Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Another day, another animal brought back from the dead.

He had done this for, what, half a year? and he unintentionally started a goddamn zoo in his house. Some of his little creations were more “complete” than others, bits of bone poked through scales or feathers. Good thing he lived alone, in the forest, rather than in the village or—god forbid—the city.

Most would call him a deranged nymph or scary old wizard, which was totally unfair. He was Tommyinnit, haver of wives and maker of life. The only reason he didn’t storm into town and give those fools a piece of his mind was because he was too busy to do anything other than take care of the mix of undead-living animals in his possession.

It was painfully lonely out in the forest, though. His trips to the village for food weren’t necessary thanks to a new garden, and he used to take comfort in the cows and dogs in the field and how they lounged with him, let him ramble on and on about whatever popped into his mind. It used to work, used to keep him company.

An idea popped into his head, as he sifted through the soiled strawberries and tossed the good ones in a little fabric-covered basket. A bird was messing with the lacing on his straw hat, which kept the sun out of his already sunburnt face and bugs out of his hair. It tugged and flared It’s little wings, having a blast while he worked.

The little guy was one of his latest creations. It and a small bundle of birds he found on a walk, decomposing into the earth one way or another. They were good practice, and who cared if he brought back a couple birds? Would the guards at the citadel really hunt him down for using his illegal magic on a few finches?

He realized, since he was out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by incriminating evidence of his very illegal sorcery: Why stop at animals?

There are about 100 reasons why bringing a human (or hybrid, for that matter) back from the dead is a terrible, earth-ending, execution worthy offense, but he didn’t see much that would stop him. It was an impulsive decision, on his part, sure, but a damn good one as he formulated a plan and carried his basket off inside.

The inside of his house was a mess. He had a collection of trinkets his birds have brought him, all scattered about on any flat surface available. Some clothes were piled on the floor, blankets and pillows alike—all of which having other creatures lounging on them. It was fairly small, with one room sharing the Kitchen, dining room and living space all in one, wear and tear evident on the furniture. The fireplace was off with little coal paw prints on the stone floor, the windows open with curtains lightly rustling in the wind. Above him was an attic space that was made into two separate rooms: a large storage closet and his bedroom, made before he even moved in. The house itself was old, but well maintained thanks to Tommy’s constant work, safe for a few moldy patches in the corners and divots in the roof.

There was once a time he’d scold himself for living in such a cutesy, cottage-styled house, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. It was safe, had plenty of room, kept him warm during winter and as much as he hated to admit it, he had grown fond of the faded floral patterns on the cups and rugs and curtains.

Now that he was pondering where to get a human body from, he realized that he didn’t know how this place grew abandoned. He assumed it was an old person’s cottage, or like some old witch or fairy that loved the aesthetic. He also wondered if they died here, then scratched that thought, as he’d spent enough time here to know that there weren’t any ancient human corpses laying around.

But he knew that every town had burial sites under the churches. Giant tunnels that splintered off, saving space above ground and leeching magic from the earth. Clerics and pastors frequented the catacombs for their own reasons, along with friends and family of the dead for obvious reasons. He could easily get in and grab a coffin, or straight up steal a body.

He laughed to himself, wrapping the bunches of berries in cloth and setting them in respective jars to keep them safe from the pesky birds that fluttered around the rafters. Maybe this whole thing was too dark for him, a bit too illegal and risky to pull off.

Since when had he ever been one to back out of a challenge like that? No—Never.

So he prepared. Took off his hat and hung it on a hook, retreated upstairs to change out of his summer-y gardening clothes. A few of the animals followed him up, cooing in their own tongues.

Tommy didn’t understand why they didn’t just leave. There weren’t any fences keeping them in, no magic tether either, to his knowledge. He didn’t feel the lulling strands of each of them, a rope that snapped tight the further away they went—if it existed. He felt the pull with his favorite creation, his most daunting one, and the one that took the most out of him; the cow that lounged outside, munching on grass. The others were free.

And they stayed, which was annoying at first, but he learned to live with it. Most of the free spirited ones settled around his house rather than inside, which was better, he supposed.

He heard tales, when he was a child, of people who were naturally drawn to nature. Druids and the like, folk who shared magic with it and could even speak to animals and trees. He never thought he was one of those, but being surrounded by them, learning the little quirks and sounds and habits firsthand made him feel like one of those nature-based mages.

“Okay gang.” He tied the last strap of his belt to his waist and spun to glare at the collection of creatures, some more whole than others. They watched him with wide eyes and chirps, a raven sitting on the windowsill.

“I’ll be gone for a bit. Don’t burn the house down.”

He cracked a grin, sliding a dark vest over a white shirt with some ruffles on his chest. It was still a bit past noon, so he wouldn’t be able to slink through the dark in rags just yet.

He shooed the raven off the edge of the window and closed it, along with the others. He couldn’t take any chances of rain getting in and ruining the reconstruction process—or maybe that was just an excuse for him being excited, because he was, and he couldn’t help but make sure he didn’t fuck up on the small things.

Tommy continued gathering things, sheathing a knife to his hip and hiding a bag of coins in his pocket. He couldn’t help but hesitate reaching for his cloak, which hung in a closet of all sorts of clothing, eyes falling to his fingers. They were black, almost indistinguishable from the fabric, the edges of the rot an icy blue. It was as if he had been frost bitten, minus the frost part, but he could feel them perfectly fine, safe for a tingle on the ends when he felt magic surfing through him. He frowned, tracing the tendrils of darkness that threatened to go through his hand with his eyes.

With a shake of his head, he scooped the cloak from its hook and searched through the drawers and boxes for a decent pair of gloves.

Leather gloves? Good enough. He tied on some bracers and pinned the cloak to his vest, draping the long ends over his shoulders to hide himself from the world, not bothering to put the hood on just yet. He stood at a window and messed with his blonde locks until he gave up on that too, storming out of his room with a posey of resurrected animals following him.

The raven from before leapt from the ground and landed on his shoulder, it’s talons dug into the fabric as it settled there. He sent it a sideways glare, and it stared right back.

“Fine. You can come.” He mumbled, rising a finger to pet it. Surprisingly, it hesitated, then leaned into the scratching on its neck, eyes closing while he grabbed for the last thing he needed.

A mask that covered his face and neck. He stood in front of the mirror in the front hallway, leaning against the door as he made sure he looked presentable and hidden and badass. Once all three qualifications were met, he left the safety of his cottage.

If he was going to resurrect a human, he needed to do a few things first. Like make sure food was available. He had enough for himself in his home, having grown most of it and the rest he bought on the off chance he went to town. A teen like himself didn’t need much, and knowing from experience, most of the undead didn’t need to eat. But those that did—those that were just on the cusp of being considered a zombie versus a living thing—needed food. And lots of it. Henry, the cow from before, practically uprooted all the grass and bushes in the forest before he finally settled into a normal eating pattern. A human would be much more difficult, because, well, they’re picky.

“That’s fucked up.” He thought out loud, face twisting under the mask and hood. “I need to get out more often.”

The raven on his shoulder croaked, hopefully in agreement. He snickered and stepped over a large tree root, finding the graveled path that led straight to the nearest town. The canopy opened up too, letting more sun peer through the flourishing leaves and fruiting flowers.

He also needed clothes for them, too, besides whatever they died or were buried with. Actually—he needed to know who he was going to resurrect first. He didn’t know many people alive or dead, and certainly no one that had died recently enough to be somewhat whole.

The closer to the top of the catacombs, the fresher the dead.

He needed a new hobby.

By the time he reached the town, workers had the chance to go home and kids were out of school. The usually somewhat vacant roads were bustling with people, hybrid’s strolling around and children scampering from place to place. The plaza had a statue of a town hero, who he couldn’t bother to know, and didn’t care about how he didn’t remember that statue being there last time he visited. He focused on the market streets and bounced between them, buying a new basket along with plenty of basic food. Very few words were shared, seeing as he looked intimidating in all black with a raven on his shoulder. He preferred it that way, he wasn’t here to socialize, he was here to test his magic to the limit.

Tommy flipped the lid over the basket, covering bundles of jerky and loaves of bread. He prayed that was enough, but knew he could always return if he needed more. A little old fashioned scamming wouldn’t hurt, if he needed the coin. He strolled through the streets, passing the time by walking and watching the inhabitants running around. He recognized a few old faces, mainly from his first few visits, but before he could slink away, he was stopped.

“Tommy!”

He spun on his heels and waved, grinning under the cloth out of habit. He couldn’t even remember their names yet.

“Hey!”

The fox hybrid, who was maybe a year or two older than him, raced down the steps of the cute little bakery and threatened to jump on him, only stopping when the raven cawed.

“Whoa! I didn’t know you had a pet.”

Tommy forced himself not to snap something sarcastic, shrugging instead. The Raven’s footing slipped from the movement, and he noticed the way it glared at him.

Fundy continued. “I haven’t seen you in months, dude, where have you been?”

“Around.” He muttered, eyeing the pink-haired woman in the ship’s window, waving a fan over a steaming batch of miniature pies.

“So vague.” The fox sneered, ears pinning to his head. “Anyway, um, you hungry at all?”

A light turned on in his head. He sensed free handouts, and he had time to kill.

“Yup. Starving. Could really go for a cupcake or somethin.”

“Perfect.” Fundy grinned and grabbed his arm, tugging him up the steps and into the building. The inside was nice, light and open with plenty of natural light, a lovely smell of ash and sugar lingering through the air. Meticulously carved tables, painted white, were scattered around with matching chairs and stools for families to enjoy their baked treats. He stared up at a sign having from the front desk, where most of the money was transacted.

Niki’s Bakery.

How original.

“Evening, Tommy.” She smiled as she moved back inside to where many baked goods were laid out. Niki wiped her hands on her apron for good measure and stared up at him.

“Hey, Niki.”

“Good time shopping?”

“Very.” He nodded down to his basket, fixing the mask over his nose. “Blew all my money on bread.”

“Oo, look, we have a new recipe!” Fundy pulled Tommy over to a new batch of darker Biscuits.

He could never understand the inherent kindness of these people. He grew up in the exact opposite of this village, of this little bakery. He was raised to scam and steal, and later understood how to practice his natural born abilities to bring back the dead, definitely not this.

The raven leaned down, tilting its head at the sight of dark chunks within the treat. Niki giggled and sauntered over, hands tucked behind her back.

“Chocolate. Hard to work with, but worth it in the end.”

“Chocolate?” Tommy broke out of his stern, intimidating facade and stared wide-eyed at the two.

Fundy nodded with a grin, “Right? The king made a plantation down south, so now we can ship enough in to sell it regularly.”

“Isn’t it expensive?”

“Not anymore.” Niki shared Fundy’s childish excitement in her eyes, being physically relaxed and calm. “Want one?”

Great, now he felt bad. “No, no. Spent all my money already.”

“On the house.” She shrugged and pushed one forward. Of course, with no room for argument, he took it and brought his mask down around his neck.

“You’ve missed a lot.” Fundy realized, sliding beside Niki and almost getting away with sneaking one for himself, wrist caught roughly by the human. She made him drop it before nodding.

“Yeah. You don’t come around often, do you?”

Behind a mouthful of crumbs and mouth watering chocolate, he shook his head. The raven managed to peck a chunk from the cookie and ate it.

“Are you an adventurer?” Fundy’s ears snapped up, dark eyes widening in wonder despite not being told the answer. The blonde shook his head again and leaned back against a table.

“Where do you live?”

“Outside of town.”

In another world, in another life, held go off about his life nonstop, maybe even to the point where they’d get annoyed. Hell, a few years ago, he’d do the same thing. But he knew better than that, he knew the risks of being open about having magic—higher risks in being a Necromancer. The more vague the better.

“Alone?”

“I have some animals.” He muttered.

Niki’s smile faltered, then her brow furrowed.

“How old are you, again?”

He paused, recounting the months before settling for. “Seventeen.”

“And you live alone, out in the middle of the woods?”

He stuffed the corner of the treat in his mouth and chewed noisily, avoiding her thoughtful stare. Fundy left the room, off to do who knows what. It was quiet for a few minutes while Tommy finished the biscuit, then she spoke up again.

“I know we don’t talk often, but... if you ever need anything, please don’t be afraid to come over. The door’s always open.” She smiled again, leaning against the desks.

He smiled back as he put the mask over his nose. “Okay. Uh... goodnight!”

Tommy waved as he exited the door, a breeze hitting his face. Excitement buzzed in his chest, his fingers tightening around the edges of his cloak with each step he took towards the church. It was towards the other side of town, near other semi-public spaces, but the sun was getting low enough to ward off most of the people that lingered around. Children were told to go inside, adults following them to prepare dinner, those that didn’t live with children loitered around the taverns and pubs and restaurants, doing their own little thing.

Tommy couldn’t care less what any of them did, taking to the darkness as he weaved between buildings towards the other side of town. The tower was in view, stained glass windows brandished mosaics of the different gods of the realm. He was never religious, but he wasn’t ignorant. He knew at least two of them were real.

Inside was a hallway-like seating area in front of the cylindrical tower part, the tower holding alters where people could leave gifts or light candles or whatever—again, he didn’t care, he was just making sure no one was inside.

Just his luck: There were two guards sitting on a bench, their helmets put to the side. They chatted casually, unaware of the teen’s presence. With a deep breath, he slipped into the narrow staircase leading down into the burial site, the raven on his shoulder biting onto his hood for stability.

The air around him was humid and cool. He ran his gloved hand over the stone, feeling the magical energy increase with each step. Finally the staircase opened up to pressed slabs circling a pit that went down for quite a bit before ending in a glowing pool of water, light dancing off the stone from It’s reflection. Hallways carved out of the stone splintered off from the staircase, leading to more graves.

All he had to do was find a body and bring it home. Again, he chuckled to himself at a joke about needing a new hobby.

The newest graves would be a bit down, he guessed. So he kept to the walls, occasionally peering into the cobbled drawers that held the coffins—all of which being empty, until he tucked into a lower hallway and pulled at one of the first few ledges.

