Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilbur POV:

“My first decree, as the president of L'Manberg – the EMPEROR of this great country – is to REVOKE the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit!”

Wilbur felt his heart drop and his stomach threaten to rise up to his throat. He should have known- he should have damn well known that Schlatt would betray him. Pushing back memories of being shoved into lava all those years ago, Wilbur held an arm in front of Tommy and told him sternly, “Tommy. Tommy, run.”

“Wilb- what? Wilbur, he can’t do this, can he?” his brother asked, looking as disbelieving as a child despite him profusely denying anything of the sort. But still there was a glint in his eyes that was so much more tired than any child should ever be.

Wilbur also pushed back the stirrings of guilt that settling low in his belly. Now was not the time.

“Run!” Wilbur begged him. “Go!”

There was no time to negotiate with Schlatt, no time to pack their belongings, no time to say goodbye. Already, Wilbur could see the new president ordering some of the others to attack.

So they ran.

Tommy POV:

“Fuck- Wilbur!” Tommy shouted as his brother let out a piercing scream and toppled to the floor.

Tommy couldn’t tell what had happened, didn’t know what to do. Glancing sharply up at the approaching sounds of the archers hunting them down– who had once been their friends – Tommy gently but quickly moved a groaning Wilbur so that they couldn’t be seen between a grove of bushes and a wide oak tree.

“Wilbur, what’s…” Tommy began asking, but he soon found no need to as he caught sight of the arrow sticking out of Wilbur’s shoulder. His L’Manburg general’s uniform was already painted black with blood, and Tommy was afraid to touch it in fear of making it worse.

He was panicking, he knew that.

So why couldn’t he move?

What could he even do?

Pulling out the arrow would just make Wilbur lose more blood, trying to clean it was impossible as they had nothing but what was on them. Neither of them had any potions, which were rare in the first place, and Tommy didn’t have food to offer or bandages to wrap it with.

They were trapped between ex-friends hunting them down, and uninhabited land with nothing that could make sure Wilbur didn’t die.

Tommy choked at the thought. He hated being sappy or clingy but he knew that he would truly lose it if Wilbur died. Wilbur – his brother, who had raised him more than their father ever did, who was practically his parent…

Wait…

Tommy looked guiltily down at Wilbur as he slipped his communicator out of his pocket.

Wilbur had secreted the two of them away from the Antarctic Empire and their father and older brother years ago, when Tommy had only been ten. Wilbur had waited until he was eighteen so that no one could question them living without a parent, but he had planned to leave for so long before that, maybe even before Tommy was adopted.

They weren’t abused, they weren’t hated, they weren’t mistreated. They lived a life of luxury, even! But the one thing they didn’t have was their father or brother’s attention and care. Tommy couldn’t remember a single time Phil had even spoken to him that wasn’t a reprimand for causing trouble, or a guilty, “Maybe we’ll do something tomorrow, Theseus, mate? Tech’s got something to show me.”

Wilbur would rather have their father’s love than be a prince, which was why they had left and never returned. And Tommy didn’t regret it whatsoever! They had lived together in a cottage by a nice village, and eventually with Tubbo when they had found him homeless and alone, and with Fundy (who grew older impossibly fast as all fox hybrids tended to do) after Wilbur’s little affair with a salmon that Tommy wanted to know nothing about.

The point was – Wilbur’s care and attention had been miles better than anything Phil could have given him.

But… Tommy would rather have Wilbur angry and alive, than dead.

Maybe Wilbur would be upset with what he was doing, but Tommy would never know if he didn’t try to save his brother. He would never get to hear his brother sing again, or complain about anteaters, or rant about the beneficial properties of eating sand, if he didn’t do this.

He found a name in his contacts that had been collecting dust for the past six years, and he clicked on ‘call’ without hesitation.

Chapter Text

Phil POV:

“Phil- dad, I-

“It’s Tommy- I mean, Theseus. It’s Theseus.

“I- I know it’s been a few years, and Notch, I’m sorry. I don’t regret running away with Wilbur- with William, because I had some of the best years of my life when it was just us two. But- fuck. I do miss you. I miss you and Techno a lot. And I wish I didn’t, because I didn’t like my life very much back then.

“Fuck- right- uh, I’m calling because my bitch of a brother’s been, well, shot. And- and I don’t know what to do, Phil. There’s so much blood, and we don’t have any access to supplies, we’ve been- we’ve been exiled. We’re being hunted.

“Phil, please. Will’s gonna die. You don’t owe us anything, but, Notch, please help. I need help. I don’t know what to do.”

The voice on the other end of his communicator descended into breathy sobs, sounding like someone trying desperately to stay quiet.

Phil’s blood ran cold as he heard his youngest son – his little Theseus, the brightest of them all – beg him for help. Technoblade sat across the table from him, his red eyes burning brighter as he heard about his twin for the first time in the last six years, how he was in danger of losing him for good.

It had hit hard for both him and Tech when they had noticed the absence of the youngest two, a half of their family suddenly gone.

A letter had been left on Will’s bed, hastily scribbled with Theseus’ scratchy handwriting, telling the Emperor that his two youngest were leaving because of him and his indifference. It was only after they left that Phil had noticed how poorly he had been raising his sons. He apologised to Tech that very same day for being a piss poor father and had received the heart-breaking but honest reply that he was apologising to the wrong son.

For years, Phil had ordered search groups and expeditions to look for his two sons, but to no avail. He had just about given up too, when his communicator buzzed that frosty evening. It had been a surprise, since Phil rarely gave his private contact to anyone outside of the family, only for it to reveal that one of his long-missing sons was calling.

His brave Theseus.

Phil and Tech sat in silence as Theseus stuttered over his explanation for why he had called. Phil had hoped, for one bright moment, that his sons had finally decided to return home. Looking at Technoblade’s fists, trembling with the effort to not go and satiate the voices in his head immediately, Phil wondered if his wish could come true.

“Where are you, mate?” Phil asked, voice shaking, not sure about how to feel as he said to his youngest son the first words he had spoken in over half a decade. “I’m so glad you called, son.”

Theseus’ voice was wet with restrained tears as he recited his co-ordinates, ending the call with a quick, “Please hurry, before they find us.”

They were left with a tense silence.

“How about we do as Theseus asked, mate?” Phil offered gently to his eldest son who was looking particularly more murderous than usual. Phil was afraid to ask what the voices in Tech’s head were demanding with the news of the danger the others were in. Phil didn’t even have voices in his head and he was struggling to hold back his emotions.

Tech bared his teeth, his tusks prominent. “I’m about ready to destroy whoever it was that shot Will and made Theseus cry. And that whole fucking country, come to think of it.”

“Let’s get the boys first,” Phil said reluctantly, wanting just as much to set the entirety of wherever they were ablaze. But he would hold back, just this once. He had finally learnt that his sons were more important than anything else.

Tommy POV:

Tommy was woken from his restless nap by a soft shake.

A part of him didn’t want to open his eyes, worried that he’d find Wilbur dead. He had taken the risk of leaving their hidey hole to grab some water in a crudely made wooden bowl carved from the tree they hid behind, so that he could at least attempt to clean out the wound, but it didn’t do much. After calling Phil, he was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to do much else, so he settled down uncomfortably with his unconscious brother’s head on his lap and tried to rest.

No hostile mobs could reach them in their hiding place, which was why he snapped his eyes open and reached for his axe when it finally clicked that someone must have found them.

He just didn’t expect it to be their father.

“Phil?” he muttered, eyes tearing up again (wow, he really was a clingy bitch) at the sight of kind eyes, a green and white bucket hat, and large wings.

Noticing that Wilbur was gone, he frantically searched for him before noticing that he was being held by Technoblade, his oldest brother looking unusually emotional with his unconscious twin in his arms. Good to know that Tommy wasn’t the only one.

Phil drew his attention back to him with a gentle stroke of his hair, the simple action bringing forth memories and feelings that Tommy was too tired to go through that moment.

“Are you alright, Theseus?”

“It’s Tommy,” he muttered stubbornly. “Will and I changed our names after we ran away.”

Phil gave him a soft smile, shaken by the reminder most likely. Good. “Right, you did call him Wilbur when you called.” Tommy nodded. “C’mon, mate. Let’s get out of here. I don’t know if that country you’re exiled from is still hunting you. You can tell me and Tech all about it later, yeah? Let’s go home.”

Tommy let himself be lifted into his dad’s arms, exhausted and safe.

He might not feel the warmest towards Phil and Techno, but he knew he could trust them to keep Wilbur safe and alive, so he finally felt himself relax to the beating of Phil’s wings. He could panic about the fact that he and Will were returning to the Antarctic Empire after closing his eyes for just a moment…

Chapter Text

Tommy POV:

Groggily, Tommy blinked his eyes open, breathing in the cool night air and enjoying the feeling of not being in pain or, you know, getting exiled from his fucking country. As you do.

