back— around their waist.

Ranboo doesn’t startle, doesn’t protest, but they suck in a heavy breath, hands hovering before they lightly grip onto his shoulders, easing them together until they are laid side by side, legs tangled.

He could feel the other’s heartbeat under his ear, hearing it pounding away.

The other hums, fingers running through his hair, and despite all the anxiety building in his chest, Tommy relaxes into it.

“Ranboo?” He whispers— and isn’t that something, the ability to say their name?

The ability to be here, with them. To hold them, to breathe the same air, to feel the way their lungs expand from where he rests his head on their chest. Fabric under fingertips, a witch in his arms, magic pressed against his own— this was everything he wanted.

“Starlight,” they return the greeting, grip tightening for just a moment before relaxing.

“I miss you.” It isn’t a lie.

“...I miss you too.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you we were coming,” Tommy says, hiding his face against their collarbone, shame making his voice shake. “I was— scared.”

“You thought I’d run,” Ranboo reads between the lines, always able to dig down to his roots and pull out his weedy fears. “That I’d leave you again.”

“I can’t remember you leaving me the first time,” he admits, fingers flexing against their back. “But I can't forget it all over again, Boo. I can’t lose you, my heart can’t take it.”

“You’d survive,” they sound confident but Tommy— well, Tommy knows they shouldn’t be. “You’re a survivor above all else, but you said that as if I want to leave you.”

“You seemed pretty content to stay away,” he grumbles.

“Because you’re safer without me,” Ranboo tells him, but it’s something they’ve never agreed on, something he’s never made sense of. “But you’re here, you’re here. ” They suck in a breath, tucking their chin over his head. “How could I bear to lose you again, Star? How could I ever give this up?”

“You don’t,” Tommy says. “You don’t lose me and I don’t lose you, no one gives up or gives in or runs away. We’ll do it together this time, okay? Me and you.”

“Together,” they repeat. “Together, yeah, we can do that.”

“No more forgetting?” The youngling dares to ask.

“No more forgetting,” Ranboo confirms.

“Good,” Tommy sighs, shutting his eyes. “I hated not knowing why I loved you so much. It hurt to feel and not understand.”

They’re silent for a moment. “Do you know now? Why you love me, I mean.”

“Of course,” he yawns, turning to squish his cheek into their shoulder. “You’re you, how could I not love all that I’ve seen?” Then, because he’s feeling a bit vulnerable: “Bitch.”

“Course,” Ranboo snorts, shaking their head, and muttering something suspiciously like ‘ruining the moment’. There’s a gentle moment where neither says anything, and Tommy hums. “I love you, Starlight.”

“I love you, Boo.”

He falls asleep for the first time in years with his endwalker in his arms instead of in his mind— able to hold Ranboo instead of dreaming with them. 

Chapter Text

The first morning together is slower than usual, but not in a bad way.

Technoblade, predictably, is the first one up— Tommy’s used to getting up with him, and although he wakes up as soon as he hears his dad yawn, he keeps his eyes closed and cuddles closer to his witch.

Good-comfortable, yes? Techno softly growls at him, nudging his wings gently with his big snout, and the youngling snuffles back confirmation.

After making sure his youngling is truly alright, he huffs but moves on, magic rippling a bit as he shifts back onto two legs.

Tommy knows that the big dragon doesn’t mind that he’s not going to join him in their morning routine, even if it’s a break from their day-to-day life.

He’s grateful for it, purring as he’s able to hold his endwalker close.

He’s still pressed against Ranboo’s side when the rest of his covenmates stumble out of their tent and he turns his head to face them, blearily eyes forced open. Slowly raising his middle finger to Wilbur— who squints back to see what he’s doing without the aid of his glasses— gets him the finger in return and sleepy laughter from Phil.

After that, they stretch and wander over to Technoblade, still half asleep.

It’s not long until his endwalker shifts a bit and groans, hand raising to rub at their face when they start to wake up. Their other hand brushes through his curls, arm tightening just a bit where it’s wrapped around one of his shoulders, and it makes them pause for just a moment. It’s as if they just realized they’re holding someone else.

When Tommy looks up, his witch’s eyes are already on him.

Their hair, previously pushed back and neat, is now sticking up in every single direction in messy knots. A couple pieces seem to be defying gravity, pointing straight into the air.