Once the stone drawer was pulled out enough to see the wood, he grinned. The used coffins were sealed, of course, nailed shut in a neat way. This one, coincidentally, wasn’t as tidy was the others, nails being broken or half-hammered in. The damp smell of rot that lingered in the air was much stronger when face-to-face with a box of death. Still, he cleared his throat and dragged the drawer out further until it was removed from the cubby and it’s tracks.

The raven on his shoulder suddenly leapt off, wings flared wide in the air for a brief moment. Tommy thought nothing of it—just shushed it at best while he worked to unlatch the crate—until a heavy hand weighed on his shoulder, right where the bird had sat.

Tommy groaned as he glared at it, dark nails contrasting pale skin and fingerless gloves. “Fuckin- piss off man.”

“It’s my job.” The man grumbled right back, his grip on the teen’s shoulder tightening.

Tommy shrugged him off and batted at him, the knife in his other hand used to pry the damn lid off. “Fuck off, will ya? I’m tryin’ something new.”

Lucky for him, he’d been through this a hundred times over. Tommy knew the Angel of Death better than he knew the back of his hand. Dealing with him was the easiest part in all this, honestly. The man sighed, voice level and edged with the slightest bit of worry.

“Tommy, you can’t. You’re not powerful enough.”

“No.”

“Okay, you’ll get in trouble.”

“No.”

“...uh, I’ll call the guards?”

“No.”

The man scoffed, standing behind him and crossing his arms under a dark cloak. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Tommy sang, prying the last bit off. He opened the lid and shrank back at the smell, eyes stinging momentarily as the Angel continued.

“This is wrong.”

“I know. Could be worse.”

“Actually, it can’t.”

Tommy snickered, his hands hovered over the corpse. He paused, and a frown replaced his sly smirk. The person in the coffin was... not at all what he expected. He was expecting someone in a clean suit, wounds stitched up with minimal decomposition. Instead, he was met with a lanky man wearing severely burned clothes, the gash in his chest still open, though the blood had long since dried and molded. A chunk of his face was badly burned, revealing bone right above one of his closed eyes. He wasn’t holding anything. No sword, like a guard would, no jewelry or boxes of trinkets, no journals—nothing, just a poor, burned, rotted dead guy in a box.

Tommy waited for Philza to scold him, for his patience to thin and for him to roughly drag the kid away and take him home like a pissed off father. But it ever came, and Tommy turned to see if he was still there. Even in the near-darkness, Tommy could see his tired features weighed down by a frown and furrowed brow, light eyes shaded by nicely parted blond hair under a hat. The teen huffed and turned back to his work.

“You recognize him? He another one for your clients?”

“You could say that.”

At that, Tommy hesitated again, and stole another glance back at the shrouded figure. A thousand questions entered his mind, most of which bringing on a sense of dread that he may have fucked up big time. He swallowed his anxiety and whispered out one of the more important questions:

“Was he a wrongen?”

Phil shrugged. “I don’t think so. Just... troubled.”

“You reckon he did this himself?” Tommy pointed to the giant gash in the corpse’s chest, wincing at the sight of something stirring inside. He hoped it was just a trick of his mind.

“Yeah, I think he did.” Phil sighed, shoulders sagging. He seemed to make up his mind. “Fine. Get on with it if ya want, I’ll make sure the guards don’t come down.”

“Really-“ Tommy managed to spit out before the Angel disappeared into the glowing cylinder that was the staircase. He was left with too many questions unanswered, especially since... well, since he thought one of death’s prized creations would give him an earful, would tell him off from breaking both the nation’s and nature’s law by bringing a human man back to life. Someone he didn’t even know, someone who he’d never even seen. He didn’t know his name, as the caskets were left unlabeled and this man was too poor-looking and without any namesake tokens in his hands.

With a disappointed keen, Tommy rested the lid back on the box.

Down the hall and up the spiral, he heard voices, and metal clanged against metal as someone walked in full armor. And Tommy panicked, tossed open the lid, and said “Fuck it.”

What’s the worst that could happen?

Using magic was always an exciting venture. Using too much, however, proved to be painful. Most magic folk would bear through it and practice to build confidence—most never needed to cast a big spell ever. Necromancy was very, very different, however. There were too many variables and... moral issues with practicing and building confidence when you brought things back from the dead. How long the creature had been dead, how they died, and what’s left of their bodies were all very important to consider before surging untapped magic through oneself.

Tommy didn’t have the power to care. He just let the magic of the world around him seep into his form, linger and spread through his veins, rise up into his outreached hand, and into the man’s body. It kick started everything that had been deactivated for so long, swirling into the open bits of flesh and tightening around vital organs. Nothing had healed just yet—that would happen naturally over time—the magic just there to bring him back.

By any means necessary. So when Tommy’s hand started to hurt, and he gasped for breath, his shattered thoughts considered that maybe this resurrection thing was stealing his own life, like an eye for an eye kinda deal. For a moment, he considered tearing his hand away and leaving.

Instead, his hand was grabbed, and the corpse sucked in a loud, deep breath that ended in a coughing fit and frantic wheezing.

Tommy’s eyes snapped up to see the last bits of magic twirl from his fingers into the man’s abdomen, a new shade mixing in with all the others. The man awoke, eyes wide and glancing around. As expected, honestly, seeing as his last memory was probably him being stabbed.

In reality, that was a half truth, but Wilbur wouldn’t tell him that.

It was as if he was plucked from the void, from the darkness, and thrown right back into the hell he tried to escape. The air was too thick, too rich in flavor and light, the fabric on his skin too tight. It was all choking him, all too much. He tried to get himself out, feeling something wet between his fingers and dripping over his eye.

Then he felt a warm hand gently rub his back, and his attention snapped onto the colorless shape before him. Another person, a kid, who looked just as surprised as he felt, though grinned a bit and had a tired look in his eye. After being alone for so long in the afterlife, seeing another human was alien to him, even as bits of his past life entered his mind at a snail’s pace.

That’s when he realized that he really shouldn’t be back. In fact, he’d rather remain spinning in the void than wake up in a pool of his old and new blood, being greeted by an exhausted child and, stood at the entrance of the hall, a regal-looking man. They helped him up, and he found himself clinging to them both, worried he’d be torn in half and have to endure more pain.

The echoing of their voices were muted to him, slowly ebbed back into focus as they stumbled forward as a unit.

“Are you sure-“

“Hey, you’re the one that actually did it. This is your fault.”

“You said it was okay!”

Wilbur blinked forcefully, the magical light from the pool below dancing off the walls. It was not helping his foggy mind. Too mesmerizing.

“No,” the older one chided, “I didn’t stop you.”

“Exactly.” Tommy rolled his eyes, a numb sting in his fingertips.

The top of the stairs were clear. The guard and mage were off elsewhere. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief.

Wilbur stared around the vacant building, his feet dragged on the floor as they pulled him along. He was still coughing, still bleeding from his old wounds, still in a messy daze of too many senses being used at once.

“Clear.” Tommy exhaled sharply, clenching and unclenching his fist behind Wilbur’s back. He led the way, back towards the forests around town.

The world was quiet, crickets and frogs generating an orchestra of noise in the woods. The air was cool and moist, Tommy’s breath being the only one to show up in the air, even if it was just a little bit. A moon hung limply in the sky, followed by a parade of stars that were in far too many quantities to count. It didn’t stop him from trying.

The dead man’s grip on them tightened, and he finally slammed a foot down to stop them. He didn’t catch their annoyed faces or hushed bickering, he was too focused on the sky, on the splash of color seen behind certain clumps of stars. His first genuine thought was that he was glad he wasn’t color blind like he thought.

The next few were a little less relieving.

“I...” he felt his breath escape him. He hadn’t heard his own voice in so long. It sounded like a strangers, still his, but it felt... wrong. A bit rough, and quiet, and sore, but it was his, and it felt wrong.

“I don’t understand.” He whispered, afraid of being too loud to himself.

The two others shared a glance of brief concern and wonder. Tommy slapped his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder and grinned.

“No worries! All will be explained when we get to my place.”

He frowned, emotion finally entering his face in the form of a disappointed scowl. “I should be dead.”

“Y-yeah, we-“

“Take it easy.” The older one smiled comfortingly, a wing draped over their backs. “You’re tired and disoriented.”

“From what.” He mumbled, his feet moving against his will. The air was choking him, the smell of oncoming rain and dust and whatever these two smelled like (literal death, the both of them, which was not a pleasant smell to begin with on top of the other smells in the forest) filling his lungs and forcing black spots in his eyes.

“He’ll explain it in the morning. Aren’t you tired?”

Tommy opened his mouth to interject, but Wilbur nodded and stared at the stars again. “Yeah. Very.”

Chapter Text

Thunder rolled outside, the ambient hush of rain split for a moment before fading back in. A few animals scurried under the table and couch, others sleeping through the storm under the awning or in the nooks and cranny’s of the cottage. The world was grey outside, the inside lit up with candles and lanterns.

Wilbur scowled, sitting at one end of the table, leaned away from the bowl of bread and broth laid in front of him. It had been two days since his arrival, and if it weren’t for the powerful tether binding the two and keeping them from running off, he’d probably be long gone.

They found that out the hard way, when they argued about the morality of the situation, and Wilbur ran out the door. The tightness in his chest had tightened, and he got weaker and weaker the further he got. Luckily for him, though, Tommy ran after him and tackled him down and gave a half-assed explanation on how magic works, which Wilbur was definitely not listening to.

The second time, just earlier this day, Wilbur jumped out the window, and sprained his wrist in doing so, and fought Tommy on the ground outside his house until they found a stalemate and shuffled in. Tommy was pretty bruised up, his wounds not healing as fast as Wilbur’s. It gave him all the more smugness, seeing as one of them came out (somewhat) unscathed and the other shuffled under his stare.

Tommy swallowed his own spoonful, avoided the older man’s gaze while he ate and tried not to think about Wilbur’s vicious attempts to escape. The wind whistled through the edges of the unsteady windows, which offered a bit more noise in what would be an uncomfortable dinner.

Well, it already was uncomfortable, but if it was dead silent, Tommy wouldn’t know how to handle it.

“You should eat.” He muttered, crunching into the toasted bread. His eyes met the other’s for a moment, regretting it instantly.

“I won’t take orders from an insufferable child.”

“Oh, fuck off. Eat, or you’ll turn to dust or somethin’.”

Wilbur cocked a brow, his hard glare softened just a bit. “Promise?”

The teen shrugged, poking at the bits of carrots and beef in his stew. “I donno. Animals usually eat if their told to or not.”

“Let’s test it, then.” His face split with a grin, a hand raising up to mess with the bandages covering the bad part of his face. It was actually him that did that, Tommy having no reaction to the sight of rot. Wilbur preferred to keep some sort of attractiveness, or maybe the sight of him decomposing was too much—Tommy couldn’t guess which one was more amusing to him.

“No?”

“Why not?”

“I spent lots of energy on bringing you back, for one. Two,” he paused, confidence swept from right under him, “uh, two... I donno, don’t you wanna restart? Have a second chance?”

Wilbur laughed, reaching forward and holding his stomach. The teen just frowned and shuffled, the meal ignored with the off-putting conversation.

Once the man finally calmed down, he leaned on his elbows and let his head rest in his hands, right above the bowl. He grinned crookedly, hair falling over his bandaged face. Tommy could’ve sworn he was squinting again.

“You’re adorable. So innocent... despite this fucked up circus you got going on.” He tilted his head towards the ground, gazing off in that direction. Then his golden eyes snapped back onto Tommy, who froze under his stare. “You realize that not everyone that dies died an unfair death, right? Some of us went out on our own terms, ready to face whatever the gods had in store for us on the other side.”

“Of course I do.” Tommy spat, voice lower than he intended. His fists clenched in his lap.

“Then why did you bring me back? Me ?”

“I don’t know. It was impulsive. Wasn’t thinking.”

Wilbur set his jaw, intensity returning to his glare. Another distant crack of thunder shook the room, it’s flash unseen by the two. “You’re a stupid fucking child. Let the dead rest. Stop using you useless magic and go get some sun.”

“I don’t need to hear this from a man who’d prefer to rot in a coffin than, what, go get some sun .” Tommy leaned back and crossed his arms, snarling at him from behind his messy hair.

“Why me? Why didn’t you choose anyone else down there?”

“You were the closest one.”

Wilbur closed his mouth. He studied Tommy, taking in the kid’s general messy appearance and light in his eyes. There was no use in arguing the technicalities on something he had no knowledge in, he figured. His shoulders relaxed, arms resting on the wooden table and head dropping a bit. The fire in his tone blew away with the next whistle that came through the windows, voice low and taut.

“You should’ve kept me dead.”

Tommy watched him pick up the spoon and feed himself. Slowly, hesitantly, but he was eating. And this time, Tommy was staring him down, and Wilbur was avoiding his gaze. He let the silence drag on, and made sure Wilbur actually ate rather than faked it or only took a few bites. The roles had reversed, though this time it was a needed moment of quiet between the two. Still, the rain roared on outside, and a dog under the table pressed It’s shaking head against Wilbur’s leg.

Neither of them would admit it, but when Tommy tried, he was a pretty decent cook—as seen from the past fifty hours. Breakfast was a nice light and easily made plate of eggs, lunch was skipped thanks to Wilbur’s first escape attempt, and last night’s dinner was well made chicken and vegetables. Again, neither of them ate much today either with the whole window thing, and Wilbur refused to out of spite and Tommy out of habit.

The man’s bowl was empty fairly quickly, and he pushed it forward while leaning back and scarfing down the slice of toasted bread.  Crumbs fell onto his yellow sweater and duster, each one getting knocked off with a swift flick of bandaged fingers.

Tommy let himself smirk at the sight, then got up to clean off the table. Man, he hated being responsible.

“Sorry.” He muttered out, setting the bowls in the sink and spilling some water to get the remnants off. His attention lingered on his black hands, tendrils of darkness threatening to wrap around his wrists, parts of his arm already a sickly blue color. It was getting worse, but he ignored it as he cleaned the bowls off lazily.