Fuck, Wilbur!

The calm mood was broken by him shooting out of the stupidly large bed he had been placed on, remembering the events of the hours prior. Looking around, he was hit with a strong sense of déjà vu as he realised with a sharp stab in his chest that this used to be his room.

Tommy didn’t know how to feel about being back in the Antarctic Empire.

His feelings weren’t quite as complicated as Wilbur’s would be, at least. When he was younger, he could tell that their dad didn’t care as much about him and Wilbur – it was simply a fact of life. It meant he had never felt like he fit in, but he didn’t have the chance to grow a burning resentment like Wilbur had before they ran away.

Looking around at all of his old things, books Techno had gifted him that he ended up never getting the chance to read, toys he couldn’t fit into his travelling pack the night they ran, his fraying baby blanket he had purposefully left behind; he was constantly feeling that dizzying rush you get when you accidentally skip a step when going down the stairs. No doubt Wilbur would feel much more negatively about the situation, but the bitch could complain happy and alive if Tommy had anything to say about it.

If he remembered correctly, Wilbur’s room was just down the hall.

Tommy slipped out of his room, noticing that he was still wearing his L’Manburg uniform, now covered in cuts and splattered with Wilbur’s blood. He must look a right sight.

He opened the door to Will’s room to find the tall shit unconscious and with his uniform coat and shirt off, his shoulder wrapped in bandages. He released a breath when he saw the empty potion bottles on the bedside table.

Wilbur was alive, he was going to be alright. They were okay!

Tommy forced himself not to think about his beloved country, about Tubbo and Fundy and Niki and everyone else they had been forced to leave behind. He could think about that later, he had to, when he had the time and energy. For now, he would just relish in the relief that came with knowing that he hadn’t lost Wilbur however many hours ago it was.

Even though he desperately wanted to stay with his unconscious, defenceless brother, Tommy instead set out on the search for Phil and Technoblade. He was no coward nor idiot nor child, he knew they needed to talk about everything that had happened.

After a few minutes of ducking into random rooms and avoiding passing servants so they wouldn’t run away screaming at his ragged clothes and appearance, Tommy finally found a small, out-of-the-way dining room where Phil and Technoblade were eating – though it seemed that a lot more than eating had been taking place.

Their heads snapped up when Tommy entered the room, an unfurled map and several open books laying on the table between them.

“What are you up to?” he questioned suspiciously from the doorway.

“Tommy!” Phil excitedly greeted him. Tommy was surprised to see just how happy he was to see him when before, he was dismissive and indifferent.

“Err, hi, Phil.”

Technoblade nodded a greeting as Phil waved Tommy over. “We’re eating while trying to figure out where we found you, mate. I don’t think maps have been updated recently. Don’t know why you’d be exiled from the Dream SMP,” Phil wondered.

Tommy let out one of his signature laughs. “Will and I founded our own country, fighting for our independence from Dream and winning. Of course we’d win, we’re big men! Ah, our wonderful nation called L’Manburg.” Tommy collapsed onto the chair next to Phil, looking at the map where L’Manburg would be with a bittersweet twang in his heart. “We held an election to prove that we weren’t tyrannical like Dream was, though, to be fair, we were meant to be the only party running. Schlatt ended up pooling his votes with Quackity and the evil bitch won. His first act was to exile us and order for us to be hunted down. We-”

The scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor interrupted his explanation and made him jump, as Technoblade stood.

“Tech, son, sit down. We need all the information we can get first.”

Techno glowered at Phil. “The voices aren’t particularly pleased with what’s happened,” he grimaced, but still did as he was told.

Tommy snorted, leaning back recklessly in his chair and throwing an arm over the back. “Why would those fuckers care?”

It’s not like Techno ever paid attention to them or cared whatsoever, or at least, not enough to help them with Phil. Tommy wasn’t so cruel as to blame Technoblade for Phil playing favourites, but he hadn’t cared to help them when they felt neglected.

Techno shot him a look.

“You might not believe me, child, but the voices care about you and Will just as much as I do. Which is a lot, if you didn’t know. They’re angry about how you were thrown out just like that. Damn governments.”

Tommy was left speechless. He genuinely didn’t think that Technoblade cared about him all that much. Will? Sure, he was Techno’s twin and the only other piglin hybrid he knew, so it made sense that Techno cared about him at least a tad. But Tommy?

He jumped when he felt Phil place his hand on his cheek.

“I was going to talk to you and Will at the same time, but this feels like a good time to tell you that I wanted to apologise,” his father told him softly. “I should have paid you and Will more attention, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t. But Tommy, please know that I missed you both so, so much while you were gone. It doesn’t feel right without you two here with us. I’d like to make it up to you, please, if you’ll let me.”

Tommy sniffed loudly as he felt his eyes tear up. Fuck fuck fuck, this was the second time in only a few hours he’s cried like a bitch. His claims of not being clingy were growing weaker by the second.

Tommy threw his arms around his dad and let out a sob as Phil stroked his hair the same way he used to when Tommy was only a toddler.

It was more comforting than he thought it would be.

Technoblade POV:

Technoblade sat, unknowing of what to do, as his youngest brother that had been lost up until seven hours ago cried into their father’s shoulder.

He had never been the best with emotional moments, much more comfortable bathed in violence and war – he blamed the voices – but he had resolved six years ago to be a better brother and a better person, so he rose from his chair, walked around the table, and seated himself down on Theseus’s- on Tommy’s other side.

He thought maybe to pat the boy’s back, and did once or twice, the voices yapping and calling him ‘Technosoft’, demanding his little brother be protected. He pulled his hand away with a worried realisation that perhaps Tommy would not welcome his attempts to help.

“Want to see how Will is doing?” he offered awkwardly.

Even before they ran off together, William – or was it Wilbur, now? – and Tommy had been joined at the hip, leaving Technoblade alone. Surely, seeing his brother (Techno shouldn’t count, didn’t count) would make Tommy stop crying?

Tommy untangled himself from Phil and ignored the tear tracks shining on his face. “The bitch’ll probably freak out if he wakes up alone in this right big fucking castle, so sure.” Hmm, of course, like that’s the only reason his baby brother wanted to go and see Wilbur. Well, Technoblade wasn’t going to be the one to argue otherwise.

Tommy and Technoblade made their way to Will’s room, Phil having left to look for a servant to get Tommy and Wilbur some new clothes so they could replace their bloodied and ragged uniforms.

Techno had not been in Wilbur’s room since he had laid his unconscious body on the bed when they first arrived back at the castle. He had barely been able to look at him, in all honesty. His bloodied back, his body proudly wearing the uniform of a country Techno didn’t recognise, his hair a warm brown instead of the pink they used to share. It hurt Technoblade in a different way than battle ever could, the voices in his head mournful and quiet instead of impossibly loud and demanding.

It almost seemed like Wilbur had tried his best to make himself as different from Techno as possible.

Still, as Tommy flopped down next to Wilbur and Technoblade tentatively sat down on a chair by the bed, Techno asked the youngest, half fearing the answer, “Why is his hair brown?”

Tommy shrugged, which was completely and entirely helpful, the little gremlin. He then said, “Bitch was worried we’d be hunted if he looked like a hybrid. So he pretended to be human, and he just kept it up even in the Dream SMP because that fear never really leaves. At least, that’s what the sod said when Tubbo asked.”

“Tubbo?”

Tommy sat up on the bed excitedly, looking for all the world like a miniature sun as he beamed at Technoblade. “Will and I found him homeless on the side of a- wait, we were travelling from the west coast and we- so we see him, right? And he was obviously homeless and you know how Will goes all melty around cute things- Tubbo is bloody small so I guess that counts? And we just kept him like a clingy dog. He’s our brother,” he quickly told him, interrupting himself like an idiot.

Technoblade didn’t think he had ever seen Tommy look so happy, and with that thought, he cemented the idea that Tommy and Wilbur leaving had been good for them – for the most part. Techno also didn’t know how to take the fact that he had another sibling, but he decided to reserve judgment until he met the kid. Anyone Tommy liked was sure to be chaotic.

Tommy tilted his head and his eyes widened like he just had an epiphany. “Oh yeah! And Will has a kid. Like, a biological kid.” He made a face. And he said he wasn’t a child, dumbass.

Techno blinked. “I’m… an uncle?” Wilbur was only 24, what the…?

“Yep! Fundy! It’s funny because he’s a fox hybrid, so even though he’s my nephew, he looks older than me.”

Tommy cackled loudly.

This caused Wilbur to shift minutely, Tommy and Techno freezing as he groaned.

Technoblade held his breath as his twin opened his eyes – brown, why were they brown and not red? – and looked right into his.