“Hey, Boo,” the golden dragon yawns, stretching his wings behind him lazily as he eyes the other’s scrunched up face. “G’morning. You got bed-head, s’bad.”

Ranboo laughs as if he said something funny, dimples popping out.

They lean down, cup his face in both hands, and press kiss after kiss onto his cheeks and forehead. Tommy laughs too, hands raising to grasp their wrists, skin flushing under the attention until even his ears are red.

Gods, he missed them. Missed this.

“Morning,” they peck his nose, causing it to wrinkle. “You’re here.”

“Course I am,” Tommy raises his hands to squish their cheeks together, just to make them even. “Where else would I be? We agreed to together, and together means forever.”

“Hm, forever?” Ranboo reclaims his face and presses a kiss to his palm when they pull back, thumb brushing over his knuckles, expression almost reverent. “Yeah… forever is good.”

There’s a single moment of silence, both content to hold each other, each rise and fall of their chests matching— 

“Hey! Oops,” Wilbur pauses, eyes widening when he makes both of them jump. The witch has bed-head too, glasses askew over the bridge of his nose, clothes rumpled. There’s a pause, then he’s grinning sheepishly down at them, thumb pointing over their shoulder. “I’m here as a message man.”

“You look ugly,” Tommy gleefully informs.

“I’m better looking than you, gremlin,” Wil playfully ribs back, then turns to Ranboo, hands moving with his words. “Sorry for interrupting, I’m still tired so I didn’t register that you lot were in a conversation. Uh… Phil wanted to make breakfast, but he didn’t know if you were allergic to anything and didn’t want to risk accidentally poisoning you. So, allergies?”

Still cautious towards the other witch, Ranboo eyes him for a moment before hesitatingly opening their mouth to respond— 

“Cinnamon,” Tommy says, not really sure where the information came from. “They’re allergic to cinnamon.”

“Oh,” the endwalker whispers, turning to him, features splashed in surprise. “I didn’t— you remember that?”

“Apparently?” Tommy says, frowning to himself.

“Strange,” they note, before shaking their head to themself, and looking back up at Wilbur. “Yeah, it’s just cinnamon. Um, can you— would you tell Phil that I uh, I appreciate him making food for me?”

“Cinnamon, got it,” Wil nods, looking like he wants to say more. “And sure.”

With that, the brunet goes back to his dad’s side, hunched over the fire pit, fingers twitching as he walks— in that way that Tommy knows he has questions he’s not asking. Wil talks to the phoenix, peering into the boiling pot above the flames.

Technoblade, who stands across from them, joins as he sorts ingredients of some kind into different piles.

The sun is rising above the trees behind them, encasing them all in a soft, golden light. It looks the same as it does at home, than it did with the old coven, but everything’s so different.

Everything’s… changed.

Tommy watches his covenmates for a moment before turning back to his witch.

“So,” he says, “have you ever seen the sunrise from above the clouds?”

When Ranboo’s eyes widen and they shake their head, Tommy grins and stands, wings spreading a little for stability when his legs wobble at the uneven surface of their bedding.

“C’mon,” he offers them a hand. “I’ll show you.”

His endwalker doesn’t hesitate to grab onto him and, with a beaming smile, the golden dragon pulls them up, fingers threading through theirs.

Tommy’s used to watching the sun with them through the window of a broken down church, half-hidden into shadows and formed by magic and a dream. It was good, then, to have those moments.

But here, in the morning light, he’s never felt the sun warmer than he does with Ranboo by his side, hand clasped in his own, hearts in sync and matching smiles on their faces.

When he looks at his witch, he realizes that it doesn’t matter how much he’s forgotten.

They can make new memories together, they can relearn everything. He can’t remember them fully but he doesn’t need to— he has a whole lifetime with his endwalker, his coven, to make up for any lost time.

No matter what happens, or how difficult adjusting will be, they’ll be okay.

They fought to survive together, they fought to reunite, and they did.

They’ll win the fight to be alright, to be happy, too.

Once Technoblade flies them back to the field, the sun having fully risen, Wilbur starts to create a portal with the phoenix’s help.

They trace runes into the big oak whose branches were draped over their tent the night before, glowing with their power and they settle into the bark. Charcoal stands both their hands but neither seems to mind.

Slowly, sparks fill the air, ripples that turn into a pool showing their living room.