“For... uh, bringing you back. Wasn’t thinking. Didn’t think someone would be upset about it... especially not someone like you, but, uh, yeah. Sorry.”

He bit his lip, keeping his focus on the dishes. Tommy didn’t understand why he was so nervous about whether or not he’d accept the apology. He wasn’t the type to apologize at all, first of all. What the fuck had gotten into him?

Wilbur stared at the back of his head, holding a half eaten piece of toast in one hand, with the other resting on his chest. He leaned back enough to be diagonal, using the table for balance. He rested all four legs of the chair on the ground, needing a flat surface to ponder his response.

He sighed, setting the toast on the table to trace the floral etchings instead. “You’re a kid with magic beyond my understanding. I’m sure if I was in your position, I’d do the same stupid shit. Besides, someone has to tell you not to resurrect people Willy Nilly.”

Tommy wheeled around, eyes wide. “You mean- you’re actually staying?”

“Got nowhere else to go but down.” Wilbur joked, a grin twitched onto his face.

There were more reasons. Lots and lots of reasons—from being bored of the afterlife, to being able to convince this kid to do more questionable things, to just keeping him for company, or being nice to him just to break his little heart in the future. It didn’t matter to him—he had plenty of time to think about his next course of action.

A squeeze around his arms brought him out of his thoughts, and suddenly, the teen’s face was pressed into his shoulder, and trembling fingers bundled up the back of his gunpowder-stained trench coat. Wilbur blinked, dazed by this new development, when he was spoken too.

“Thank you. I’m sorry.”

A huff of disbelief escaped him, but he hugged back anyway, and patted his back roughly. “It’s okay.” He paused, staring off into the window, at the occasional flashes that broke through the tree line. Then, he tightened his grip. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Somehow, he knew those were words Tommy needed to hear, even if it put a dent in some of his more sinister ideas, and made him feel a little more guilty for wanting to crawl back into the catacombs and rot.

Tommy let go, and smiled, surprisingly not in tears or red-faced or anything. His hands lingered on his shoulders, hands shaking slightly, and Wilbur noticed that Tommy glanced to them briefly before disregarding them entirely.

“I think I’m going off to bed, then. Maybe... uh, think of things to do, and we’ll do em?”

Wilbur nodded. “Right, right. About time we left this house.”

Tommy flashed him a grin, then let go of him fully and started his nightly routine of blowing out the candles. Wilbur stood and stretched, feeling the hole in his chest stretch with little to no protest. His hand fell to the wound at the odd but familiar feeling, jaw set as he retreated to the couch. Tommy left with a wave and a loud “Night!”

“Night!” Wilbur hollered back over the rain and the wind, relaxing against the cushions and easily letting sleep consume him.

Sadly, the rain hadn’t let up, now a soft drizzle with a rare strike of lightning. The sun managed to light up the sky, turning it a light grey from the cloud cover. The animals had moved around, off to get themselves some food from the world around them or from the trash pile to the side of the cottage. The rest of the place was fairly open at the moment, and Wilbur woke up to the smell of something sweet mingled with the distinct scent of rain.

He sat up and peered over the couch to see Tommy lost in his own world; a black-tinted hand shooed a few birds from his work. He was over something sizzling, the window cracked open to let the steam and heat out. His hair was a mess, as expected, sticking up in ways Wilbur didn’t know was possible. He bit back a laugh, and waited for him to do something even more embarrassing. For blackmail, maybe, or just so he could mock him.

A raven landed in the window and shuffled in, peering down at whatever Tommy was making. The teen made the mistake of turning his attention to a different pot on the stove, swirling something in it and stirring It’s contents, mumbling to himself too. The bird made its move: it pecked at the sizzling thing in the pan, took a chunk, and darted to the other side of the counter with the undead birds.

“Aye! You little fucker- “ Tommy spun and swatted at where it was, a bit too late, but too angry to care. The raven cooed laugh-like, mockingly, then teared a piece of what Wilbur thought was a pancake, maybe? off and gave it to another bird.

“Shithead.”

“Why don’t you kick them out?”

Tommy jumped in his spot and stared at Wilbur, knuckles turning white around the spatula. His sucked in breath was quickly exhaled, teeth bared.

“Fuck you. Don’t do that.”

“What, talk? I can’t talk?”

“No, dickhead. Don’t scare me like that.” He rolled his eyes and returned to his work. “And no, well, I’ve tried. They just won’t leave me alone is all.”

Wilbur nodded, resting his chin in his arms and watching the birds fight over the shared pieces of food. The raven hopped away the second it got a chance, off towards Wilbur.

Then Wilbur witnessed something incredible. Even cooler than him being resurrected, if that was possible. Right before his very eyes, he watched a series of events happen.

Tommy dropped the spatula on the counter crudely and turned again. He glared at the raven, who stopped moving and stared right back blankly. The teen’s fingers twitched uncontrollably, sparks of white shooting through and around the black markings, the tendrils wrapping firmly around his wrist and leeching off towards his elbow. It was hard to miss, especially to Wilbur, who had never really seen magic until a few days ago.

Then, the bird cawed loudly, drawing his attention back to it as it fluttered off to the table. Halfway, though, it shifted, feathers puffing out and splitting apart. In the blink of an eye, the large bird turned into an even larger man, with wings, who stood there, a soft smile on his face and a white and green striped hat covering most of his blonde hair.

Wilbur’s jaw dropped, while Tommy’s stayed clenched.

“Good morning, you two.”

Wilbur was barely able to speak, managing a “Wh-“

“Why are you here. I haven’t done shit.” Tommy spat, arms crossed.

“I know.” The shapeshifter shrugged, light eyes landing on the teen. “But I have my reasons.”

“How-“

Tommy waved a dismissive hand and returned to his pancakes, flipping one angrily. “Wilbur’s off the market. He chose to stay.”

“I’m not here for him.”

“The animals are off limits, prick. They chose to stay too.”

He just chuckled in response, finally noticing the baffled look on Wilbur’s face.

The shapeshifter was in a green robe and black cloak, one that hid two neatly folded wings, which fell to the floor with the rest of his outfit. Red hearts decorated him, from the clips of his cloak to the buttons of the robe, an even clash of gold to black to green to red. He had an emerald dangling from an ear and a few braids poking out from under the hat, eyes half-shadowed by the locks. He smiled nicely, hands folded in front of him, and Wilbur couldn’t help but recognize him from before, vaguely.

“Hello, mate. We haven’t officially met.”

Wilbur stared at his outstretched hand, briefly admiring the black fingerless gloves and painted nails with little cursive hearts and designs drawn in. He tentatively took his hand and shook it, glancing back up to his face.

“Yeah. I’m Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.”

“Philza Minecraft.” The other grinned, returning his hand to in front of him. “I see Tommy’s magic hasn’t healed you completely.”

“Working on it.” The teen hissed bitterly, a plate of food compiled.

Wilbur’s shock wore off. “No? Does it take this long?”

“There’s plenty of variables, but usually no.”

“Are you a necromancer too?” Wilbur blinked.

Phil chuckled and shook his head, standing beside the couch nobly. “Nah, mate. I have a covenant to the god of death.”

“He’s an Angel.” Tommy corrected matter-of-fairly, sparing a glare to the two. “Made a deal with them, so now he goes around reaping souls and keeping track of who’s dead and who’s not.”

“And necromancy messes with that.” Phil spoke fondly, not particularly annoyed by the prospect. He watched the teen like a hawk, and Wilbur was at a loss of words again. Tommy scoffed and shrugged his shoulders dramatically.

“Whatever. What are you doing here.”

“I took a break. I have a day off, so I decided to come here.”

“Don’t you have a wife?” Tommy stated mockingly. “Something happen to ol’ Mumza?”

“Kristin’s fine, just busy. You know.” He shrugged and messed with his sleeves, to which Tommy just nodded along and muttered something.

“Can we backtrack for a second?” Wilbur glanced between the two, “Weren’t you there for my resurrection?”

Philza nodded, a cat on the table begging for his attention.

“Why?”

“Tried to talk Tommy out of it. I’m surprised you remember me being there...” He answered, letting the cat rub against his outstretched palm.

“Really?”

“In my defense, he tried to talk me out of it with that one right there.” Tommy huffed, pointing an accusing finger to the cat. “And every other animal in this house.”

“Someone has to keep his god complex down.” Phil murmured to Wilbur, and both of them grinned evilly.

“Fuck you!”

“Is this a necromancer thing, then? Having a little Angel on your shoulder for when you do something stupid?”

“Nope.” Phil shook his head. “Most of them are wise old men drawn to greed for power, others are too young, both too stubborn to listen to reason.”

At that, Tommy faltered in his quick movements, but remained quiet for once.

“What you reckon Tommy’ll be?” Wilbur asked, half joking in the way he cupped his cheek in a hand against the couch.

Phil made a face and bounced his head between his shoulders, “Don’t know. Could be either-“

“I’m right here, dickheads.”

“No, no, I want to learn more.” Wilbur grinned ear to ear, staring up at Phil with stars in his eyes. “Please, go on.”

“Breakfast is ready.” Tommy practically slammed the large plate in the middle of the table, around three stacks of different sized pancakes piled up. He set a pitcher of still-hot syrup beside it, then pushed three plates around and sat in his usual spot, grumbling to himself as he prepared to eat.

The adults were forced to slide on over and sit adjacent to each other. Phil casually continued on, helping Wilbur with his own plate before his own.

“As I was saying. Most of us angels don’t get involved in mortal affairs. But... There aren’t any rules against it, so I decided to nudge Tommy on the right path.”

“He’s a wrongen?”

“No.” Tommy said around a mouthful of soft sponge.

“Chew, child.”

The two snickered at him when he glared at them and tossed his arms up in defeat.

Wilbur dug into his meal, mood already much brighter than it had been in a long time. “So I could be whole again? No more bone showing or...?”

“Basically, yeah. Might have some scarring or discoloration, but nothing too bad. Most Necromancers summon complete zombies and skeletons, who are too far gone to be sentient again. It’s rare for one to immediately try for a whole human life. And usually It’s loved ones or children, not strangers, so this is basically unprecedented.”

A flicker of pride crossed Tommy’s face, but he hid it with a furrowed brow and loud chewing noises.

“What’s with the blue?” Wilbur pointed to his face, where sure enough, some faded blue coloring seeped through the bandages. The same were on the ones around his chest and arms and legs.

“Your old blood was rotten and gross and had left your body. The blue is the beginning of the healing process, replacing your old blood with something straight from Tommy: His magic. You got pure magic in your veins, keeping you from dropping dead or feeling pain.”

Wilbur almost choked on his bite, managing to clear his throat and glance between the blondes.

“That’s a lotta magic.”

Phil’s smile shifted. Wilbur couldn’t tell what it was, but his eyes softened, and his nod was barely noticeable.

Tommy scoffed from his end. “Yeah, you’re welcome, prick.”

The conversation ended there, which was fine for them all, because holy shit those pancakes were good.

After the dishes had been cleaned and put away, Wilbur stepped over to the back door and opened it. An extension of the roof kept any rain from hitting him, water dripped off the edges and into large puddles below the steps. The garden, which was kept in a half-built pen attached to the house and surrounded the door, flourished in the rain. He grinned to himself, genuinely shocked at how well kept and organized the place was, safe for a few discarded tools sticking into the dirt. The forest was close to the house, patches of grass and moss and brambles clung around the trees and made the tight space tighter.

It had been so long since he last saw rain. Even now, the mist kicked up by the breeze felt inviting. He stepped down into the mud, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling of mud between his toes. His shoulders relaxed as he stared up at the grey sky.

Maybe living wouldn’t be so bad.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Philza spoke up from the door way.

Wilbur didn’t turn around to look at him, he just nodded and closed his eyes to relish the cool air and droplets on his face. He opened his arms out and took it all in.

A whoosh of air caught his attention, head tipped down to see Philza right next to him, wings spread wide and a content smile on his face as he too enjoyed the moment. Wilbur smiled, and sighed, every last drop of anger and anxiety melting away.

Tommy’s hands were shaking badly.

Even when nothing was happening, no magic, no talking, no nothing, the edges of the tendrils glowed and inched up his arm. What once was a harrowing reminder of his power had turned to a time bomb. Or at least, that’s what he thought.

Magic in of itself was a mystery. Most people had to be born with it, out of pure luck and less of genetic background. Most people went to college for it and learned how to hone their skills for the better of their country. A few who didn’t go to school either didn’t use their magic or taught themselves.

He read a few books on it (despite the lack of general information regarding necromancy), just to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally hurt himself too badly after casting a spell, but until this point he winged it, and that seemed to be working out for him—until now.

His fingers buzzed with magic, adding to the shakiness of his hands. It didn’t hurt that bad, just a dull ache where the black markings stretched across. He grabbed onto where it spread, and stood up abruptly to get himself some gloves and a longer sleeved shirt. He was lucky that Philza had been too busy with Wilbur to notice, and he prayed that Wilbur didn’t know what was going on either.

With black gloves and a shirt that covered his arms acquired, he stood at the back door and watched the two stand out in the rain. One of the dogs tried getting Philza to throw a stick, but he was ignored while they masked in the rain. An idea came into mind, one that caused the teen to grin mischievously. Tommy pat his legs and the dog came scampering over, a limp prominent from a heavily destroyed leg that was held in place by magic.

Next thing they knew, a stick whizzed between their heads, causing them both to spin around in alarm. The dog yipped and shot off.

“Hey-!“

“Sorry!” Tommy crossed his arms. He really wasn’t.

“You could’ve hit us.” Phil warned.

“Good.”

Wilbur smirked and pointed to the garden that separated them. “You have a nice little thing going on here. I thought you’d have a patch of dirt out here.”

“You thought wrong.”

“I think it’s nice.”

“Isn’t your masculinity on the line? Not gonna flush when I point out how cutesy your little home is?”

“I’ll have you know I make bomb-ass jams with those berries.” Tommy grinned right back, chin up in pride.