Chapter Text

Wilbur POV:

Wilbur found himself floating in an empty void, too exhausted to dream. He could tell that he was approaching wakefulness by how he could slowly piece together what he last remembered.

He and Tommy, they had been betrayed by Schlatt, they were running from people who had once been their friends, yes, and then what? He remembered a piercing pain in his shoulder and falling to the ground, and then everything went fuzzy. He must have fallen unconscious.

Oh, Tommy, poor Tommy! He must have been so worried, hunted alone with an unconscious brother in uninhabited woods. What happened after? Was Tommy alright?

He forced himself to wake up faster, needing to know what happened, needing to have control of the situation. That had always been his greatest flaw, wasn’t it? That was why he had so readily agreed when everyone expected him to be president after the Independence War, despite his apprehension and the overwhelming pressure he felt. It was why he had tried to keep the election on the downlow so POG could be the only party running. Except, that was what caused Schlatt to win, wasn’t it?

What did that mean in the narrative of his life?

Wilbur, admittedly, used the coping mechanism of imagining his life in a structured plot, a detailed narrative that made sense. Perhaps it was inevitable, from listening to Technoblade reading him story after story when they were younger.

It gave him the reassurance that his life was worth living – because every story was worth listening to no matter how happy or sad, or how impossible it was to win.

In the narrative of his life, he could feel the dip of the rollercoaster leading down down down. He could barely hold on as he felt everyone leave him behind – except for Tommy, which he would forever be grateful for – and side with Schlatt. His own son left him. It was just Eret over and over again.

Even if they were still on his side and being forced to stay in L'Manburg, then what?

What would they expect from him?

Would they look upon him and say that he needed to take L’Manburg back, bring her back to her former glory and truly make her a freedom from tyranny like he had promised so long ago?

Well, that was impossible.

And he didn’t need anyone’s eyes on him, demanding too much of him, because he already had his own. The little voice in his head that always asked for too much, never stopping, never waiting, all the way up to the point where he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and if he took even one wrong step, it would all come crashing down on him.

He had barely been thinking straight for a minute in his subconscious and already he felt overwhelmed by the responsibility he had placed upon himself. As he asked himself the question, how far would he go for L’Manburg, his unfinished symphony, he desperately wanted to cry.

He could feel it already, truth be told. The anger. The pain.

The need to rush back to L’Manburg and fight for his country, the nation he had made for his younger brothers and son. Maybe it was his piglin ancestry (piglins were known for being awfully possessive of what they saw as theirs), or maybe it was just intrinsically him. He wanted to go to L’Manburg and let his fury rule over his actions, to fight back brutally in a way he had refused to do in the War of Independence, to win back his country from Schlatt.

It was so easy to be mad at Schlatt.

But… but Wilbur knew that he had a similar mindset to him, that whole narrative they shared. Perhaps that was why they had gotten along so well when they were younger, in their late teens. Schlatt probably saw the opportunity to be the antagonist in the history books and took it for no other reason than that (and the call of power, of course). How could Wilbur blame him when he understood so easily why?

It didn’t stop him from wanting to fight back though.

Still, whether he would follow the narrative or not didn’t matter, not at that moment. For now, Wilbur needed to find Tommy.

So he pushed himself to wake up, following the sound of his brother’s unique laughter – was that his imagination? How could his brother laugh after the tragedy that had occurred? – until he was finally awake.

He blinked his eyes open, only to look right into the eyes of his twin brother.

He made to get up, to demand answers, but a sharp pain at his shoulder caused him to let out a hiss, flinching. Right, right, he had been shot, that’s right. Fuck.

“Wilby, you’re finally awake, bitch!” he heard from behind him.

Wilbur painfully turned his body to see his Tommy, his darling youngest brother. “Oh thank Notch you’re okay,” Wilbur breathed. Tommy must have taken pity of him, or decided to be clingy that day, since he shuffled closer on the bed and carefully hugged him so as not to hurt him.

He could process being in the castle of his childhood with his twin brother in the same room later, as Tommy always came first.

Actually, fuck that.

“Tommy, why the fuck are we here?” Wilbur demanded, pulling back from the hug.

Tommy, in normal Tommy fashion, immediately went on the defensive with a side of swearing. “Oi, bitch! You’re a bitch! You were bleeding out behind a fucking bush, you bitch, what else was I meant to do? Let you die?!”

“He has a point,” that familiar, deep voice said behind him. Wilbur tensed up. Technoblade. Wilbur didn’t even know how to respond, how to talk to him anymore. Truthfully, he thought that he’d never see him or Phil ever again once he and Tommy had run away. He hadn’t prepared for this, he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t have control.

“Wilbur,” Tech said. “Look at me.”

He did.

His eyes were the same as Wilbur’s, under the contacts he wore. His hair was the same pink, long and intricately braided like in all of Wilbur’s memories, except somehow even longer. His face was the same too, if a bit more mature. His tusks and ears were longer and adorned with gold, subconsciously calming the piglin part of Wilbur’s stupid hybrid brain (ha ha gold make piglin brain go brr, Wilbur thought, before shoving it away. Now was not the time).

“Hi, Tech,” he muttered.

“Wilbur,” he said again, voice steady and comforting. “And Tommy. Both of you. Look, I’ll only say this once – I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never got Phil to pay more attention to you. I’m sorry you felt the need to run away.”

Wilbur didn’t know how to respond. He had been so sure that Phil and Technoblade wouldn’t miss them, wouldn’t feel remorse.

The silence left in the room was broken by Tommy raising his arms in surrender, saying, “Technically, you said sorry three times, Techn-”

“Silence, gremlin child,” Technoblade responded. Wilbur giggled at the back-and-forth before wincing. “Right, I think you’ve had enough, Will. Go back to sleep.”

Wilbur protested, of course he did. He had gotten an apology from his brother (if that was hard, how’ll he react to seeing his dad?!) and he and Tommy were okay, he didn’t want to go back to sleep! But the ache in his shoulder and the low rumble of his twin’s voice were making him woozy, and before he knew it, he was falling back asleep with Tommy tucked into his side and Technoblade making little braids in his hair. It was a better reunion than he could have ever hoped for.

Technoblade POV:

“Phil?” he said, the moment he stepped into the throne room. There, Phil stood with the crown on his head, surrounded by several advisors and servants. Phil, to his credit, immediately stepped aside to talk to him, ordering them all out of the room so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Hiya, mate.”

“Phil, Wilbur woke up for a moment, and though he went to sleep right afterward, we got the opportunity to talk,” he said, voice monotone, but Phil knew him well enough to see the pure excitement flowing through him. His head was full of

TECHNOSOFT

Tommy’s a gremlin child but we love him

POG POG POG POG

TECHNOTWIN POG

RACCOONINNIT

Protect them!!

WILBY AWAKE! WILBY IS BACK

POG

It was mostly just ridiculously annoying. He’d say that it was normal, but in all honesty, he really wasn’t used to the voices being positive instead of demanding blood.

Phil practically lit up at the news. “Will, is he alright? He’ll need the next batch of potions within the hour, won’t he?”

Technoblade shrugged slightly. “Idiot’s just as stubborn as he was when he was younger. His hair and eyes are brown though. Tommy said it was to hide from hybrid hunters.” Techno hated being vulnerable but the voices were considerably softer than usual and Phil always had an aura of kindness and protection around him. “But Phil, I can’t help but think that he’s trying to just not be like me. Is it me?”

“Ah, Tech, mate, Will’s a tough one to crack, you know that. As expressive as he is, it’s fucking hard knowing what the bastard’s thinking. But I doubt it’s to separate himself from you. It’s probably a part of his disguise as a human.” Phil patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

Techno nodded and decided to put his doubts aside. He was given this flicker of a chance to bond again with his brothers and he refused to douse it.

“Make sure they’re safe, Tech.”

Technoblade huffed. “They will be, once that country of theirs pays for what it’s done.”

Phil nodded understandingly, the same fire in his eyes that reminded Techno of the man that had defeated the dragon of legend. This very man has seen his sons’ lives threatened, and much like that dragon, he would protect his horde until his final breath.

“Right you are, mate. We’ll sort it out. But for now, guard them. I can’t lose them again.”

Phil POV:

Phil walked towards the majestically carved door that would lead to his middle son’s room, his steps growing more tentative the closer he got. How would Wilbur react to his presence? His son had every right to be mad at him, to hate him for how he and the youngest were treated.

And yet Phil couldn’t help but feel every ounce of delight possible when he finally laid his eyes on the tall and lanky form of his second eldest son, the poet and the musician and the absolutely talented leader when he wanted to be. Phil had missed him desperately these past six years, and he resolved for the thousandth time to make up for the mistakes of his past.

“Philza Minecraft,” Wilbur greeted with a generous helping of snark, sitting up on his bed.