The perspective is weird, all around them is a forest and a field, but right there against the oak is the edge of their bookshelves and across from those, their couch.

The magic is steady but pulsing, meshing two different places together— the spell makes Ranboo uneasy. Tommy feels it like an echo of his own emotions, sees it in the way his endwalker shuffles in place, how they twist their fingers over each other, how their bottom lip goes red with how they chew on it.

Tommy remembers a time when all magic was painful, when it was raw like an open wound and twisted their insides into knots, hanging their safety in a noose made from anxiety.

He used to think that it was meant to be cruel.

That witches and magic were all heavy hands and cold chains, that there was no such thing as careful touches or a gentle spell.

Over the years, his coven proved him wrong.

The shop is full of runes and spells to make every corner steady, every room warm, and every doorway big enough to avoid bruised foreheads or squished wings. There’s ointments that heal and rocks that ease panic and everything smells like an herb because the power that’s threaded through every floorboard and wall is kind.

Every spell used on one of them is done with permission and Wilbur never takes more from his familiars than he needs, never takes what he cannot give back. He’s seen them treat each other with respect, seen how they’re all on the same standing, seen how the magic they have is not malicious.

But Ranboo hasn’t.

Tommy told them about his family’s kindness but it’s one thing to hear and another thing to understand; it’s difficult to imagine when never experienced. Their old coven was cruel and harsh, they did not care to waste time or pull their punches.

They did not care if their spells would end up with a dead familiar.

And this kind of magic— creating portals from such a distance— took a lot of power.

“It’s okay, Boo,” Tommy reaches out, pulling their twisting hands apart to hold them in his own. Night eyes meet his own and he offers a smile, stepping closer. “No one’s getting hurt, okay? Wilbur’s really careful whenever he does shit like this.”

“It’s just— I can feel it,” Ranboo shudders slightly, eyes drawing back to the portal. “I can feel how uh, the space is folding in on itself. That’s yeah— that’s taking a lot of energy.”

There were nights where Tommy couldn’t stand, when the old coven stole so much from him that each breath felt taxing and his heart hurt in his chest.

Then again the next week, when he barely recovered.

They took and took and took and it hurt .

“Do you see that crystal that Wil’s wearing?” Tommy says, pointing to the witch, the pendant around his neck is one that the phoenix usually wears. He ignores the memories and the phantom aches that come with them.

“Yeah?” His endwalker tilts their head, frowning a bit.

“It’s kinda like an energy-amplifier. Phil and my dad are really powerful, they’re super old or something, so they produce a lot of excess magic. They store their mana in the crystals until they’re full, then Wilbur uses them when he does spells like this.”

“But… they’re still helping?”

“Course they are, they want to make sure that Wil’s magic is getting directed correctly. Plus, spells are easier with familiars— or, that’s what I’m told. Kinda not a witch, big man.”

“You helped me with a spell before,” Ranboo says, night eyes meeting his own, a little curious but mostly sad. “Do you remember that at all?”

“No.” The only spell he remembers willingly being a part of is the one to find his witch. “Can you tell me about it?”

“Of course,” they move their hands so they were holding each other and gave him a gentle squeeze. He does it back, tail swishy contently behind him. “We were young, like real young. Five-ish, I think? No, yeah, we were five and we really wanted to go outside. It was snowing for the first time— I uh, didn’t know snow would be bad for you, back then, or that it was even cold— but the only way we knew how to get outside was through this one door, and it was locked. Keep in mind, we really wanted outside.”

Snow might’ve been bad for him when he was young, but it was something he became intimately familiar with in those cold months between escaping his old coven and getting caught by Techno in the shop. Every week is best remembered by ice and foggy breath.

This doesn’t hurt as much as it used to; the memories are all thawing out.

“We exploded something, didn’t we?” Tommy asks, making a face.

Ranboo laughs. “Not quite. We did, however, send the door into uh, into the void? Yeah, that thing was gone . I didn’t know what my magic was centered around yet, so I thought it was just like… temporarily misplaced. Your energy has always been really strong, though, and we so, so far overestimated what we needed to do to get outside. So, yeah.”

“R-I-P to the door,” Tommy says, grinning up at his witch. “Did we like the snow?”

“No,” they snort, grinning back. “I was fine with the cold but my socks got all wet, and like, you instantly started to shiver even before you decided to throw yourself into a snowbank. It wasn’t the best experience— we didn’t get caught, though.”