“He makes a good point.” Phil mused, wings folded back under the cloak.

“Fair enough.”

The dog trotted back with the stick in mouth, mud tarnishing their cream colored fur. His tail wagged, taking their whole body with it, and it waited for Tommy to take the stick again. He did, grimacing at the sheer amount of slobber and gunk on the branch. Tommy strolled off towards the two, another idea coming to mind with a smile.

“I aughta show you Henry before we do anything else.”

The two shared a look and followed him into the forest, the dog skillfully side stepping to keep themself facing the stick, tongue lolled out of their mouth and a glint of mischief in their eye. A large patch of grass was seen with a few more creatures lounging about, keeping to the forest rather than the clearing to stay out of the rain. Among them were a few birds, a skeletal ferret in a tree, and a black and white cow that remained perfectly dry under the largest tree. It was missing a leg, and had a green piece of cloth wrapped around It’s neck, but it was otherwise one of the more whole beings in the forest.

It lifted its head to greet them, and Tommy crumbled at the sight, tossing the stick to the side and sitting down with his cow.

The two men stood still, unsure as to what to say until Phil smiled and leaned down to pet the cow too.

“I remember him.”

“You don’t get out often, do you?” Wilbur huffed, filling suit and running his fingers along the soft fur, flinching away as the cow sighed and rested it’s head against Tommy’s crossed legs.

Tommy glared at him, frowning a bit. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Wilbur gestured around at the curious creatures that watched with wide eyes, though was cut off from saying much else.

“Is he still healing too?” Phil asked, flopping face-first against Henry and grabbing fistfuls of fur. He was incredibly warm, Wilbur admitted, especially compared to his pale, half-dead body.

“Yeah. But soon he’ll be a totally normal cow and be able to go do cool cow things.” Tommy shrugged, messing with his ears. The cow flicked them to try and get him to stop, but otherwise seemed perfectly content.

“Surprised you can be so far away from him.” Phil hummed, wings relaxing onto the wet grass. “Usually would need to be within ten feet of each other.”

“Nah, not anymore. It’s best if I do, sure, but eh. I don’t feel the string thing anymore.”

“String thing?” Wilbur piped up, tempted to copy Phil in... whatever he was doing.

Tommy nodded and moved a hand to try and show what he was saying. “It’s like a magical rope that gets tighter the further you are away from your... creations. It’s what’s keeping you alive at the moment.. and why you couldn’t run too far the other day.”

“They fade away eventually, with a few exceptions.” Philza added turning his head to look up at Wilbur. “Some bonds can’t break on their own. Some get strong enough for both parties to leech off magic from each other. It’s why wizards and mages have Familiars, partly for the companionship, partly for the extra mana.”

“There can be more than one,” Tommy continued, staring down at his pet, “but that’s draining. Takes too much time and effort.”

Wilbur considered this new information, staring down at his bandaged hand. Some blue seeped past the cloth, staining it and making his pale hands even more cold-looking. He reached out, copied the cow’s breaths to steady himself, and tried searching for an extra feeling within. Not that he knew what he was doing, he just wanted to see if he could feel it himself.

“Good luck.” Tommy muttered, shattering his concentration. The teen was frowning, leaning against the tree and petting Henry rhythmically, a distant look in his eye and a dark tilt to his voice. “It’s hard for non magicals to feel it. A little inside info from me, it’s why so many wizards don’t have friends. It’s easy to use those bonds against you, and breaking one is very, very painful.”

Philza sat up, sharing the same look of solemn curiosity and slight concern with Wilbur as they studied him. He was too stubborn to look up from his petting, gloves covered in a mixture of white and black fur. Henry didn’t seem to mind, leaning into it and flicking his tail.

There were only two ways Tommy knew that, out of common sense on Wilbur’s part. One, he heard it, or read it in a book somewhere, or maybe was told it by a teacher. It made sense, well, he wasn’t really a bookworm but he clearly did enough research to know what he was doing (most the time). It would be common knowledge among mages, surely, and it did make sense why most of them were solitary or swore an oath to the king.

Or two, the much more exciting but... terrifying answer, is that he’d done it before: he snapped that magical string in half and endured whatever came with it, for whatever reason, cutting him off from a mutual supply of life that was addicting and soothing and embodied the feeling of family and home. Knowing that he was a lonely teenager in the woods, it wasn’t too far of a stretch. And knowing that this lonely teenager in the woods actually did that (maybe, it was still a theory after all) made Wilbur feel even more guilty for wanting to hurt him in some way.

“I see.” He eventually said, setting his hand in his lap.

Philza cleared his throat and folded his wings again, “Well, it was nice to meet you Henry, but we would get inside before either of you get a cold.”

“I can get sick still?”

“He means me.” Tommy rolled his eyes and gave Henry a last pat on the head before pushing him off and standing.

Phil’s wings draped around them both, and pushed them off towards the house, generating another activity for them to do.

Chapter Text

An angsty teen, a deranged corpse and a literal sentinel for the God of Death are stuck in a rotting house surrounded by animals. What happens?

First, they play some cards during breakfast. Wilbur teaches Tommy solitaire, and Philza dominates at Black Jack, the table scattered with cards and plates and cups. It ends in Tommy hurling his hand at the shapeshifter and the two adults laughing at his distain.

During lunch, they watched two cats have a standoff on the counter, the winner being a calico missing half her body. It took one well placed slap to the muzzle for the tabby to scatter. They laughed about that too, and treated the felines to pets.

As the sun dipped down and the storm picked up again, Philza taught Wilbur how to make some sort of mushroom-based gravy for the rest of the jerky Tommy bought. The birds in and around the house settled on his shoulders and hat, happy to have an avian to sit with and chirp to occasionally. Wilbur tried to smack one off, a large black wing blocking him and gently pushing him aside with a simple “Cease.” He also brewed up some tea using the herbs and fruit from the garden.

After dinner, they sat on the couch and drank their tea, discussing whatever came to mind.

They had a long discussion about Philza’s life (or lack thereof?), and his job, and Kristin, but he didn’t go into details regarding his boss and the rules they had in place.

“Bet there’s some really dumb ones.”

“Is the god watching us right now?” Wilbur glanced around, as if he’d notice if they were.

Philza shook his head, tapping a nail against the teacup. “That’s why angels exist, so we can be their eyes. There are people that make deals with them, in which case they might use those people as vessels. I have friend that made a deal a few centuries ago, good lad. Maybe I should invite him over... he could teach you two a thing or two.”

“About what?” Tommy scoffed, legs kicked up on the pulled out stool that acted as a coffee table for their tea. He pressed against the corner of the couch, while the other two were splayed out a bit more casually.

“Fighting, probably.”

“Is he a mercenary for the god of death?”

Phil shrugged, smirking at their glares as he refused to answer the question.

Wilbur huffed bitterly, savoring the taste of his drink before speaking. “Go on then. Tell us.”

“Sorry mate, you’ll just have to meet him to find out.”

A clap of Thunder startled the animals that managed to sleep through their discussions, the creatures scurrying away to nooks and cranny’s between the furniture and the cleaned up bags of clothes. The wind howled afterwards, and the candles and lanterns flickered for a brief moment, if not by the force of the wind through the cracks next to the windows than by impeccable timing.

Right after, there was a knock on the front door, a light set of patters that were far too heavy to be a trick of the wind and rain. Tommy glanced between the two, who stared expectantly at him. Concern and tea kept them quiet, as did the sudden knowledge that all three of them could, indeed, be oh so utterly fucked.

There was another knock, more impatient this time. Tommy set his cup on the table and pushed himself to his feet. As he walked to the door, he fixed his gloves and made sure his black arms were hidden. Even if he thought it would be a lost traveler or someone popping in to collect his taxes (in which case he’d ask him to come back later because his parents aren’t home, duh), the chance that it was a guard or mage was high, and he really didn’t want to be arrested for necromancy or grave digging or speaking to all powerful beings... or all three at once.

He recalled a joke about a new hobby, though this time it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He blamed the stress on that.

The wind hollered outside, filling the stilled space with noise. Philza and Wilbur remained out of sight on the couch, per Philza’s request. Still, the Angel reached under his cloak, ready to unsheathe his sword if he had to.

Tommy felt his anxiety spike as he grabbed the door handle. This could be nothing, he reminded himself, but in the case it isn’t I’m fucked.

When the door opened, he stood before two figures. One hunched over, layered in far to many layers for it being summer, an umbrella uselessly trying to shield him from the slamming rain. Despite that, steam rose from his body through the coats and cloaks and hoods he wore, sizzling in the rain. He had a black mask on to keep his face somewhat dry (which failed miserably), but between split hair Tommy saw a black and white face with wide reptilian eyes. One red and one green.

The other was a much shorter hybrid, who’s large ears were pinned to his head and tied back hair a mess of browns and golds. He wore a fluffy jacket over his clothes, a large bundle of blankets held tight to his chest through the open buttons of the coat. He was covered in ancient scars, and his face was pink from either the cold or running, Tommy couldn’t tell. The two stared at him, a thousand emotions crossing their eyes before the smaller one nearly burst into tears. The tightness in his chest evaporated.

“Tubbo? Ranboo?” He breathed, glancing between the two before stepping back to let them in. The short hybrid hopped in without hesitation, and the taller one ducked his head and shuffled his way in. “What are you doin’ here?”

“We- I’m sorry, I should’ve wrote o-or something-“ Tubbo shivered beside Tommy as the door closed, water dripping onto the floor from where they stood.

“No, no. Just- Jesus Christ, Ranboo. You’re burning.” Tommy glared up at the lanky one, who chuckled painfully and shook there, the air hot around him as the rain steamed off him.

“I’m fine. Um-“

“Who’s the other people?” Tubbo whispered loudly, turning their attention to the empty-looking living space. Two heads popped out from the couch, both itching with curiosity and worry.

“Oh, fuck sake. Wilbur, Philza, this is Tubbo and Ranboo, old friends of mine.”

“Maybe he isn’t as lonely as I thought.” Philza mused.

“Is that an enderman?” Wilbur sputtered out, narrowing his eyes to try and focus on the incredibly tall and dark shape.

“Why- no, no, that’s not important.” Tubbo shook his head and strolled over to the table, adjusting his grip on the bundle held to his chest. “Tommy, I- we need your help.”

“Sure. Tell him to stop turning my house into a sauna first.”

Ranboo grumbled, claws picking at the bindings that kept his clothing on him. He managed to get the first cloak off and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor. “I can’t control it.”

“Here, let me help.” Philza sprang to his feet and strolled over, hands hovering in front of him as Ranboo backed away. Wilbur followed, tripping over his feet and grinning like a kid at a candy store.

“Tommy-“

“Okay, wait one second, man. Let’s catch up first, yeah? Take deep breaths and tell me what’s goin on.”

Tubbo nodded and puffed out his chest, hair sticking to his face and flinging off his ears. He and Ranboo wavered, on unsteady feet with exhaustion shadowing their faces.

“About a week before our last letter, we, uh... had a development. We got married actually. Schlatt permitted it, surprisingly...”

“I knew you were engaged. Shoulda sent me an invite.” Tommy crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, earning glares of varying intensities from everyone else.

“Not our fault.” The enderman scoffed, his extra clothes discarded on a chair. His skin had blisters, some of it twitching and trying to deter the moisture. Phil was there to help with a dry cloth, and Wilbur scampered off to get some proper medical supplies from upstairs. His regular clothes, despite being very casual and dirty, were surprisingly dry. He sat down in a chair in the kitchen so he was short enough for the man to dry off his hair, flinching and stiffening at each touch, but otherwise cooperative.

“Yeah, well that’s the thing. It wasn’t a big wedding- you know how it is. But, anyway, we adopted a piglin before it happened, and shit hit the fan over there, and...” Tubbo started shaking, holding the bundle out for Tommy. Tommy blinked, and the room stilled again for a moment. Dark splotches of blood were seeping through the bundle, some staining the teen’s undershirt and arms. Ranboo made a noise and shrank into the chair, while a returning Wilbur cringed and set up the wrappings and ointment to help the burns.

The necromancer took the shape in his arms and uncovered the blankets, met with an eye socket staring right back at him, whatever that was kept inside having long been emptied. The other side of the piglin’s face was in much better shape, just pale and scratched, with a few hints of green mold dotting the area around the rot. He couldn’t be much older than five, Tommy assumed. The guy was tiny.

He bit the inside of his cheek, understanding what was being asked of him.

“How did he die?”

Tubbo shuffled from foot to foot and grabbed his soaking arm. “Um... hunters, we think.”

A smack across the head kept Wilbur from asking what that meant, but what didn’t stop him from glaring daggers at Phil.

Tommy continued, thoughtfully tapping a finger to the piglin’s snout. “When?”

“We left as soon as it happened.” Ranboo murmured, ears lowering with a frown. He had taken off his mask too, showing off scars that ran down his face from a decades worth of tears. “So... A week or two?”

“You came here on foot? Alone? Across the border?” Tommy scoffed.

“Well, I know you’d help us. You will, right?”

“Of course, but still. Shoulda got a ride at least.”

Wilbur piped up anyway. “I thought you didn’t tell anyone about your magic.”

“Tubbo isn’t just anyone,” he rolled his eyes, “and Ranboo’s rarer than I am.”

“Oh, is this a competition?” Phil’s lips flattened to try and hide a smile.

Tubbo shuffled over beside the others per Tommy’s gesture, taking off his fluffy jacket and resting it in the sink to dry, still shivering nonetheless. “Y-yeah. We did grow up together- who do you think caught him doing it?”

Tommy rested the bundle on the table and unwrapped the toddler, seeing that he was in a clean striped sweater and overalls, one of his hooves already just tendons and dried flesh, and the fabric sank into his chest unnaturally. And the smell—if he wasn’t already used to it, he’d retch. Tommy held his tongue and sat down. He tore off the gloves and tossed them away.

With a deep breath, he hid his face in one arm and rested his other hand on the child’s chest, focusing with all his might like he had done countless other times.

“We go way back.” Ranboo nodded, tail tossed under the chair as he half-spaced out.