Phil assumed that his son was nervous or at least felt somewhat awkward seeing him again, but Wilbur hid it so perfectly while still managing to look expressive and not emotionless, to the point that Phil would never have been able to guess if he hadn’t raised the shit. Phil had never told him how impressed he was with his middle son before he and the youngest had fled, but now was his chance, was it not? His chance to fix everything.

“Will, I’m so happy to see you again.”

Wilbur said nothing.

“Truly.” Phil cleared his throat. He stood at the doorway, unsure if he was welcome any further in. Wilbur’s piercing and knowing eyes, now brown, never training off him, admittedly unsettled him quite a bit.

“Will, I’d like to say sorry for not being the dad you deserved,” he finally said, which must have surprised Wilbur since he leaned back and stopped glaring so pointedly at him. “And I mean it. This is no empty apology. I was a neglectful dad to both you and Tommy, and I just want you to know that I recognise that now, and I’m sorry. There’s no need to forgive me, or even acknowledge my apology, son, I’ll still try to make up for it. I love you.”

Since Wilbur’s body language wasn’t as hostile anymore, Phil risked entering the room further, and sitting down on the bed next to his son, who was still dressed only in bloodied trousers and a bandage wrapped around his shoulder and torso.

It was still the most wonderful thing Phil had ever seen.

Wilbur slowly hugged him, one hand clutched at the robe Phil tended to wear and the other tangled in the feathers at the base of his left wing, the position he usually took every time he would hug Phil when he was younger. Phil was hit over the head with a strong boot filled with déjà vu, a most glorious feeling. He wanted to never let go.

“Are you proud of me, dad?” Wilbur asked him quietly, voice hesitant and yet begging.

Phil cupped his head with his hand and held his child close. “Wilbur, mate, I have never stopped being proud of you once, and I have never been more proud of you than I am now. You, Wilbur Soot, you managed to win independence from a well-known and powerful nation with only a few people by your side, without using undue violence or the influence of your princely status. Wilbur, that’s incredible. You raised your little brother more than I ever did. Notch, mate, you’re absolutely amazing and I’m so, so proud of you.”

Phil didn’t mention how his shoulder grew wet, as his son cried silently in his embrace.

It was full of tears and blood and doubt, but Phil wouldn’t have had their reunion end any different – with a warm hug.

Chapter Text

Tommy POV:

It had been only a month since Wilbur and Tommy were welcomed back as princes of the Empire, and already, much had changed.

Wilbur and Tommy had finally changed out of their L’Manburg uniforms and now they tended to wear the traditional royal wear of the Antarctic Empire – uncomfortable for Wilbur, though Tommy took to it like a fish to water. Other than the servants of the castle, their return had yet to be revealed to the Empire at large – both of them wanting to lay low as long as L’Manburg, or more accurately, Manburg, stood strong. They had been keeping up with news as best as they could from such a far distance but it was tricky.

Wilbur had decided to stop dyeing his hair and wearing eye contacts since the threat of being discovered as a hybrid was non-existant, so he looked a lot more like Technoblade than he had in the past six years, with blood red eyes and pink roots showing. Tommy made sure to make fun of him for it whenever he could.

Phil had apologised to both of them by now, and the family of four was slowly growing closer as the weeks passed.

Every time Technoblade heard Wilbur playing on a borrowed guitar (his own having been left in Manburg), he commented on it instead of ignoring it like he used to. Every time Phil saw Tommy getting up to mischief, he’d even be likely to help him out instead of just reprimanding him like before.

With every instance that proved a change from the past, their bonds grew tighter.

So tight in fact, that it was getting to the point where Tommy was doubting if he even wanted to return to Manburg. Of course, he longed to see Tubbo and Fundy and all of the others again (except perhaps Dream, Eret, and Schlatt, those fuckers), but he didn’t care for the land of Manburg itself. Only the people, really.

But Wilbur wasn’t like him.

He could tell that Wilbur wanted to return to Manburg, with every twitch at its mention and every longing glance out the window. He was playing the L’Manburg national anthem more often than not, whenever Tommy caught him playing the guitar.

Tommy didn’t know how to feel about it, personally. He was worried that Wilbur was growing obsessed with it. He knew that Wilbur’s experience with mental health wasn’t the best, despite being shielded from the worst of it when he was younger. He had hoped that Wilbur had gotten better but he could see the signs. In the rich and sheltered life of the castle, maybe they had the time and opportunity to get Wilbur the help they couldn’t afford back in the small cottage they used to live in.

Wilbur’s obsession with Manburg reminded Tommy of something, actually.

Of… of his obsession with his disks.

Was it an obsession? Tommy hadn’t believed so, but thinking about it, he could admit that he thought about his disks and the idea of getting them back probably way too much to be healthy. He sort of understood why some of the others saw his need to have his disks as stupid and a weakness. He could so easily be controlled by them.

But that didn’t change the symbolism behind them, the meaning they held to him. He could no sooner stop wanting his disks that Dream could stop wearing that stupid fucking mask.

Still though…

Tommy looked at Wilbur’s frown every mealtime they shared and the way he pushed his food around the plate more than actually eat it, the slump in his shoulders and the bags under his eyes, and he came to the conclusion that he didn’t want to be put in the position Wilbur was in now: where his obsession was threatening his happiness.

Tommy decided to let his disks go. It would be hard, but he was willing to put in the effort. Dream could keep them for all he cared.

As long as he had his family, he’d be happy. That was one obsession he’d be willing to keep.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy stepped into the hidden dining room in which he had first spoken to Techno and Phil a month ago. The four of them were planning to discuss what they could do about the situation, since Technoblade had noticed Wilbur’s fidgeting too and wanted to get on with it soon. Tommy guessed the voices in his head wanted revenge just as much as Wilbur did.

“So, what plans do you have?” Wilbur asked their dad and brother after greeting Tommy with a small but warm smile. His big brother Wilbur was still there. A dark part of Tommy’s mind wondered how long that’d last.

“The obvious conclusion we need is the removal of the Schlatt Administration,” Technoblade answered, pointing at the map spread out on the table, newly updated to include Manburg. A small but powerful nation that should belong to Wilbur and him, in Tommy’s humble opinion. Them and the other original L’Manburgians, except for Eret of course, the fucker.

“There are a lot of ways to do that,” Phil continued, letting out a laugh. “So Tech and I have been gathering materials. Just normal things, y’know. Potions, armour, fireworks, withers-”

“Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah!” Tommy interrupted, leaping out of his chair. “I did not agree to destroying L’Manburg. It’s still our home!”

“Tommy, do you think Schlatt’s just gonna let you stroll in and take it back?” Techno argued. “He shot Wilbur when you guys left the place, what’ll happen when you eventually return?”

“But you can’t destroy L’Manburg!” Tommy insisted. “We built it, we built it with everything we had, and it’s my home. All my friends live there!”

Phil sighed softly. “Tommy, mate, there might not be another choice.”

Tommy smacked a hand down onto the table. “You can’t be serious!”

He turned to Wilbur, hoping for some backup, but balked at the thoughtful look on the bitch’s face.

“Wilbur!”

“What?” he crossed his arms defensively. “Look, Tommy, you have to admit that L’Manburg’s not the most democratic of places. Fuck, we started it as a drug empire!” Phil and Techno shared an confused but amused glance off to the side, which Tommy did not appreciate whatsoever. “Now it’s just as tyrannical as Dream’s land! It’s not the same place we made. It’s not home. It’s not L’Manburg.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, it was worse than Tommy thought, wasn’t it?

“We don’t know that,” Tommy stubbornly told him. “Schlatt’s bad, but it’s still L’Manburg!” Wilbur only shook his head, not bothering to explain why the fuck he thought blowing up his own country was a good idea!

Phil looked between the three of them and sighed, which, again, Tommy really did not appreciate. “We’ll keep that on the back burner, then,” his dad suggested, rubbing his face. “For now, let’s just let you two get over the ordeal and let Manburg do its own thing. Not much we can do while Will’s still on the mend anyways.” Potions could only do so much, and Wilbur’s piglin ancestry made him just slightly more resistant to potions in general, meaning that he and Technoblade had to wait longer for injuries to heal. It only added to Tommy’s hero worship of Technoblade’s ability to fight.

Wilbur grumbled but complied with his dad. His shoulder was completely healed, but his movement was still impeded. Tommy considered making fun of him but decided to just storm out of the room instead.

He couldn’t let them destroy L’Manburg! He needed to convince Wilbur that it was worth saving. But how…?

Chapter Text

Wilbur POV:

“Good morning, Wilbur, want to go on a walk with me?” Tommy asked him the morning after their sham of a meeting. Wilbur narrowed his eyes in suspicion but agreed.