“Really?” He pauses, blinking quick a couple times as the memory of glittering white snow and a child’s red nose hits him. It’s Ranboo, he realizes, when they were younger. “What’d they think happened to the door?”

“No clue,” Ranboo shrugs. “But we were never punished for it.”

“Blegh,” Tommy grimaces, wings refolding on his back, uncomfortable at the twinge of ghostly pain that slides up his sides. “I remember the punishments.”

“What?” His endwalker looks alarmed, grip tightening over his fingers. “But— you weren’t meant to. I, I wanted to at least spare you of that.”

“Oh.” He’s not quite sure how to reply.

“You were only supposed to remember the good.” Ranboo makes a distressed noise and Tommy’s ears flatten down, shoulders going up a bit. “What— what do you remember?”

“Enough,” he says, a little wary to make the other’s panic worse. “But it’s okay! I promise it’s alright that I remember, I worked through it. I still am.”

The nightmares haven’t haunted him for a while now. Not like they used to.

“I thought— ” They take a deep breath, night eyes closing for just a moment. “I’m not sure what I thought.”

“Whatever we lived through, whatever I remember from before, I’m strong enough to handle it. I have Techno and Wil and Phil, and you,” he stands on his toes, pulling until Ranboo leans down to rest their foreheads together. “And I’m starting to remember you, so it’s worth it, okay? We survived.”

“Sometimes,” they whisper, “it doesn’t feel like we did.”

“But we did,” Tommy argues, heart hurting at the confession. “We did, and we survived, and I know you said the distance is safer but it’s not. I’m not going to forget again but I’d rather know where my scars come from than keep wondering.”

“Is the knowledge really worth it?”

“Yes. It might be painful but it’s my pain. I want to know it, know my past. Besides, memory curse or no memory curse, I’m yours— and I’ll try my hardest to teach you how to live again.”

“You’ve always been stubborn,” Ranboo chuckles wetly, sounding close enough to crying that it makes their voice crack. “I’m dangerous, Starlight.”

“Not to me,” he shakes his head, pressing closer until they’re sharing the same breath.

“I hurt you before,” they say, and he watches as their eyes fill with tears. “It was an accident but it could happen again.”

“Nothing will hurt as much as if I lost you again, Ranboo, don’t you get that?” He asks, raising a hand to their cheeks, fingers trembling as he wipes their tears away. “Other wounds can heal but not that. Not that.”

“But— ”

“No,” Tommy sniffles, squeezing his eyes shut as he cups their face, feeling the scruff across their jaw under his palms, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin under their eyes. “We already had this conversation, we already agreed that it’s us forever. They’re dead, Boo… they can’t hurt us. We’re free, they can never hurt us again.”

“We’re free.” Ranboo repeats.

“I know it’s scary,” he says, “but we won’t always have this fear.”

“I know, I know,” they whisper, hands raising to his wrists. “We have time to heal.”

When tears continue to run down their cheeks, the youngling’s own follow. It wasn’t harsh with heavy breaths or violent sobs, it’s just blotchy cheeks and stuffy noses, it’s just them crying together, feeling through the aches to get somewhere soft.

Moments later, when Technoblade walks over to check on them, they pull away to dry their cheeks and matching smiles turn into soft laughter.

“You both were cryin’,” Techno says, crouching slightly to be more eye level with them, red eyes eyeing them with worry. “Did somethin’ happen?”

“No, we were just— catching up,” Ranboo says, hand coming down to take his in its gentle hold. He lets it, and shuffles closer until he could place a wing around them.

“We’re okay, dad.” Tommy reassures, a small growl bubbling up his throat as his protector straightens up. Safe-safe, loved.

Loved-safe-mine , Technoblade reaffirms. Then, he looks at the witch. “I’m happy you get the chance t’catch up. I don’t know if Toms asked ya, but are you comfortable goin’ through the portal?”

“I-I think so?” The endwalker grimaces. “I’ve never gone through one before.”

“Want me to describe it for you?” The big dragon asks, doing just that when he gets a nod. “It’ll feel like you’re gettin’ pushed back a bit ‘n you’ll need to ignore it. S’over quick, the magic won’t cling t’you or affect yours.”

“What if I don’t um, don’t make it through before it closes?”