“Yeah? Good for you. I’ve known Tommy for like three days and I literally owe him my life.” Wilbur joked, his smile contagious through the others that kept Ranboo’s skin from deteriorating.

Philza nodded, a wing draped across Tubbo’s shoulders to keep him somewhat warm. “Do you two want any tea? There’s plenty extra.”

Tubbo groaned, ears lowering for comedic affect. “Don’t tell me he got adopted by an Angel.”

“What? No. I try and tell him not to do-“

A bright glow made them freeze where they were, all eyes landing on the table. Tommy’s hand swirled with runes and glyphs, a repeated phrase going up and sound his arm and even around his chest in spinning bands, parts of his hair turning white and glowing too. The hand that rested on the piglin was the brightest, fingers trembling as magic dug into it’s flesh and began reconstructing necessary components, pulsing into him in amounts none of them knew were possible.

“...that.” Philza finished in a quiet, thoughtful tone.

Tommy’s shoulders stiffened. He was in a world of pain, which was fairly new to him. Even reviving Wilbur didn’t hurt as much—but now, his flesh burned, his heart was loud and skipped a few beats, and soon he was gasping for breath and holding back every scream. His eyes were squeezed shut, but even from behind his eyelids he could see the tendrils on his arm consuming him, and holy fuck did it hurt. The usual buzzing had turned into electricity, hurting him enough to think his hand shattered into a billion pieces. In reality, magic peered through thick cracks on the back of his hand, tracing his veins almost perfectly. It was quite the sight to see, and quite the pain to endure.

But it was over the second he felt a tiny, frantic heartbeat against his fingers. He took his hand off when he heard an alarmed snort.

The piglin sat up abruptly, shaking and glancing around like everything was crumbling down around him. Wilbur winced at the sight. The process of revival was an interesting one, and death was an inviting feeling that he’d willingly sleep in for all of eternity—but crossing from one plane of existence to another—stepping into the living world after being numb for so long, seeing and hearing and smelling and feeling so many things all at once—that was a pain Wilbur would never wish on anyone. Including this fumbling child that screamed and thrashed where he woke up.

Luckily, Phil caught onto what was happening and scooped him up in his arms, giving him someone warm to cling onto to help calm down. The piglin did exactly that, curling into his chest and readjusting to life. Blue dripped from him and stained his clothes as well as Phil’s shirt, which was alarming to his already stunned parents.

“He needs a second.” Wilbur explained hastily, resting a hand on Ranboo’s shoulder when he tried to stand. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, then Ranboo looked away. “Trust me, coming back to life isn’t as peaceful as it sounds.”

“What’s with the blue?”

“New blood, given to him by Tommy. Basically pure magic.” Phil tucked his wings in, bringing Tubbo closer. The hybrid gladly stroked his son’s back, ears pinned to the sides of his head.

Wilbur left Ranboo so he could greet his son, strolling to Tommy’s side instead. The teen was out cold, breath shallow and dark arms limp on the table, parts of it glowing under his shirt to spread like some sort of desease. He frowned and turned back to the couch, only to grab a blanket and drape it across his shoulders. Tommy stirred, nestling deeper into his arms and sighing in his sleep.

Michael started calming down, reaching out to his dad’s and grabbing onto Ranboo’s split hair, his functional eye wide with confused curiosity. The other side of his face was stained in blue, clashing with his pink and greenish skin in a way that made Wilbur’s stomach churn. He could only imagine what it was like missing an eye like that—well, he did have a nasty chunk of flesh removed from his face, and it already felt gross and weird like that. But it wasn’t comparable to a whole side of his face.

“There’s more bandages upstairs, if you want to cover up the gross bits.” He spoke softly, pointing to the bandage that covered one of his own eyes.

Philza nodded and guided the two towards the stairs, their cooing voices lowering as they passed. Wilbur sat down at the table instead, his gaze never leaving to Tommy as he slept. It was the least he could do, after all.

Usually his dreams were endless pools of darkness. Usually he’d peacefully swim through it until he woke up. On the off chance he did dream, it was always nightmares, focused on his troubled past. He’d run through the streets, stay hidden, get caught, and forced to hold a sword for reasons beyond his understanding. Chains would dig into his wrists as he pulled on them, screaming until his lungs collapsed and throat started bleeding, witnessing horrors that his fragile mind would immediately forget the next morning for his own safety.

But this time was different. This time the pool of darkness was greeted with a new shape. Far away, something beckoned him, swirls of red emitting from the spot. Hesitantly, he stepped forward.

The closer he got, the more dazed he became, the shape flickering in and out of existence, static filling his mind until he could no longer think. The blob of red and black turned into a highlighted silhouette, glitching about like it struggled to stay in his view. His steps slowed, and a sudden sense of panic enveloped him.

The figure snapped into reality, deadly still, a pair of white dots staring at him from the figures head. They remained locked in a staring contest for god knows how long. Then, the figure laughed. It didn’t move, but the sound filled his mind and rang in his ears, causing him to cover them and shrink to the metaphorical floor of the dream. The laughter was shrieking, high and filled to the brim with an unhinged quality that made him shudder. When he looked back up, the figure was right in front of him, bending down. No features, just two white dots and a red background staring back at him.

He choked on his own breath and grabbed onto himself as the laughter continued, a headache splitting his mind as it echoed around. Hands grabbed onto his arms, and he flinched away from the touch, landing on the floor. That nearly snapped him out of it,

But the figure was right there, standing over him. Despite not seeing it’s face (if it even had one) he could tell it was grinning at him, mocking him with each breathless wheeze and cackle. It moved towards him smoothly, and in response he scrambled back.

A different figure came into view, blocking the first one. This one- this one was blonde, and spread two feathery wings, hands gentle as they reached out to him, face twisted in concern. No, he wasn’t dreaming. That was Philza. He pounced, scooping Tommy in his arms and wrapping his arms around him.

The laughter stopped abruptly, leaving his mind entirely with no fade or echo to follow it. The world came into focus bit by pit—safe for his vision, which remained dark and nauseating—starting with the random hush of rain outside, then to how damn shaky he was, then to the burning in his chest as he realized he still couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, Tommy, mate. Can you hear me?”

Tommy nodded, too busy coughing and struggling to say anything. Fuck, why did his throat hurt so much?

“Good, good. Follow my lead, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Philza’s chest expanded in demonstration. Tommy closed his eyes tight and bared his teeth, trying his best. His breath got caught in his throat, and he gagged, tears fell freely.

“Again. In, Tommy. Breathe.”

I’m trying, bitch.

This time was easier. He managed to inhale, and the tension in his body ebbed away with the relief that filled his screaming lungs.

“Good. Again.”

Tommy didn’t know when he had started clinging to Phil, but his black stained fingers were digging into his clothing like a lifeline, trembling with how tight his grip was. His face remained pressed against his shoulder, covering his eyes so he didn’t have to see the silhouette again. When he let out his next breath, a sob came with it.

“I know, I know. You’re okay.” Philza murmured into his ear, hands calmly stroking his back and keeping him close. His wings acted as a shield from the outside world, surrounding them in even more darkness.

The shapeshifter stole a glance back at the three others behind him. Wilbur, who had been the one to grab Phil when this started, looked guilty, face paler than usual and the bandages around his hands messed with constantly. Tubbo was partially held back by Ranboo, both wanting to help but not moving until it was okay to. They had been given some extra clothing to get out of their damp clothes, matching Tommy’s horrendous sense of style. They had been woken up by the screaming, probably, based on the dazed half-awake looks on their faces.

With a heavy frown, Philza continued. “Do you know where you are, Tommy?”

The teen nodded, a hiccup escaping him.

“Do you remember who’s here with you?”

A pause, then another nod and a shaky exhale.

“Good.” He stated encouragingly, pivoting where he sat so he half-faced the others. He took Tommy with him. “Can someone get him some water, and maybe set up the couch for a bed?”

A flicker of determination flashed across Tubbo’s gaze, and he immediately darted into the kitchen in search for a water bottle. Ranboo and Wilbur turned to the couch and grabbed the discarded blanket that had been taken down with the chair. Philza moved to try and get Tommy to stand, the teen making a sound of protest and tugging on his shirt.

“Hey, hey. Okay. I’m not going anywhere, Tommy. I’m right here.”

He couldn’t help but wonder what spooked him so badly. Maybe they’d be able to get him to talk about it, but even Philza knew he wasn’t one to openly show emotions often. Tubbo knelt down beside them and held out a glass bottle, smiling the smallest bit.

“Hey, Tubbo’s here. He wants you to drink water.”

He violently shivered as he peered over Phil’s shoulder, then sighed in relief and clawed at his face with a hand to clear away the rest of his tears. Tommy steadied himself, then turned to look for the glass. He looked like shit, honestly. Eyes bloodshot and puffy, his pupils extremely contracted even in the dull light of the few candles still lit, he was pale and extremely red all at once, hair in bunches from him pulling at it, mirroring the appearance of a scruffy, startled deer. His hand was shaking too much to grab the water, and he knew this, because he glared at his hand with all his remaining energy.

Tubbo snickered. “Take your time, big man.”

Tommy’s lips threatened to curl up in a smile. He sniffed and nodded, his other hand still wrapped in Phil’s shirt.

“I hope Michael didn’t cause that.” Ranboo mused, sitting next to Tubbo, arms in his knees and tail coiling around one of his legs.

Phil shook his head. “Nah. I don’t think necromancers have special nightmares about their creations. Right?” Tommy shook his head “no”.

“Oh, thank god.”

Wilbur tentatively sat behind the husbands, avoiding Tommy’s gaze entirely. The teen scrubbed his eyes in the meantime, then grabbed the glass of water while they continued chatting.

“Remember when he had that nightmare that one time?” Tubbo asked, staring at Ranboo, who grinned and nodded back.

“Michael? Yeah. He came in all nervous and you hummed him a song.”

“Damn right I did. Hasn’t had one since.”

“That’s adorable.” Phil ran a hand through Tommy’s hair to flatten it and flick away anything that got caught in the curls. “I need to take breaks more often.”

“I despise children.” Wilbur deadpanned, earning glances and chuckles from them. Tommy wasn’t listening, staring down at the now empty bottle, watching the candlelight glint off It’s scuffed edges. His throat was soothed, but raw, and he didn’t like the way the shadows danced like the figure did—flickering side to side, existing for one moment and gone the next. He was still shivering, much less now, but still enough to be visible.

“Michael’s an exception.” Ranboo nodded sternly, trying to get Wilbur on board the pro-Michael train.

“Nope. All kids. Including you three.”

“Aye! We’re practically adults.” Tubbo puffed out his chest in pride.

Ranboo shrugged. “Adults in Schlatt’s eyes, anyhow.”

Phil shook his head. “I need to have a word with that man.”

Tommy turned sharply, then cursed under his breathe and relaxed, continuing to glare into the glass. Of course, this didn’t go unnoticed.

“Jeez dude, you’re really shaken up.”

Tommy just nodded at Tubbo’s comment.

“Can we move to the couch now?” Phil asked, taking a moment to follow where Tommy looked off to. There was nothing there, other than a sleeping snake up in a shelf, if that counted. Tommy, again, nodded, and with Tubbo and Phil’s help, stood on unsteady feet.

The world spun around him, but he ignored it and focused on making it to the couch. The one couch had barely enough room for the entire group, but luckily Wilbur elected himself to sit down on the ex-coffee table bench instead. Did Tubbo curl against his side, and did Phil run his hands through the teen’s hair because of his bird instincts? Even if they were, Tommy ignored it and tried to formulate a decent apology, words failing him and a silence taking over them all.

It really didn’t help how their flickering shadows made him flinch.

He cleared his throat and started, cutting into their conversation. “Sor- sorry for uh, freaking the fuck out.”

“No worries mate.” Phil smiled kindly. “Wanna talk about it now?”

“I’m tired.” He huffed instead, not bothering to return the smile. Exhaustion seeped into his bones, weighing him down. From the looks of it, the others felt the same way.

“Wanna come sleep with us?” Tubbo suggested, a sudden glint in his eye.

Ranboo straightened and met Tommy’s gaze. “Yeah! Like old times.”

The three teens shared a distant look, Tommy finally giving in and nodding. They quickly scampered off, mumbling quiet things to each other and Ranboo forced back a guffaw. The adults just shrugged off their childishness and Wilbur returned to his spot on the couch like he had a day ago. Philza vanished somewhere too.

And so the day was over.

Chapter Text

The three were sat on a bench. They shared a sandwich they managed to buy, the streets filled with sound and music as the buzz of afternoon surrounded them. It was nice, despite the greyed skies and constant smell of soot in the air, a side affect of living so close to the mines and factories and towering mountains that occasionally leaked smog.

But they didn’t know any better. This was their home—the streets their hallways and the alleys their bedrooms. The town itself was beautiful, towering cobbled homes and markets surrounding them. Lanterns hung off strings that were strung between houses, deactivated now due to it being mid day.

In the bustle of the city, a woman tripped over her own dress ahead of them.

“Pff—“

“L, L!”

“Oh nooo.” 

The three giggled at her misery, Tubbo trying his hardest to not spit out precious food.

They couldn’t be older than nine, covered in dirt and whatever they could find off the side of the road. Did they care? Well, Ranboo was always a bit stingy when it came to hygiene, but with a serious case of hydrophobia, there wasn’t much else to do than not care. Tubbo’s feet barely grazed the ground as he kicked. Tommy’s fingers were dusted in black, twitching uncontrollably for reasons beyond his understanding at the time.

“Reckon we’d get in trouble if we stole from Miss Chandler again?” Tubbo suggested, ears wide, though barely noticeable thanks to his overgrown bowl cut. 

Ranboo nodded quickly. “Yeah- No, we can’t do that again. She let us off that one time. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.” His tail tossed nervously below him, claws messing with the sleeves of his coat.

“Bullshit.” Tommy spat simply, puffing his chest out in pride. “She can’t stop us if we tried.”

“So is that a no?”