He was on edge the entire time they strolled through the snow covered orchard connected to the castle, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. Tommy yapped on about Technoblade training him to be better with an axe and how to use that cool firework crossbow that Wilbur was entirely too fascinated by (gunpowder was truly a gift). Tommy mentioned nothing about the previous day.

They ended their walk to eat lunch, and the trend continued. Wilbur was utterly confused.

“Hey, big man!” Tommy called after him, running down the corridor and generally causing a ruckus, a few days later. Wilbur stopped to let his little legs (relatively, seeing as he himself was, in Tommy’s words, a fucking giant) catch up to where he was.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Wilbur questioned immediately. The moon was high in the sky, a normal time for Wilbur to still be up wandering the castle like a ghost.

“Bitch, I could say the same to you! Bitch!” Tommy wheezed. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d keep you company!”

Wilbur paused. That was very kind of Tommy- not that his brother wasn’t wonderfully sweet at times, he just hadn’t expected it. Everyone was awfully busy all the time, Phil did have an empire to run, Tech needed to train to keep up with his unbeatable standards, and Tommy was constantly busy with training, studying, and planning. Wilbur had spent a lot of his days alone with his thoughts. It was fine though, he was fine.

“Oh,” he said dumbly. “Sure.”

They spent the night chatting, and Wilbur laughed harder than he had in a while. It felt surprisingly good.

Tommy barged into his room while he was scribbling down in a book his newest plan to take back L’Manburg.

Wilbur hastily covered up the book with his arms as Tommy bounced in one spot without having paid attention to what Wilbur was doing. “Wilbur! It’s time for lunch, bitch! Come on, the chefs made your favourite!”

How would they even know what his favourite meal was, Wilbur wondered, but he said, “Pog,” and was soon distracted by Tommy dragging him out of the room.

Socialisation and having to actually eat food were a good way to forget the question though, as he sat laughing together and bonding as a family. It was good, really good, but his mind still stuck over the thought of L’Manburg like a raincloud. His thoughts could only be distracted for so long.

Wilbur sat in a quiet corridor on a windowsill, the sun lighting up the warm coloured wood of the guitar in his hands. It had been two months since they had been exiled and Wilbur was finally set to be cleared for perfect health in a couple of days, and he honestly couldn’t wait.

“Hi, Wilby. Would you play me a song?” his little shit of a brother asked after popping out of nowhere.

Wilbur set down his guitar harder than he meant to. “What do you want?”

Tommy mock-gasped, puffing himself up full of offense. He looked ridiculous. “Can’t I just want a song from my favourite brother?”

“Tubbo’s your favourite brother. Stop bullshitting me.”

Tommy flopped down onto the windowsill next to Wilbur and sagged against the closed window. Tommy had a lot of good qualities but he had never possessed much patience.

“I don’t want L’Manburg blown up.”

“It’s Manburg now,” Wilbur said instead of what he actually wanted to say. That their country must have been doomed from the start. That Wilbur had never actually wanted to lead despite his desperation for control. That he used to cry himself to sleep at night when he had been president.

He didn’t want that back.

It wasn’t even that he wanted to spare the others the cruelty of living under Schlatt’s administration, though he did want that as well. He was just overwhelmed, and so so tired. Every time Tommy looked to him for ideas of how to get back L’Manburg, what they would do after they were back in power, how excited he was to see all of their friends again, Wilbur felt like banging his head into the stone wall.

He was losing his patience. He so desperately wanted to shout to Tommy, don’t you see?! Can’t you see what’s right in front of you?! L’Manburg is gone, gone, gone long ago, and it’s never coming back!

But Wilbur couldn’t let down his baby brother, the only person left whom he hadn’t disappointed. His son had left him for Schlatt, his ex-best friend turned tyrant. The others, Niki and Tubbo, that he had seen as family hadn’t done anything to help. Everyone he had once known had so quickly discarded him and moved on to someone new.

Couldn’t Tommy see how taking power back from Schlatt – when everyone so obviously wanted him as president, hated Wilbur when he was president – was illegal? Was immoral?

Are we the bad guys, in this story?

But Tommy wouldn’t understand, and so Tommy didn’t get to hear his explanation. It would instead fester in his mind forever. Schlatt would call him overdramatic (the hypocrite), but it was simply true. Wilbur couldn’t stop thinking about it, obsessing over it, to the point where he hadn’t slept in days.

“I don’t care what it’s called,” Tommy groaned, his face smushed against the tinted glass. He avoided Wilbur’s gaze. “It’s still full of the people I care about. What if they get hurt in whatever destruction you guys wanna get up to?”

Wilbur hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt the others. The thought Fundy, traitor or not, being harmed made his heart ache.

But he just couldn’t see L’Manburg living up to the ideals of its national anthem. He didn’t think anywhere could be completely free from brutality and tyranny, not even the Antarctic Empire. It felt like a hopeless uphill battle, and Wilbur was already exhausted before it had even begun.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Tommy.”

“No, Wilbur, we need to talk about this. You’ll be healed up soon and then we won’t have the chance. Just- please, just listen to me.”

Wilbur let out a harsh sigh but he did as Tommy asked, putting down his guitar and giving the little shit his full attention.

Tommy stood in front of him, fidgeting. “Wilby, I’m worried about you,” Tommy muttered, flushed.

Wilbur’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t been expecting… this.

“What do you mean?”

Tommy sighed harshly and plopped down onto the floor in front of him, head in his hands. He stared at the floor instead of looking at Wilbur.

“You’re acting like how you used to, back when you would only write sad songs and you wouldn’t get out of bed. You tried to hide it from Tubs, Fundy, and I, but we noticed, man. I don’t want that happening again. It can’t. It can’t.”

Wilbur blinked at the sudden realisation that his little brother was right.

He knew he had been struggling a bit, but he hadn’t recognised the similarities to his depression in his early twenties, back when he was raising three kids on his own and still bitter about his childhood.

He had started to eat less, sleep less, and he refused to train with the others or even get armour commissioned (though his dad had done so anyways). It had been a while since he had cut his hair and it was falling over his eyes in messy, multicoloured curls, hiding eyebags and bloodshot eyes. It was obvious, now that it had been pointed out, but Wilbur hadn’t even recognised his actions for what they were.

“Oh,” he let out, falling to his knees in front of Tommy and wrapping him in a tentative hug, unsure if it would be well-received.

“You’re a moron, Wilbur,” Tommy told him, the words muffled against Wilbur’s shoulder.

He squeezed him tighter. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m sorry. But just because I’ve realised how shit I’m getting doesn’t stop me from wanting L’Manburg gone.”

Tommy nodded reluctantly.

“Just give me a chance,” Tommy pleaded. He pulled back from the hug and rolled his shoulders awkwardly, puffing himself up with false bravado. “‘Cause I’m obviously the most intelligent in the family!”

“Oh, really?” Wilbur smirked.

Tommy smacked him on the arm. “Yeah, bitch! You might know all that geography shit and Techno could probably recite the tale of Orpheus – thank Notch I wasn’t fucking named that – word for word, but I still know plenty of shit! Or to be more specific, how to get Women.”

“He could, you know. Recite the tale of Orpheus, I mean. He’s done it before.” When they were only eight. At two in the morning. In Wilbur’s room. For absolutely no fucking reason. Still, it was an interesting tale – Wilbur found the afterlife fascinating.

“Oh fuck, really?” Tommy muttered, looking mildly impressed.

Wilbur didn’t respond, only laughing and getting up from the polished floors, holding out a hand for Tommy to grab. Their conversation was far from over, he knew, but they could have it another day. For now, Wilbur wanted to enjoy spending time with his little brother without worrying about lost nations and old friends and the smell of gunpowder.

One thing he could definitely admit was that he didn’t want to lose this, his love for his baby brother, their tightknit bond. If he had to trust the little shit to keep it, then that’s what he’ll do.

Chapter Text

Tommy POV:

It had six months since Wilbur and Tommy’s exile, which was just… wow. That was a longer time than they had even lived in L’Manburg, which was crazy to think about.

Tommy had convinced Wilbur, once he had been declared perfectly healthy (except for the malnutrition and insomnia, of course), to wait a little while longer, just to train up and plan some more.

Techno insisted that Wilbur would be useless as a twig, and threatened to refuse to let him come, so Wilbur reluctantly began being pressured into eating at mealtimes and sleeping more often. The downside was that he was all the more fast when chasing Tommy after he had shouted, “Pogchamp!” at him when he fell over in the snow that one time.

The four of them had done a stupid therapy circle time thing, surprisingly suggested by yours truly. Tommy was still worried about Wilbur, so he decided that he’d take the time to help the bastard. He could be nice when he wanted, see! They had gotten Wilbur to talk about his mental baggage and all the paranoia he felt towards pretty much everything that moved. Tommy only hoped that having a stable life for the past six months with his family improved that.