“The spell will only end when Wilbur wants it to. However, if somethin’ goes wrong, both of ‘em worked failsafes into it, so you’ve just come back right where you were before yer went into the portal. We’d just open it again ‘n wait for you t’come through.”

Ranboo nods, looking uncomfortable as he looks back to the portal.

Years ago, before he understood magic, Tommy’s first concern wouldn’t have been if the spell would work or not. It wouldn’t have been if he were to get trapped.

The first thing he’d wonder— 

“Will it hurt?” The youngling asks, rocking once on the balls of his feel as Technoblade frowns at him, hair falling in front of his face as he shakes his head.

“You think I’d ever let ya do somethin’ that hurts you?” His dad scoffs, pupils narrowing slightly. “Or are you askin’ for that witch of yours?”

“My witch,” Tommy says, the words easily rolling off his tongue.

“Alright,” Techno turns to the endwalker, who looked more sheepish than uncomfortable, but still like they weren’t having a good time. “The spell won’t be painful— only it pushin’ against you, like I said. My witch doesn’t practice degenerative spells or potent magic ‘n Phil wouldn’t use his powers against either of you.”

“I understand,” Ranboo says, hand tightening in his grasp. “Um, are we leaving now?”

“Soon,” the familiar gives a half-shrug. “You should start gettin’ everything together.”

His endwalker squeezes his hand once and once he does it back, they let go.

As Ranboo pulls away to grab their bag and make sure they have everything they need, the two dragons watch them for a moment. Tommy doesn’t look away, still a little awed that they’re right in front of him still, but Technoblade hums, glancing back towards his own witch where Wil was putting the tent away with Phil.

“Dad?” He says, easily leaning into Technoblade’s side when he wraps a big arm around his shoulders, wings coming out so he could wrap one around his smaller pair. “What do I do?”

“Whatever ya want to do, treasure,” his dad squeezes his arm lightly. “You both are free ‘n safe. The world is yours, truly yours, ‘n I know that no matter where you go, you’ll have someone by yer side. That Ranboo kid is as loyal as they come.”

“What if… what if I lose them again— I, I can’t do that. I can’t.”

“And you won’t,” Techno reassures, hand coming up to his chin to make him look up, red eyes to blue, sincere but intense. “My runt, trust Ranboo to do what is best for your happiness. Trust yourself with them. You both are connected, loved. Don’t betray that love for fear, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, letting himself relax more, burying his face into his protector’s side. “Hey dad? Have I ever thanked you for saving me all those years ago?”

Chuckling, Technoblade ruffling his hair. “You don’t have t’thank me for that, not when you should’ve never needed savin’ in the first place.”

“I know, but still,” Tommy says, giving a soft growl of love-yours-appreciated .

Mine-loved-loved , his dad rumbles back, leaning down to place a gentle kiss onto his forehead, fond and reverent.

“Boo.”

“Yes, starlight?”

Tommy squeezed his witches hand, giving them a wide grin. “Forever starts now, okay?”

“Okay,” Ranboo smiles and squeezes his hand back. “Forever starts now.”

On the edge of an abandoned town, across from an deserted orphanage and a row of burnt, uprooted trees, is a half-collapsed church that had been a refuge to a witch.

It’s old but large, with broken windows and fallen pillars half-hidden behind overgrown weeds. Inside, there are hundreds of things someone wants to avoid— holes in the floorboards, nails sticking out of place, glass on the ground. Splintered pews and shards of cement and tripping hazards, there’s dirt and dust and cracking sculptures.

There’s cut ropes and heavy, fallen doors resting on the floor between two pews.

There’s empty baskets, sections clear of dust and debris as if someone had swept it away. There’s a little nook with a leftover pillow, beads and crystals left behind, stuck in the dirt or swaying from the breeze. Spells in the wood, mold in the back, containers never to be used again tossed to the side.

It’s everything someone needs to survive, to stay hidden. It’s the only thing that a witch used to have but now— now they have more.

The loved witch leaves the town and the church behind, hand in hand with their familiar, and breathes easily for the first time in years. A portal closes around them, whisper-soft and silky with the scent of magic. They close their eyes, gasping in a lungful of air.

Opening them, they stare out at the house around them, at the family by their side.

The little golden dragon has found their witch, has completed his hoard.

Finally, they are home.