“No.” Ranboo interrupted Tommy, who smoothly shrugged his response.

“Too early for crime.”

“You’re right...” Tubbo stared off, a glint in his eyes. “We’d get caught. If we went at night, broke in-“

Ranboo sighed. “No-“

“-threatened with some minor violence...like, like fire or something-“

“Yeah, yeah!” Tommy grinned. “Throw rocks at the bitch!”

“-exactly, then we’d-“

“Please, please let’s not.” Ranboo shuffled, ears instinctually flicking back behind them at the sidewalk that bordered the shops and saloons, an awning keeping them shaded. Tubbo’s ears also twitched, and soon enough, all three stared behind them.

There was a man leaning against the wall, staring at them, arms folded and boots crossed. He had a hood and mask on, which wasn’t too uncommon in the city. 

“Ah.” Tubbo frowned. “Busted.”

“Thank gosh-“ Ranboo leaned back and sighed dramatically, a hand running through his split hair that was cut far too neatly for their situation.

Tommy wasn’t impressed, sitting up on his knees and pointing to the man. “Aye! You heard nothing, got it?”

The man’s eyes rested on his hands, then rose back up to the child’s puffed up cheeks and glittering eyes filled with rage.

“You alone?”

The other two turned and eyed the man too, sharing the same slightly offended look Tommy had. He scoffed: “Yeah, what of it, bitch boy.”

The corner of the man’s eyes crinkled slightly. He tilted a head to the side and shrugged. “Just a guess. Not everyday you see two baby hybrids and a mage sitting together.”

Another wave of offense swept over them, Tubbo’s mouth hanging open.

“We’re not- we’re not baby’s....” Ranboo’s ears lowered with a sad frown. 

“How do you know?” Tommy demanded, dark fingers clutching the back of the bench.

The man humored them. “Your hands gave it away.”

They started a staring contest. A challenge. Ranboo didn’t participate, scanning the shrouded figure up and down instead to avoid eye contact. 

“Well, this has been fun.” The man pushed off the wall suddenly, alerting the three. “But I need to go. See you around...?” He gestured to them.

“Tubbo.”

“R-Ranboo...”

“Tommy- muh’ fuckin’ -innit.”

The man snorted in amusement and started off with a shake of his head.

“What an odd man.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anything.” Tommy challenged.

Ranboo sent him a glare. “Not true! I like cats.”

They settled back down and basked in the interaction. Though it was quickly forgotten.

Tubbo shot off, skipping backwards momentarily to yell at them, hands cupped over his mouth. 

“Last one to the park has to set the store on fire!”

The two scrambled after him.

Tommy stared at his hands. Let himself familiarize the odd cracks that followed his veins and the roughness of it. The way bits of it were more unstable than he rest, how if he tried, he could get the cracks and spaces between the rough parts to glow a brilliant white. It strained him to, and hurt, but he tried anyway. Why not?

Years later, they were still shaking. He could feel the buzz on the ends of his fingers, a constant reminder of his ability, that would grow in intensity and sting him when he tried to activate his magic. His hands were more sensitive, too, he found, staring at them in the early morning light of the top floor. Small amounts of pain hurt him a lot more than it should. He blamed his recent over use of it for the pain. The shakiness had never really left. If anything, it only got worse as the years dragged him through the mud. 

He let them rest on his chest, feeling a tail tighten around his leg. Tommy was extremely comfortable, bundled in his own bed, sandwiched between his two oldest friends, the smell of rain hung in the house. 

It wasn’t a surprise that they clung to him. They were always clingy motherfuckers. Tubbo was nestled into his side, breath occasionally hitching with his dreams, horns prodding his ribs. Ranboo had enveloped Tommy entirely, a purr rumbling from his chest with his arms wrapped around him protectively. Nothing had changed, apparently, and he smirked at that fact.

He was also not surprised when Tubbo started to keen in his sleep and press his face deeper into the human’s shirt. Tommy was quick to pet his head, to scratch at his scalp and mess his his soft ears. That calmed him enough, he hoped.

Ranboo’s eyes shot open soon after, contracted into pinpricks and face slack. 

Tommy wondered what the fuck was going on with them, then discarded that entirely and pat Ranboo’s arm, startling the taller teen.

“You good?”

Ranboo breathed a sigh, shoulders relaxed as he nodded. “Mhm. Sorry.”

The blond frowned, but didn’t push him. 

“Can I be let go of?”

“Hm? Oh, sure.” He grinned nervously and let his friend go. “Sorry.”

“Stop sayin that.” Tommy covered up a yawn and sat up. 

Ranboo opened his mouth to respond, then stopped himself, re-evaluated his life choices, and chuckled instead. “Right. Okay.”

Tommy huffed and left his bed, much to Tubbo’s disappointment. He noticed the makeshift bed down beside his, a very much awake and staring zombified piglin staring at him blankly. Tommy waved with a pressed down smile before continuing on downstairs.

Wilbur was asleep, sprawled out over the couch and snoring. Phil, however, had some tea in hand. There was a hot cup over at the other side, waiting for him.

Damn. He came prepared.

“Whats up?” Tommy asked casually, sitting down as clearly offered. He sniffed his drink before taking a long drink, savoring the taste and warmth.

Phil smiled. “Just doin’ my job, mate.”

Tommy tilted a brow. Philza continued.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your hands. You know what’s happening, right?”

Tommy swallowed. “Sure. Using too much magic hurts you. Easy clap.”

“It corrupts you, Tommy.” He corrected, smile fading bit by bit. 

“It heals, though. Right?”

“Yeah... with time. And care. So no more magic. No resurrecting anything.”

He wanted to spit something back, but he settled on drinking his tea instead. It didn’t take long for the rest of the household to saunter on in and for Tubbo to nearly burn the house down from his “cooking”.

“Can you teleport?” Wilbur asked Ranboo, standing outside in the sun, hands in his pockets and eyes wide. The enderman was hunched over a dog, playing fetch while Tubbo and Philza were out doing who knows what—and Tommy was fixing up one of the upstairs rooms into another guest room. He chuckled nervously. 

“Maybe? I don’t recall if I did. I’m just tall and scary.”

“Very intimidating.” Wilbur joked, seeing as the hybrid was the most docile thing on the planet. Michael was busy eating berries picked straight from the garden, hooves and muzzle covered in red juice. 

“Can you do magic?”

“No, but it-it is stronger for me.”

The look on Wilbur’s face was clear. He had no idea what that meant.

“I- it’s hard to explain.” Ranboo knelt down, running his talons across the dog’s back. A dazed look crossed his eyes, like whenever they mentioned “the old times”, or when Tommy said something bluntly grim, or Tubbo stared at something oddly.  

“Enlighten me.”

The enderman scoffed, an ear flicking away a fly. “Okay... it’s, well. I can’t use magic, really, but I can feel it. Like a magic detector, kinda. I can tell if something’s enchanted.” He ended his sentence like it was a question. “Tubbo has it too, but it’s not as strong on him I think. We blamed Tommy for it- for being around him for so long, we thought maybe his magic just... mixed into us. It’s an ongoing theory.” He shrugged.

“So it’s not a hybrid thing?” Wilbur tilted his head.

“Maybe for me. Endermen-“

“Are tall, lanky, magical and dangerous creatures. No offense, but the whole teleporting thing is like their most iconic move.” 

“Yeah.” Ranboo huffed. “So I think that’s why it’s stronger for me.”

“But can you teleport? Have you tried at least?”

“I have.” He wasn’t sure of himself.

“Seems like a pretty yes or no answer.”

“I probably did.”

“You don’t remember?” Wilbur’s face scrunched up.

“Not really.” He sighed, flicking the dog’s stick into the woods. The dog leapt away with a yap. “But I’m ninety eight percent sure I have.”

“Would Tubbo and Tommy know if you did?”

“Of course.” Ranboo stood up and wiped his hands together to get rid of the dog fur and dirt. His ears rose up and he spun on his heels to stare at Wilbur, focused on his shoulder rather than his eyes. “But don’t ask them about it.”

Wilbur blinked. “So... what? Why?”

“It’s best not to get them thinking about it.” He said vaguely, stepping past the human towards his son. 

In all fairness, this abnormally tall teenager was being morbid as fuck and Wil demanded answers.

“Pardon?”

“Just drop it.”

Michael leapt into his father’s arms, snorting happy nonsense as they continued inside. Of course, Wilbur followed, briefly glancing up to one of the upstairs windows.

“Boo!” Tubbo shouted from inside, the door slamming closed behind him. He ran forwards and grabbed Michael from Ranboo, gleefully twirling his son around. He was wearing brand new clothes, a nicely stitched coat over a green sweater with jeans. Brand new—no rips, no dirt, barely any mud on his ankles.

Phil had a few baskets along his arms, wings shaking out rain. And beside him-

Wilbur stopped in his tracks and stared up at the figure. He was tall, maybe not as tall as Ranboo, but certainly more buff. He wore the shirt of a noble, lacing on the cuffs and chest, a red corset around his abdomin and a hefty belt with countless potions and swords and—was that an axe? A red cloak clasped around his neck, the edges white and fluffed to emphasize his boar-like features. 

And the jewelry. An emerald stuck on the edge of his floppy ear. Gold beads tying his cloak to his shirt, his belt to his dark pants. One of his tucks had a gold band on it too. He had some longer fur on his head, brought down in a messy braid around his shoulder. 

“No, no, no.” Tommy snapped from the stairs, sliding down and glaring between Phil and the new creature. “No more. This house is too full.”

“One more.” Phil smirked, raising a finger. 

“No.”

“Come on-“

“No.”

“I hate it here.” The new one deadpanned, blinking slowly. 

Tommy scoffed in utter offense. “Fuck you. This place is lovely.” 

“He’ll be gone in like a day, Tommy.” Phil tried, setting the baskets on the dining table. The others watched this all, amused and confused. The best duo.

“Would it change your mind if I threatened you?” 

“No.” Tommy huffed, then tossed his hands up in defeat. They were gloved again. “Fine! But if I have to, like, build a second fuckin’ house I’m kicking you all out.”

“Suuuuure.” Ranboo grinned as he watched the brit storm back upstairs.

Tubbo shared his skepticism with an eye roll. “He won’t. He’s a pussy.”

“Wilbur, Ranboo, Tubbo, Michael, this is Technoblade.”

He waved. They waved back. Michael drooled.

“I was promised food?” He turned towards Phil, who nodded and sifted through the baskets. Tubbo hopped over to his side, dragging Ranboo. 

“We got new clothes! And more food because, well,” he gestured around, “there’s not enough for the lot of us.”

“What’s for dinner?” Wilbur piped up, sliding to the avians side.

“Don’t know. Gonna help?”

“Sure.”

“The child is staring.” Techno glared at Michael, who hadn’t blinked since Techno strolled through the front door. “And why is half his face gone?”

“I told you, Tommy’s a necromancer.” Phil explained, putting some beats in a fruit basket with the others.

The piglin looked surprised, glancing to the stairs. “You mean the gremlin?”

Wilbur grinned ear to ear. “Yes. The disgusting gremlin child is a dangerous warlock.”

“That brought him and Michael back from the dead.” Tubbo’s stated matter of factly, holding a suit jacket up to Ranboo. The enderman’s tail wagged profusely.

Technoblade took a moment to take this all in.

An enderman hybrid, apparently married to a goat hybrid, has an undead zombified piglin son. They’ve, according to what he gathered from their walk over from the village this morning, have been best friends with a necromancer, arguably the most dangerous type of magic user, who’s an angsty teenager that lives out in the middle of the woods, with another one of his resurrected victims—who is a normal guy, from the looks of it—and Philza Minecraft, an Angel of death.

“Got it.” He chuffed and hung up his cloak by the front door. 

“How did you two meet?” Wilbur asked, pouring a sack of yeast into a mason jar, eyeing Technoblade with his good eye.

“He’s a patron to the blood god.” Phil smiled at the other’s momentary shock. “So of course, working so close with the gods, we have to work together sometimes.”

“Kinda goes hand in hand.”  Techno shrugged. 

“You made a contract?” Ranboo and Tubbo shared a childish, wide-eyed look with their unblinking son.

He met their eyes, making Ranboo squirm and look away, and Tubbo stopped breathing for a moment. Philza slowed his movements, glancing between the two groups. Wilbur was just fascinated by the being, albeit confused as to what a contract was.

“Not by choice.”

It went quiet very, very fast. 

Then there was a loud curse upstairs and something was thrown to the floor, followed by more cursing.

The table was made. The bedroom was done. It smelled like lightly charred, seasoned steak and fried Brussel sprouts. A pot of hot chocolate was laid out too, most of them giving themselves some of the sweet homemade drink. All in all, it was a pleasant evening, filled with questions and answers.

“What’s with the kid?”

“Our son.”

“I got that.” Techno huffed. “I mean, why?”

“Why not?”

“Fair enough.”

“What’s a contract?” Wilbur asked. Philza coughed.

Technoblade, luckily, poked at his vegetables and answered like he always had: “Gods trick you into signing a scroll that binds you to them for all of eternity. Until you get killed or the god gets bored.”

“Luckily, most of them aren’t too heartless...” Philza frowned. “Or maybe Techno just got lucky.”

“Depends.” Tubbo smirked, Ranboo easily asking the next questuon. 

“How old are you?”

A pause. “No.”

“Okay, but you’ve never done anything against your god yet.”

Tubbo nodded thoughtfully. “I reckon he’s a couple hundred years old, at least.”

“Whats with the scars? Got any epic battles?” Wilbur cut in. 

Tubbo and Ranboo glared at him, both frowning. “Dude.”

“You can’t just ask someone about their scars.”

He snickered. “Why?”

They both pointed to their own faces. Ranboo’s were more focused on the streaks coming from his eyes, a few smaller ones scattering his chin and ears and fingers, but barely noticeable compared to the other two teen’s. 

Tubbo’s, splattered across his face haphazardly, were hard to discern under his mass of dark hair. Still, they were very much there, causing a pink tint to his skin and an odd discoloration in one of his eyes.