Tommy had spent his time training with Technoblade, and he could feel himself improving as he was given the care and attention he should have had from the beginning. He could only imagine how awesome the Independence War could have gone if he and Wilbur had been better trained in combat and strategic warfare.

Speaking of strategies, they had a new and improved plan!

Or as Tommy liked to call it, PUSSY (Plan Used to Successfully Secure Y-L’Manburg – it was a work in progress).

The entire premise of the plan was that they would in fact not be blowing up Manburg, but instead using the strength of the Antarctic Empire to their advantage. As a matter of pride, Tommy and Wilbur had protested at first, having fought for their country for so long without it, but eventually they were convinced by their overprotective father and brother. They would threaten Manburg with war, and if that didn’t work, the four of them would simply find and deal with Schlatt, whether through murder or negotiation. A pure coin toss, really.

Fuck, their family was chaotic. Tommy loved it.

Tommy wanted to avoid murder though. As much as he talked about stabbing shit, he’d had quite enough of war in his old and wise age.

Luckily, Wilbur insisted that he knew how to convince Schlatt to stop being a pain without resorting to violence, and Tommy tentatively trusted him. The evidence aligned, anyways.

They had only recently run away when they bumped into the ram hybrid, and he and Wilbur got along stupidly well considering that Wilbur was practically a dad living that sweet cottagecore life and Schlatt was a smug businessman that shouldn’t be allowed around children whatsoever (he kept offering little Tommy porn magazines, and Wilbur used to chase him around trying to take them back. Ah, good memories).

Tommy couldn’t remember why Wilbur and Schlatt stopped hanging out. Something about the little journeys the two would take alone, exploring different worlds and coming back with interesting stories.

One day, Wilbur had returned alone with absolutely nothing at hand, almost as if he had died, and that was that. Tommy knew that the two of them exchanged letters after, getting over whatever had happened, and that was how they had asked Schlatt to come and endorse them in the election. That, obviously, ended up being a fatal mistake.

The point of the matter being – Tommy trusted Wilbur to know how Schlatt ticked.

So, six months later, Wilbur had grown impatient and to be honest, so had Tommy.

With the plan laid out, Wilbur’s hair now fully pink and back to it’s original, floofy length, and the four of them dressed in clothes fit for royalty with enchanted netherite armour underneath, they were ready to go.

The journey was much longer than the one taken six months ago. That time, Phil had flown and Techno had pearl-hopped his way with piles upon piles of ender pearls (that must have cost a fortune, it hurt Tommy’s head just to think about), and they had pearl-hopped their way back to the Antarctic Empire with Wilbur and Tommy in their arms. This time, that would be much more expensive seeing as there were four of them, and they were hesitant to separate if Phil flew.

So instead, they opted to simply ride their way there on horses taken from the royal stables. Tommy had named his stallion Clementine and he ignored the odd look Wilbur shot his way.

Bitch didn’t have any right to judge, he named his horse Oreli. What kind of fucking name was that?

The journey took a good couple of weeks, but soon enough, they were approaching the lands commonly known as the Dream SMP. Wilbur and Tommy most likely still had access, but they would need to get Dream to allow Phil and Techno in. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Tommy didn’t know.

He didn’t trust Dream, didn’t understand him, but Tommy trusted Wilbur, and Wilbur was confident.

Dream POV:

Despite being largely uninvolved with the drama of the surrounding lands, Dream still kept up to date with everything Manburg was getting up to. Namely, a festival or two that sounded more like enforced prison time than anything fun, in Dream’s humble opinion. He kept out of it, letting Manburg turn into a dictatorship and a police state so unlike the freedom from tyranny a young man with a guitar and a sliver tongue had once promised.

Speaking of: he could feel, as Admin, the approach of several people to his lands. Two of them, he could easily identify as Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit from their mere presences, which came as a surprise though perhaps not as much as it would have been for any other member of his nation or Manburg.

After all, dead men can’t talk.

The other two, however, Dream didn’t recognise, though one seemed uncannily familiar. They didn’t have access to enter his SMP, however, so he made his way to the border to welcome them and give them access, not letting anyone know so as to not threaten Wilbur and Tommy’s lives.

In the distance, he saw four figures, all dressed in blues except for one with a red cloak. He kept an eye out for Wilbur’s familiar brown hair, but he could only see two blond and two pink-haired men. How peculiar.

He’d seen someone with pink hair before, hadn’t he?

The self-proclaimed Blood God, Technoblade. A fitting name – the two of them had fought before, and Dream had even lost the fight, earning the Blood God his strong respect. Was this him, or simply another crowned piglin hybrid with long, braided hair? Dream didn’t believe in coincidences.

It was clear one of the pink-haired men was Wilbur. They had spent enough time fighting a war for him to recognise his face instantly even at such a distance, and his height and the beanie he was wearing underneath his crown were obvious giveaways as well.

The other was clearly – as he had thought – Technoblade. Were they, perhaps, related? If so, no wonder Wilbur had been such a pain in the ass during L’Manburg’s War of Independence.

He didn’t recognise one of the blond men, though he looked familiar, as if he had seen a portrait of him before.

But the other blond was easy to identify. Dream had spent so long fighting against him too, and the boy had earned his respect the moment he parted with his most prized possessions for the good of his nation and his people.

The little shit (that was untrue actually, he was stupidly tall for a sixteen year old, and he’d likely overtake Dream in height over the next couple of years, unfortunately) had the audacity to stick his tongue out at him when the group caught sight of him. Though they couldn’t know, Dream stuck his tongue out too in retaliation. It’s the little things that made life worth living.

Wilbur gracefully got off his horse, looking for all the world like a prince – which, thinking about it, would explain quite a bit.

“Good morning, Dream,” Wilbur kindly greeted, a determined fire blazing in his eyes. Dream couldn’t stop flicking his eyes between his unnaturally coloured hair and the imposing figure of Technoblade standing protectively behind him.

Dream cautiously shook the outstretched hand, electing to be polite. He was curious, now that the ex-president and his running mate had returned to their ruined nation, to see what they would do.

“Wilbur Soot.”

“How’s the SMP been without Tommy and I, then? Any more wars? I doubt it, without us to start them,” Wilbur joked. He made a good point.

“No. But there might as well have been. Schlatt is not a good president in any way and, as much as it pains me to say, at least you sort of knew what you were doing as a leader,” he admitted.

Perhaps some flattery would get Wilbur to take back the presidency. Dream hadn’t wanted L’Manburg to exist, but once it did, Dream hadn’t minded too much. Wilbur was a good leader, and he clearly didn’t care for expanding the borders or threatening any more war. Schlatt was different, he was dangerous, and Dream wanted him gone. He couldn’t do anything about it, as he had signed that agreement with L’Manburg back when Wilbur was in charge, promising he wouldn’t attack. Unfortunately, he couldn’t go against it without severe consequences. But this, this was interesting.

Dream eyed the only member of the group he had yet to meet, finally recognising him from political and history books. A king. An emperor. A winged hybrid and a famed legend. And possibly Tommy and Wilbur’s father. “Though I suppose that makes more sense now.”

Wilbur let out a warm laugh, his eyes lighting up in amusement. A blood red.

How had Dream not known that one of his ex-subjects, and the leader of his once enemies, was a hybrid? Did anyone know?

“Very true, Dream. Speaking of Schlatt, actually, do you know if our exile has been retracted?”

Dream slowly shook his head, mind still processing over his thoughts. “Everyone thinks you’re dead, actually. Schlatt gave an announcement and everything.”

Wilbur raised his eyebrows in obviously fake surprise. Had he expected that to happen? Even Dream had been surprised when Schlatt gave the announcement, though he understood perfectly well the purpose of such a thing – to destroy hope.

Dream wasn’t an idiot, he knew that Wilbur was intelligent. He had garnered support from many of his people in the War of Independence, and he was charismatic, a popular and skilled general and president. It wouldn’t surprise Dream if Wilbur had a perfectly detailed plan of what he would do once he returned to Manburg. He was just confused as to how Wilbur knew Schlatt well enough to guess what he’d do.

“Truly?” Wilbur asked, hand on his chest.

Dream hummed. His gaze was still locked on Technoblade who stared back just as strongly. They had ended their fight well, on good terms, but apparently this was a completely different situation. If they were truly related – were they related? – then Dream understood the need to protect what was his. This was about more than just land to the Blood God, this was about his brother(?).

“No graves though,” Dream continued. “No one believed him. Though their hope is still lower than before, so I suppose he’s succeeded anyways.” Wilbur nodded knowingly. Dream couldn’t take it anymore, he blurted out, “I didn’t know you were related to Technoblade.”

The friendly smile on Wilbur’s face morphed into a wide grin, showing off teeth sharper than a human’s had any right to be, though not the tusks Technoblade proudly bared.

How had Dream nor anyone else not realise Wilbur’s hybrid status?

“I supposed it never came up in conversation,” the tall man shrugged lightly, the sword glinting in its sheath on Wilbur’s side revealing itself with the movement. Enchanted netherite. Ah, yes, he was most likely here to take back his country, curse him for getting distracted. Dream could slap himself for his ignorance later, they had more important things to discuss.

“What do you plan to do with Manburg?” he asked curiously, giving the Emperor – Philza, he believed his name was – and the Blood God access to his SMP at the same time.

“Knowing Tech?” Wilbur snorted. “Probably total anarchy. Hope you have fun either way.”

Dream appreciated it. Wilbur had always been far too accommodating. It seemed Tommy agreed, since the boy gave his brother an odd look.

“Mind if I escort you?” Dream offered. He didn’t want to miss this for the world, and he wanted to make sure they entered the country without getting attacked like they did when they were exiled. Then again, they were all perfectly safe, with the powerful armour he saw under their clothes, and no doubt they had more tricks up their sleeves. The Antarctic Empire was known for beyond superior military skills and tactics. This will be fun.

“Not at all, Big D!” Tommy piped up, slinging an arm over Dream’s shoulders. He could admit that he had missed Tommy’s determination and bright youth, his absence casting the land in a haze of grey, but he had most definitely not missed the nicknames.

Dream tried shrugging him off but Tommy clung on like a particularly stubborn clamshell. Wilbur snickered by his side while Technoblade and the Emperor began following them further into his land towards Manburg. This was going to be a long few minutes.

He shot Wilbur an inquisitive look, though the man wouldn’t be able to see it, as he asked, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Schlatt’s shitty rule had nothing to do with lack of cunning.

Wilbur shrugged, though his small smile radiated confidence. “If it doesn’t work, we have back-up plans, some better than others,” he assured him. “One thing is for certain: we won’t stop until Schlatt is dethroned.”

Chapter Text

Tommy POV:

Before entering the main area of Manburg (where all of its citizens were, due to Dream sending a private message to Schlatt to organise an impromptu gathering without explaining why), Wilbur stopped the group.

He asked them to try talking to Schlatt first, instead of threatening war immediately. Tommy treasured the absolutely flabbergasted looks on Techno and Phil’s faces (that’s right, lads, options other than violence exist!), and Dream’s wheeze of surprise at learning what their plan actually was.

Still, Tommy asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea, big man?”

Wilbur promised him that it was, but Tommy was questioning the sincerity of his answer now as they stood before all of Manburg, with Schlatt, Tubbo, Quackity, and Fundy up on the podium, the citizens below milling about as they waited to see why they had been forced to show up.

People began shouting when they finally noticed the group of five approaching, surprised about how he and his brother were alive, some even pointing at Wilbur’s pink hair and their fancy clothes. Tommy could see Fundy and Tubbo stare at them in wonder and sorrow – probably because they knew about their background and the fact that Wilbur was a hybrid, but they had never actually seen it.

Tommy didn’t know how to feel about them staying behind, but he hoped it was purely because they had no choice.

The only way they knew what had been happening in Manburg was through delayed news from miles away and the quick rundown Dream had given them on the walk here. Apparently, most people didn’t like Schlatt’s rule, which gave Tommy some confidence at least. They’d be okay… right?

Wilbur stepped forward, head high.

“Hello again, Johnathan,” Wilbur greeted Schlatt politely, the fucker just grinning back.

Tommy shot his brother a weird look, as did pretty much everyone in attendance, which was all members of the- oh wait, George wasn’t here. Ah well, he never was. Still, odd start, Wilbur.

“No time to dye your hair, Virgo?” the president responded flirtingly. Okay, this was just getting weird now.

Wilbur gave the tyrant bitch a smile, nostalgic and fond and some parts bitter.

“It’s good to see you again, John,” Wilbur told him, and Tommy got the feeling that he truly meant it, even though it was clearly said as a joke. “But I believe your rule is finally over.”

Schlatt laughed- no, cackled at Wilbur’s calm words, sounding entirely like some wacko Disney villain. Tommy bit his lip, unsure if Wilbur actually knew what he was doing. Technoblade shuffled in his spot next to him, obviously antsy for a fight, Phil tense as well. Still, Tommy had actually fought in a war alongside Wilbur though, and he knew to respect Wilbur’s non-combative skills.

“And how do you expect to do that, loverboy? I’m the democratically elected president,” he taunted. Tommy didn’t know how Wilbur could maintain eye contact with the weird sheep eyes Schlatt had for so long, but he managed.

Wilbur slowly reached his hand into a pocket and pulled out a book, waving it about in the air, a smirk growing on his face.

“The Declaration of Independence – which you probably hid, knowing you – states that a ‘democratically elected president’ can be voted out by the population just as easily,” Wilbur informed them all, “And I doubt that many people want you to remain in power.”

Tommy didn’t even know Wilbur had the Declara- wait… had Wilbur forged that? (Did it count as forging if he had written the original, Tommy wondered?)

He was reminded of that time he had barged into Wilbur’s room to get him to eat, and he had been writing a book. He thought it had just been some random notes, maybe for writing ideas for song lyrics, not this! Wilbur was a genius!

Schlatt’s chilling grin never faded from his face, not at all surprised, as he and Wilbur kept staring at each other.

The crowd was silent for once, full of anticipation, as Schlatt pushed back slowly from the lectern and nodded at Wilbur. “No need for a vote, Virgo. I resign as president. Things were getting boring around here anyways,” Schlatt said casually.

There was an outcry from the crowd and the others on the podium. Tommy could hear Niki shout, “You can’t just be a dictator for six months and then walk away as if nothing happened!” Tommy made a mental note to never get on her bad side.

Technoblade spun slowly to face his twin with the most shock Tommy had ever seen on his face. “How in the fucking fuck did that work?” he questioned, as if his world had just ended. Seeing as he was swearing so much, it probably had. Wilbur only shot his twin a smug smirk. Phil patted Will on the back with an elated laugh, pride clear on his face.

If anything good had arisen from being chased out of their country, it was the puzzle pieces of their family finally coming together.

Schlatt simply left the podium, and Tommy didn’t care to follow him, nor did anyone else, it seemed.

People were quickly approaching them, but Tommy only cared about one person, racing off the podium and towards them, throwing himself at Tommy for a hug.

“I was so worried you were dead!” Tubbo shouted over the noise of the crowd. Tommy grinned at him, seeing Fundy and Wilbur happily reuniting out of the corner of his eye, everyone shouting excitedly around them about their return. A cacophony of noise but Tommy was only focused on the midget in front of him.

“I’m too powerful to die, Big T, you know that!”

“I think you mean your dad and brothers are too powerful to let you die,” Tubbo teased. Tommy sniffed but decided to ignore the comment. It wasn’t too far off from the truth anyways.

Suddenly, Wilbur threw an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and lifted a hand, the action he used to make to ask for silence back when he was president. It was just as effective now, even with newer citizens that Tommy didn’t recognise. Tubbo stood particularly close to one of them, an interesting looking hybrid. Enderman, perhaps? Tommy felt suddenly grateful for the lanky bastard (he was even taller than Wilbur! The fuck?!) for ensuring that Tubbo hadn’t been alone all these months.

“Everyone, hello,” Wilbur greeted with a charismatic smile.

The eye bags from his bump in mental health had never gone away, nor his worrying level of skinniness, but despite that, Wilbur looked so much like a leader that Tommy was almost surprised for a moment.

It had been a long time since Wilbur had looked so happy.

Still though, the arm around him was tense, so Tommy leaned into Wilbur best he could. He received a sappy and knowing look for his troubles. Fuck yeah, mission accomplished.

“It’s rather obvious that you all want me to be president,” Wilbur joked, his smile cracking at the raucous cheers of agreement. He soldiered on. “I’m honoured, truly, I am. But I believe that the old L’Manburg wasn’t the perfect escape from tyranny just as much as this Manburg wasn’t. It seems to me that we need a new, different leader.” What?

Who…?

Wilbur turned his eyes, warm and loving, towards him. “Tommy?”

It wasn’t often that he was made speechless, but Tommy found his mind suspiciously blank as the crowd turned their eyes, some curious, some annoyed, some exasperated, all onto him.

“Me?”

Wilbur nodded, patient as Tommy’s brain tried to process what was happening.

“I- I would be honoured to be president, big man,” he told his big brother, voice softer than usual. “And while I still say that I’m the smartest of the family, bitch, I don’t really know how…”

“You’re a prince, Theseus,” Wilbur told him simply, his smile proud. “You’ll always have your family on your side, happy to help, ready to love you and the nation we’ve built.” Wilbur squeezed him in a hug, his smile blinding, and Tommy felt himself copying him. He let out a laugh, disbelieving. “Tommy. Tommy, we’ve won!”