“I got some too, bitch.” Wilbur pointed to the bandages over his face, smirking defiantly.

“We all do, Wil.” Phil reminded, gesturing to Tommy, who had been spaced out until he was brought in, glancing up from his plate.

“Wot?”

“How’d you get yours.” Techno challenged, giving Wilbur a side-eyed glare. 

Wilbur didn’t answer at first, loosing the words before tossing a hand dismissively. “Nah. Boring. Not epic.”

“You died.” Techno pointed out.

“And? Maybe I slipped on a patch of ice.”

“What’s it like, being in contract with a god?” Tubbo asked Technoblade.

“Boring. Not epic.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes halfway through his bite and hummed out a “ha ha”.

“I find that hard to believe actually.” Ranboo’s tail wagged under the table. He was given the luxury of feeding Michael, who was surprisingly calm in the process.

“Nah. I just go out, do my own thing. Get caught up in prophecies and all that. What do you two do?”

“Stuff.”

“And things.” Tubbo nodded, both of them smiling.

“Yeah. Now that I think about it... what did you guys do before dropping everything and coming here?” Wilbur rested his chin on his hand, continuing to shovel food into his gullet.

“Well... I was a minutes man.” Ranboo shrugged. “For the President.”

“And I’m Tubbo.” He rolled his eyes, grimacing. “The best thing that’s ever happened to the Schlatt administration.” 

Techno squinted. “How so?” 

“I’m his son.” Tubbo poked his food, ears flicking down. “And I’m the best inventor to walk this earth.”

“True, that’s very true.” Ranboo nodded.

With wide eyes, the other three stared at Tommy, who was still more focused on his meal than the conversation at hand.

“You know about this?” Phil asked, pointing to them.

“Duh.” He huffed out and chewed noisily, leaning back in his chair.

“Told you we go way back.” Tubbo warned.

Techno snorted and gestured to Tommy instead. “And what’s with the hands? Use too much magic?” 

Alarmed, the blonde briefly glanced down to them. No gloves. He sighed with a nod.

“Really?” Wilbur tilted his head. “That’s a thing that could happen?”

“Yeah... But I told him not to use any magic for a while.” Philza forced a smile.

“Unless you die.”

They stared at him, alarmed and frozen in time. Tommy was... not expecting that kind of response, but looking back on it, he should’ve figured a bunch a normies would be freaked out by something like that. He cleared his throat and continued, messing up his words and waving frantically.

“Well- I mean.... surely you don’t think I’d just- in the event that something goes wrong, I’d just... let you rot for a bit until I get more magic. Right?”

That was something none of them considered. Not even Phil. Technoblade didn’t really get it, so he nodded with his words.

“Well, yeah. Makes sense.”

“Thank you.” Tommy’s lips twitched up in a grin. “The Blade gets it.”

“But-“

“I’d rather not think about dying, thanks.” Ranboo stated, leaning back and giving Michael—who has been oblivious to all of this—another spoonful of mashed veggies. Tubbo and Wilbur nodded along.

“Same.” 

“Agreed.”

“Pussies.” Tommy smirked evilly.

“You’re so weird.” Tubbo bit back a grin. “Shut the fuck up.”

“No. Maybe I’ll torment you with more weird shit...”

“I’m trying to eat.” Wilbur complained.

“Remember when he revived that rat?” Ranboo glanced down to Tubbo, who’s eyes widened and face turned a visible shade of green. He hid his face in his arms. 

“Why did you put that image in my head?”

“I think about it every single dang day.” Ranboo shuddered, ears pinned to the sides of his head.

“That was a good day.” Tommy recalled, glancing off to the windows. “I scared the shit outta everyone in town. Surprised I wasn’t arrested for just owning that monstrosity.”

Wilbur tried to ask, interrupted by a giggling Tubbo.

“Maybe it’s best if you stay all cooped up inside. No horrific stuff like that, no more terrorizing, no more doing dumb things like reviving Wilbur.”

“First of all, ouch.” Wilbur glared at him. The group chuckled. “Second of all, I’m curious what a day in the life of a lone Tommy is like. What did you do daily before you dragged me into this?” 

They stared at him again. He shrugged and swallowed another bite.

“I have a garden out back. What do you think?”

“No, but like... any close calls with the government? Face any time behind bars?”

“Have you ever fought your way out of a situation?” Technoblade piped up, regrettably.

“Not recently.” He said immediately, voice quieter than before, resting his fork back onto the plate.

“But you have?” 

“Not because of necromancy.”

Phil, Wilbur and Technoblade eyed him, expecting the worse. Tubbo and Ranboo focused on their food instead, and Michael was busy playing with a scrap of cloth. Tommy paused, eyes widening as he realized:

Fuck. He fucked up.

“Murder?”

“Stealing?”

“Mugging?”

“No!” He grinned and waved his hands frantically. “No. Uh, no. Not- okay. This is awkward. Nothing... nothing like that.”

“How else do you get arrested?” Phil sneered.

“No, I wasn’t arrested just.... ignore I said anything, m’kay? I’m sure you can forget, you’re old.”

“Yeah.” Ranboo scoffed. “Techno, how old are you again?”

Tubbo nodded thoughtfully. “I reckon Wilbur’s like thirty.”

The gears were already turning in their heads. Tommy sighed.

“Okay, then. It was like, for a week when I was a kid. Got caught up in a scrap and was put in a cell until these two idiots grabbed me. Got it?”

“Right.” Techno mused, cold gaze swept across the three. It was quiet for a bit. Techno had long since finished his meal, the others picking at scraps. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands, peering past them at Tommy directly, who physically shrank away.

“So, about those scars.”

Tubbo choked.

“Oh fuck off.” Tommy spat back. “I ain’t sayin shit.”

“I got this one from an axe to the face.” He pointed one drawn diagonally across his snout, splitting a brow. “Guy missed on chopping my head off. Embarrassing, right?”

“Context?” Ranboo asked, a bit too eager.

“Failed execution. Guy got shot in the back, threw off his aim. Don’t remember much after that. Now, Tommy-“

“I got this one,” Philza cut in, lifting his sleeve to reveal a large burn-like scar that had some wicked black edging, “from fighting a wither. Things are hard to kill. The wither affect is a bitch to deal with.” He twisted it for them all to see, the candles that lit up the cottage flickering.

The three teens grew visibly uncomfortable, Tubbo shuddering and shrinking into the chair the most.

“I’ll have you know I got stabbed.” Wilbur spat at Technoblade, glaring. “Right in the chest. Don’t know where this other shit came from. I died from it, prick.”

“I would never guess.” He deadpanned, then stared right back to Tommy. “Well? We shared ours.”

Tommy stared right back, brow furrowed and arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

“No.” 

“Come on-“

He shook his head. “Nope. I’m good. Lame. I didn’t fight withers. Or people. I don’t even know what a wither is.” 

“Same.” Ranboo nodded.

“Yeah, no wither fighting for me. Never- what do they even do, huh?”

“What’s with swords, anyway?” Tubbo mused, voice higher in pitch as if he was ready to go on a tangent. All three had since stopped touching their meal. Granted, most of it was gone. Still.

“Don’t get em.” Tommy agreed.

“Someone really saw a stick and thought, hey, let’s make that but metal.”

“A curse, truly.”

“Stupid idea. Worse than- than... plates.”

Tommy laughed, hiding it with a darkened hand.

The adults were not as amused.

Ranboo considered something for a moment, a moment of silence passing over them again while they recuperated their thoughts. His shoulders dropped with an exhale, running his wicked claws along the insides of others. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw a wither.” 

“I think I’m terrified of knives in general. Or anything sharp.” Tubbo’s voice wavered, though he was still playing a thoughtful, condescending act, smiling and keeping his hair over his eyes.

“Pussies. Big man Tommy isn’t afraid of anything. Except the law. Because I’m above that.”

Techno cocked a brow. “You three done?”

They shut up after that.

“You don’t have to say anything, you know.” Phil reminded them, “I get it. Might be traumatic for you still. Can’t be all too bad, though.” He paused. “Well, that’s what we thought. Right?”

They weren’t smiling anymore. Tommy rubbed his arm, eyes blanketed by his fluffy hair. He wondered what to say next. A simple “thank you, goodnight”? The truth? No, no, just thinking about the truth made him want to claw his insides out and scream. Something vague? Should he out the other two? Are they gonna out him?

“Thanks.” Ranboo started slowly, emphasizing his consonants, looking up from his lap first. “But uh, that’s awfully personal. And none of your business, with all due respect. So... yeah. No thanks.”

Tommy let out a breath he didn’t know he held.

The world hit him hard. The floor was cold and dusted and smelled like shit, frankly. His face and chest and legs hurt, and he was certain one of his wrists was fucked up. Full aches met sharp stings, and something warm pooled around his face. He coughed at the dust, blinking open his eyes to see the door providing light behind him slam shut before anyone had the chance to move.

Someone said something, hushed and eager, but he couldn’t decided what it was over all the ringing. He felt something warm on back, and flinched away, nerves still fried from that day. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could see a paper white hand resting in front of him for stability, claws cut hastily and fresh scraps on his spayed fingers, knuckles bruised a dark purple.

He was lifted up, the walls moving with him. His thundering heart stuttered when a churning gut feeling re-recorded, sending waves of nausea and exhaustion through his bloodstream. Their hands, which had been burning against his sore back, softened to warm, gentle, soothing rubs and pats.  He leaned into one of them, feeling the world give out under him easily as they spoke quick words of... well, he couldn’t tell what it was, but it was broken and gasping.

In a blur, he was moved to the corner, resting against his friend’s chest and tuning into his frantic, rhythmic heartbeat.  He wanted to sleep so bad. He wanted to give into the throbbing in his body and get some much needed rest. But he didn’t, or couldn’t, either way, there was no way he’d sleep.

The buzzing in his fingers had died down considerably since his stay here. There was something here that drained magic from people. A monster, maybe? A device? Eh, it didn’t matter. Necromancy had no uses unless someone died, so you know, he wasn’t too upset.

He was upset that they dared to drag Tubbo and Ranboo into this. This was supposed to be his downfall, his punishment for being magical. Not theirs. They didn’t seem mad at him for accidentally bringing them into a place that slowly drains magic, which to them wouldn’t really matter anyway, right? Maybe they didn’t blame him yet. He hoped so, he didn’t know what he’d do without a heartbeat to listen to.

He sniffed, then blinked open weary eyes, one of them sealed shut by a bruise. A shaking hand rose up to his face, brushing the underside of one of his eyes. It was wet. He pulled it back to find no blood.

Tommyinnit didn’t cry. He just didn’t. Not when they were kids. Not since arriving here. Whenever he did feel like it, he’d force down his pathetic whimpers and cries, and brushed away the few tears that did shed. But he didn’t cry. Never. No....

A hand in his hair ran up to pull back his sweaty, blood tipped bangs. He looked up to see Tubbo—still relatively scarless, but had long lost that chaotic spark in his eye. In the darkness, it was hard to tell if he was crying too, or if it was just a figment of his imagination. Tubbo was more emotional, sure, but compared to the three he was able to find the light in situations like these. He had for months now—since before they even got here.

“Let it out, big man.” His voice cut through the ringing, soft and barely audible, but filling his mind nonetheless. Thoughts of grey skies and warm streets and the smell of baking bread entered his mind with his voice, no matter how shattered it sounded. And the remembrance hurt more than the broken bones and stab wounds.

So Tommy did what he supposedly didn’t do. He cried.

That was years ago. He could still recall moments like those, after the bad things happened, the moments of relative quiet in between. Moments of bittersweet joy and calm relaxing darkness. The other memories, however, like how he got there, or the loud and angry moments that made his blood boil and stomach flip—those were lost. He couldn’t remember, and if he tried—well, he usually didn’t for his own sanity. 

But he knew that it was bad. And just grazing the surface of it all made his head spin and eyes focus on nothing. It made the sounds around him mute, the slight touches on his arms barely registered. He was still rubbing them, messing with the fabric of the long sleeved white shirt, pressing into the cracks that had formed on his arms. That in of itself was a weird sensation. What was the logic behind it? Like fuck he knew.

When he tuned back into the world, the two lesser gods were chatting with the other two teens, discussing something about redwood forests. It was a pleasant conversation, filled with know it all facts and jokes. 

Wilbur, on the other hand, seemed more interested on him, giving him a thoughtful look while messing with his blue-stained bandages. When their eyes met, the corpse smiled, and Tommy scrunched up his face in confusion. What did he miss?

“-I reckon I could take him in a fight.” Phil mused, leaning back with his wings splayed at his sides, a few undead animals happily curling up in the feathers. 

“Anyone could, that’s true.” Ranboo nodded, hands fidgeting and tail tossing side to side.

Tubbo snorted. “Are you threatening my dad?”

“Didn’t he let you cross the border, alone, with no help?”

“In our defense we didn’t exactly tell anyone that we were off to meet our necromancer buddy.” He rolled his eyes.

“Understandable.” Techno remained how he was before, muzzle hidden by his clasped hands. He didn’t need to move his head to stare at them. “They’d arrest all three of you.”

“Schlatt wouldn’t. He cares to much about us two.” Tubbo pointed his thumb between himself and Ranboo. “Tommy, on the other hand...”

He rolled his eyes. Har Har.  Illegal magic go brrrr. The joke was overused. Cancelled. 

“But the king would definitely arrest everyone in this room.” Ranboo’s ears flicked. 

“That would be horrible.” Wilbur piped up, frowning. “Imagine that trial. The Angel failed his job, the blood god is, well, just bad, you’d be held hostage, obviously. I don’t know what they’d do with a full grown enderman, but I think they’d keep Michael and I for testing or something.”

Tommy smirked. That sounds about right. Hypothetically, of course.

“I don’t think anyone cares enough. If they saw us in a group, they’d leave us alone.” Phil reasoned. Technoblade nodded.

“They’d think we’re a gang or something.”

“A band of misfits?” Ranboo gestured vaguely.

“Lads on tour...” Wilbur sand longingly. 