“Try not to destroy our country, will you?” Wilbur poked Technoblade, a sly smirk on his lips, only half joking. To be fair, it was a real concern – Tommy would never admit it but he was worried too.

“He’d be a hypocrite if he did,” Tommy added, always having enjoyed the act of annoying Technoblade. “Monarchy is a type of government, genius.”

He took a sip from his juice. The four of them – Wilbur, Tommy, Technoblade, and Tubbo – were seated around a fire near the dirt home that Tommy had lived in before, the other members of the server celebrating around them. They were enjoying a drink while watching the sunset, the majority of the festivities having quietened down by now.

Wilbur’s L’Manburg uniform jacket had been too damaged in fleeing from Manburg, a large hole in the back and absolutely soaked through with blood, so Eret had given him his temporarily. After six months of wearing only Antarctic Empire royal clothing, Wilbur looked rather odd in it, but it suited him well.

“Fine,” Techno conceded, arms raised in surrender. “I’ll leave it alone. But if it puts one toe out of line, if one or both of you get hurt again, it’s going down like orphans tend to do around me.”

“Deal,” Tubbo grinned next to Tommy. They high fived out of reflex, and Tommy relished the familiar feeling. It felt like home.

Tubbo had been introduced to Phil and Techno an hour or so ago, and they had already accepted him into the family easily (he was already part of the family in Tommy and Wilbur’s eyes but it was nice to have them all interacting like a family together). It made sense – it was hard to dislike Tubbo.

Wilbur only sighed at the three of them. Middle child struggles, Tommy supposed. Meh, he wouldn’t know much about that.

Phil came up behind them, having just finished chatting with Fundy. Tommy knew he had never actually spoken to his grandson before so he probably took the chance when presented with it. He wondered if it went well, and judging by Fundy’s wagging tail and Phil’s grin, it seemed it had.

Walking up to them, Phil looked delighted at seeing the four brothers all together interacting, no doubt liking it when they weren’t setting the dining table on fire (that had only happened three times, Tommy didn’t know why he made such a big deal out of it!).

“I know I’ve said this before, mates, but I’m so proud of you,” Phil said.

Tommy crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. “Course you are, Dadza, we’re the bloody best there is!”

Wilbur put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, grinning at him and shooting a glance at Technoblade. A lifetime spent together usually meant that you could read someone with just a few short movements, and Wilbur and Tommy were no exception. Tubbo caught on too, a grin spreading across his face.

Without needing to be asked, Tommy flung himself at Techno, who caught him easily and huffed, pretending he wasn’t amused.

“Oh no, I think I’ve found an orphan,” Techno told them, deadpan.

In that moment, Tommy suddenly feared for his life.

“Do you have your orphan obliterator?” Wilbur asked conversationally. Tommy gaped and started shouting about betrayal and traitors. He tried wiggling himself free but Wilbur came up and grabbed him too, so that Wilbur and Technoblade were practically holding him up. Tubbo only laughed instead of help.

He wanted to be annoyed at his shithead brothers, but he couldn’t help but laugh along with them. It was hard to be mad when he was surrounded by so much love from his family. It wasn’t often that things went well, Tommy knew, so he took the time to appreciate this moment while it lasted.

Wilbur caught his contemplative gaze and smiled, ruffling his hair, which made him squawk in surprise and whack the offending hand away.

“You okay?” Wilbur asked, pulling Tommy aside momentarily.

Tommy shrugged, an easy grin on his face. “Yeah, big man. Still can’t believe I’m president now – though I’ll obviously be the best there ever was – but yeah, I’m good.”

Looking Wilbur up and down, Eret’s L’Manburg uniform jacket hanging off of his skinny frame even though the two of them were around the same height, Tommy bit his lip in concern.

“What about you?”

He would forever be grateful to whatever god or deity was out there, maybe those Sky Gods bitches that Wilbur mentioned once, that Wilbur had kept his promise of trusting Tommy to find a peaceful way to get back L’Manburg.

He still worried, sometimes, that he would wake up and Wilbur would be off the rails crazy, set in his desire to destroy the country they had built.

He snapped out of the nightmares of thoughts by Wilbur running his fingers through Tommy’s hair. “I’ll be alright,” he assured him. His eyes were so warm and loving, unlike the cold and dead look they held before, months ago. “I still feel inexplicably tired more days than not, but I have my family with me, so it’s okay.”

Tommy sniffed. “It’s not ‘inexplicable’, Wilbur. You just don’t sleep.”

Wilbur barked a laugh. “Insomnia’s a bitch.”

Wilbur wasn’t perfect, but then again, neither was Tommy, or Tubbo, or anyone else that had ever existed. Tommy would never stop caring about his family, he knew. He only hoped he could protect them from the rest of the universe.

A part of him worried that Dream would simply look at the social unrest going on in Manburg – he should really ask Wilbur about renaming it – and reconquer it. It would be easy, with how much Manburg was in shambles currently.

Bitch better not though, or Tommy would sick Techno on him, and he really wouldn’t like that.

Long after the festivities of that day, celebrating Schlatt’s disappearance and Tommy’s inauguration, when the moon was high in the sky and the air chilled Tommy to the bone, Tommy sat on the roof of one of the many buildings around Manburg – now L’Manburg, Tommy was president so he changed it immediately, fuck yeah – enjoying the quiet. He was a loud person by nature, but even he could appreciate moments like these.

That quickly ended when he heard the sound of footsteps. Turning, he saw Dream climbing up the roof.

Tommy felt wary around Dream.

They had fought a war on opposite sides, and he had taken two of his lives. It was natural to not feel safe around your twice murderer, right? But Dream was helpful in taking back L’Manburg, he gave access to the server to Phil and Techno, he said he didn’t mind L’Manburg’s existence anymore so long as Schlatt wasn’t in charge. Tommy didn’t know what to think.

“Good day?” Dream asked as he sat down next to Tommy, swinging his legs lazily over the edge.

Tommy remained cautious, but he answered all the same. “Yeah. Stressful, but no, yeah, it’s been good.”

“I’m glad.”

Dream reached into a pocket, and Tommy sat up straight, preparing to whip out an axe in case this was some attempt at an attack.

However, when Dream pulled his hand out again, in his grasp was two disks.

“I’ve been meaning to give these back to you for a while anyways. It didn’t feel right having leverage over you, and- I don’t know, all of this went so much further than I meant it to. No one was meant to die, wars weren’t meant to be held, people weren’t meant to be exiled. So, I wanted to give these back to you, as a sign of the freedom and peace to come.”

Dream held the two disks out to Tommy, who didn’t know what to say as he stared at black shimmering vinyl, his beloved Mellohi and Cat.

He had let go of them, months ago. And yet, he felt the pressure to take them, to hide and hoard them, so that they would never be used against him. He so desperately wanted to reach out and take them, the need building in him like a blazing inferno. For a moment, he thought he knew what it felt like to have voices in his head like Techno did. But…

“It’s okay, I don’t want them anymore,” Tommy decided firmly. He let out a loud laugh when Dream reeled back in surprise.

“I- alright. Guess I wasn’t expecting that,” Dream muttered. “Still though, it feels wrong to keep them.”

Tommy hummed thoughtfully, looking around L’Manburg. He felt at peace here, knowing his father and brothers lay nearby, probably laughing at something stupid. Tubbo and Niki and Fundy were all close by and happy to have him back. Schlatt was far away, hopefully content with leaving them be. And here Tommy sat, L’Manburg uniform and his Antarctic Empire crown worn with pride.

His country, his family, his disks.

He cared for all of them, loved all of them, but he didn’t own the country or his family. Did he have to own the disks to care about them?

“What if…”

Tommy simply breathed for a moment, tapping his fingers against the roof beneath him.

“What if we made them public property? I mean, they secured us independence, so they’re important to L’Manburg, right? Politically?”

Tommy sat up straighter, struck with inspiration.

“We could have some fancy official jukebox place n shit, and play Mellohi and Cat all the time!” he thought out loud excitedly, gesturing widely with his hands. It would help him fulfil his only goal in life – piss off Wilbur.

Dream’s mask was firmly in place, but Tommy got the sense that he was smiling.

“That sounds like a great idea. For now though, hold onto them. I’m not a citizen of L’Manburg, I shouldn’t be the one keeping them safe.”

Tommy finally held the disks in his hand. He turned and gave Dream a big grin.

“Thanks, Big D,” he said, and while he laughed hysterically at Dream’s annoyed groan, he found he genuinely meant it.

Maybe this really was a sign of future peace.

Maybe things will turn out okay.

The thing about life was that it’s impossible to know what tomorrow may bring, but Tommy felt secure in his country, surrounded by his family and one tentative ally. The night may be dark, but Tommy’s smile looked brighter than it ever had.