Tubbo scoffed. “Criminals. We’re criminals, now.”

“Just guys being’ dudes.” Techno finally broke his pose to lean back, hands behind his head.

“What if we started our own nation?” Wilbur grinned ear to ear. “Up north, right? Past the mountains. That land is still uninhabited, correct?”

“Well, yeah.” Philza eyed him. “For good reason. Mate, people don’t survive up there. They die.”

“We have Tommy.” 

Tommy snapped back into reality again and blinked at the man. “Wot?”

“No.” Phil held a hand between Tommy and Wilbur, frowning. “We’d have to find a way to survive without cheating the system.”

The teens considered this, then Tubbo snickered.

“Party pooper.”

Ranboo joined in. “That’s dumb. Why not?”

“It’s dangerous to constantly revive people. For everyone involved.”

“I could start a potato farm up there...” Techno mused. 

Philza tilted a brow at his old friend. “What?”

“The polar regions are uninhabited for a reason, sure, but there should be a forest up there somewhere. Potatoes can grow in the summer.”

Wilbur nodded along, gesturing vaguely. “Let’s just say hypothetically. If we abandoned this rotting shack and moved between the mountain ranges... what would we find? Correct me if I’m wrong, but no one’s actually mapped out the area, hell, they’ve barely been able to sail around the coast.”

“It’s a wasteland between the mountains. I’ve taken many poor souls that’ve tried to climb the mountains or pass them, only a few have made it past that point, but they usually freeze to death.” Phil tapped the table idly. “But I’ve never been past that.”

“It would be nice. No rain. No smoke. No people.” Ranboo tilted his head, eyeing his husband, who stared back with a scrunched up face.

“Sounds like work to me.”

“Hey, just an idea. You two already have a home wherever Schlatt is, and Phil and I are too busy to settle down.” Techno shrugged.

Tommy finally piped up. “And I’m not leaving.”

“What would we even call it. Hypothetically.” Wilbur pressed on with a smile. 

“Something cold-sounding. Something epic.”

“Antarctic? Like the South Pole?” Techno considered.

“Empire.” Tubbo’s ears flicked. 

“Antarctic Empire?” Phil squinted.

“No, no. Something even better.”

“It’s hard to be better than that.”

“Like a kingdom? Are you hypothetically starting a monarchy?” Tubbo grinned.

Ranboo snapped his fingers, drawing their attention as he leaned up. “The Boreal Syndicate.”

“Doesn’t roll of the tongue.” Techno immediately huffed. “The Boreal is good, though.”

“What are other words for Kingdom?” Tubbo turned to Philza.

He tapped his chin. “Commune. Commonwealth. Realm...”

“The Boreal Realm?”

“The Realm of Boreal.”

“This conversation is stupid.” Tommy decided. 

Technoblade glared at him. “Still a backup plan. What happens if you get caught out here, hm? Gonna kneel over and let them hunt you down and kill you? Or do you have a secret plan?”

“Go to Tubbo and Ranboo. I’ve never been caught before. What’s changed?”

“Close, though.” Phil commented, frowning. 

“Yee have little faith.” He rolled his eyes. “Tommyinnit doesn’t get caught. And if he does, he escapes.”

Chapter Text

The sky was clear for once. Blues high above, between the bright leaves of the trees, a sparse cloud drifting across. The sun was yellow and warm, the air incredibly humid. It was a great day for a picnic, but sadly, there wasn’t enough meadow for the whole group. They were busy anyway—Technoblade and Philza off to do their jobs and Wilbur bothered Ranboo with questions, the two trying to get a fussy Michael to eat.

Tubbo and Tommy, however, ate sandwiches in the backyard. Henry was there too, laying behind them and napping peacefully. It was an excellent day, a break between the storms. The calm. They could take a breath, and they did, savoring the rare chance of quiet.

“This reminds me... last time we saw each other before you moved.” Tubbo started, turning his attention from above to the blonde. “Do you remember?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, a light feeling in his chest. “How could I forget.”

The first thing he remembered was the feeling of fresh, moist air entering his lungs. Not heavy, not cold, not sticky with smog and fear, not vile with blood or rot. Clean, the scents of the forest attacking him in all the best ways. Flowers and sticks and wood and grass and leaves. He could smell it all before he could see it.

The second thing he remembered was the area around the exit. It was criminally peaceful—an average forest. There was some chatter off in a direction, along with some whinnying steeds. But he ignored that for now. They all did.

Ranboo was the first to sink into the earth, to run trembling fingers across the grass, to curl in on himself and bite back a sob. Tubbo was at his side in an instant. He remembered his best friend holding the worlds biggest, happiest grin on his face, laughing next to hysteria at the feeling of sun on his scarred skin and dew on his toes.

Tommy collapsed to the ground, and for the second time in his life, he cried.

“It was mid-morning. Everything was so shiny... so bright. So vibrant. I almost forgot what green looked like...” Tubbo stared off into the forest, a dazed look in his eye, but a smile on his face.

Tommy’s shoulders fell, dark hands resting on his knees. “I could’ve sat there for ages.”

Arm in arm, they pulled themselves to their feet and scrubbed away the last of their tears. Their faces hurt from smiling so hard. The trio fell silent as they approached the talking figures, though were seen the moment they arrived to the meeting spot.

There stood the man that orchestrated their freedom. He grinned crookedly, jawline lined with mutton chops, ram horns curled elegantly around his face. Bands and beads dangled from each one, glittering in the sunlight. His suit and tie were decorated in some sort of mosaic pattern, webs of gold stitched between black and red. Nails were painted black, a wedding band fastened nicely on a finger. He looked like a con man—which he was—but there was a layer of warmth in the way he looked at them.

“Enjoying the sunshine?” He spoke smoothly, on the verge of laughter.

“Don’t mock us.” Tubbo spat back without hesitation, his own horns and, well, general appearance lacking in the wealth department.

Schlatt snickered and gestured for someone else to step forward. One of his employees, probably. “Give them their clothes and food. We’ll leave when you’re done taking in the scenery or hugging trees or whatever you guys do.”

Despite his mockery, he still grinned, still had that glint in his blazing yellow eyes. The employee stepped forward with three small-ish boxes. Tommy mentally kicked himself for hesitating.

They smelled the baked goods before they opened their boxes. Assortments of freshly made rations were within—a small stick of bread, a biscuit coated in sugar, a cloth with something savory within, and an enclosed bottle water. The three settled down on the forest floor and dug in, not a single crumb going to waste.

“Nothing has ever tasted so good.”

“That biscuit was worth it all, I reckon.”

They laughed.

“And the clothes! The horses! Do you remember what we looked like?”

They were matching. White long sleeved shirts with different colored velveted vests on—Ranboo’s was black, Tubbo’s green and Tommy’s red. Their trousers were all black, their shoes lightweight but durable and shiny. They wore cloaks too, all dark green with a little ram pin keeping it on their shoulders. They scampered around the area, finally free of their ragged, bloody clothes they were given months ago. They ran up to the horses and pet them, two shared between the three.

That’s when he stared at his hands. Saw the darkness dusting his fingers, which at the time, was nothing more than a thin glittery coating on his finger tips. They ran through the mare’s mane, buzzing with each strand. She didn’t notice, too far gone in the petting to care whither or not he was a magician.

He turned towards the other two, who blew air into their steed’s flaring nostrils. The horse curled up It’s lip and tried to grab one of them, the two bouncing back and giggling like toddlers. Tommy let himself smile. He knew he wouldn’t regret this.

“It was for the best, you know.”

“I do.” Tubbo nodded, leaning on his palms. “I just wish it were different.”

Tommy nodded along and messed with the grass, brushing away the last bits of bread from his blackened and cracked fingers. His gaze lifted to Tubbo, who was still smiling, chin up towards the sun, ears relaxed and horns considerably longer, following the same path his dad’s did, if not a bit wider in the arc.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He mumbled his thoughts. Tubbo finally met his stare, smiling wide.

“And I’m glad you’re here, big man.”

Family game night was going great. Philza and Technoblade returned. Tubbo defeated them all in chess, after a game of cards, Michael was put to sleep, the animals had fucked off, and they started a staring contest. Tommy versus Wilbur. Ranboo and Techno were discussing how to win. When Techno, rather bluntly, stated:

“You’ve never fought a day in your life, have you.”

Tubbo laughed. Tommy’s brow fell, though he didn’t look away or blink. Wilbur grinned at his competition. Ranboo frowned, ears following.

“What?”

“You give up too easily. Got no backbone.”

“That doesn’t mean I haven’t...”

“Can you prove it to me, then?”

Ranboo closed his mouth, tail flicking under the table. “No.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“You want to do a tournament?” Philza asked with a grin. The three teens visibly tensed.

“I mean-“

Tommy grit his teeth. “No. Not really.”

“What’s a tournament?” Tubbo asked comically.

“Sus.” Wilbur sang, watching Tommy struggle to keep his eyes open with a smirk.

Ranboo messed with his hands and considered it. The last time he held a sword was around two years go, at the very least. Some practice couldn’t hurt, right? He cleared his throat.

“Sure. I’ll spar with you in the morning.”

“What?” Tommy broke eye contact, Wilbur standing up in victory and shouting.

“Lets gooo!” Techno’s snout wrinkled with a grin. “Anyone else care to join?”

Philza nodded, head in his hands. “Sure mate. Wil?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure whatever.” He pranced off to fetch himself some victory water.

“I won’t. Sharp things freak me out.”

“We know, Tubbo.” Ranboo smiled reassuringly. “Then it’s settled. See you tomorrow.”

The sun hit Tommy’s face. The air was warm, his bed nice and snug and perfect. He could hear the distant clashing of swords and grunts of effort, and in his half-asleep brain he wondered if it had all been a dream. Something was digging into his shoulder, and it wasn’t until he felt breath on his neck that he realized he wasn’t alone.

With a yawn, he snuggled into the pillow further, tuning into the chirping birds and battle outside. For once, he felt safe around those noises, knowing that there wasn’t any danger. It was just good ol practice between two highly skilled swordsman. The occasional conversation sparked up between the other waking people, who were also outside by the sounds of it. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but it was friendly, and encouraging to the duel.

Tommy closed his eyes and imagined the scene in his head. He could picture Ranboo perfectly, his legs wide and knees bent, tail tossing behind him in annoyance. Ranboo was a quiet fighter, never raising his voice even with the tougher swings or blocks. His fingers wrapped so tightly around the hilt his knuckles turned purple, holding it more in a defensive point than not. He rarely attacked first, and when he did fight back it was almost always to the legs or arm. The enderman was no killer.

And that’s as far as Tommy’s imagination went. He had no intention on watching, anyway, perfectly fine cuddling in his bed in the warming spring air.

Eventually the goat hybrid stirred and rolled away, grumbling something inaudible. Tommy bit back a smirk and turned to give him a glare.

“Shouldn’t you be with Michael?”

Tubbo stared up at him, dark eyes widening with realization. He groaned and rubbed his face to get rid of the sleep.

“I slept in.” His voice was rough.

Tommy snickered. “To be fair, it is comfy in here.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Go get your fucking son you twat.”

Tubbo pulled himself off the bed and gave him the middle-finger as he stormed off, adjusting his nightshirt as he did. Tommy just cackled at his best friend and leaned back.

This was what he wanted.

“I can’t stay. You know that.”

The two were on the verge of tears, some already sizzling off the corners of Ranboo’s sensitive eyes. He wiped them away to no avail. Tubbo was a bit more verbal with his emotions.

“You can’t go! Please, please don’t...”

It broke his heart into a billion pieces twice seeing them crumble apart like this, but he gave them a smile and rested his freshly cleaned hands on their shoulders. His blue gaze bounced between the two as he spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“I want to. I do, but if... if Schlatt finds out, or I make a mistake... or you two get caught in the crossfire...” he trailed off, glaring at his black-stained fingers for a moment. “I won’t live with myself if you do. I can’t bring myself to even risk it. So please, let me go. We can visit and write letters, but I can’t stay with you.”

“W-we could go with you.”

He shook his head, dirty hair falling over his face. “No. You can’t. You have a family now. A dad who’s unbelievably rich. He’d get suspicious if we left on our own. And I don’t want him to ask anymore questions.”

They frowned at him and considered this. Him, leaving them alone. He’d be alone. He’d be safe, though, and so would they. All in all, it was a good plan. But fuck, did it hurt.

Ranboo nodded shortly. “Okay. Okay... just, stay safe out there.”

“Yeah. And don’t get caught.” Tubbo sniffled.

Tommy smiled and hugged them, taking those five seconds of closeness to remember every detail. The silken feel of their clean clothes, the heavier cloaks they wore, their individual scent—no matter how simular and rotten it was. How their fingers dug into his back and tugged at his shirt, how some of Tubbo’s tears seeped through and Ranboo’s little purr as he nestled his nose into his hair. Nothing else mattered. It was just them.

Until he let go with a sad smile and quickly made sure the straps on his horse were good before leaving.

Since they were kids, scrummaging around the dumpsters and between restaurants, he always wanted to live in a house with his two best friends. Wanted to be independent with people, wanted to feel safe and warm and comfy and at home. And finally, through hell and back, he managed to achieve that dream. It was almost too perfect. But he didn’t care about that—he was more focused on the new people in his life, living in his home.

It took five minutes for him to follow Tubbo downstairs. The hybrid was sat with Phil out back, some of the dining chairs pulled outside to watch. Tubbo’s gaze was locked on Phil, refusing to even look at the duel. His son was bouncing on his leg, watching idly with crumbs and jam stuck to his muzzle. Philza was talking about something Tommy couldn’t catch.

“Toast?”

He blinked at Wilbur, who was smiling like an idiot, holding a covered loaf in his arms. Tommy shrugged and leaned against the counter to watch as the man started his work.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing! Just in a good mood is all.”

Tommy’s face scrunched up. “Why.”

“Can’t a dead man have a good day?”

“You’re acting weird, is all.”

Wilbur rolled his eye. “Mhm. I forgot how much of a downer you are. You want to know why I’m in such a good mood?”

“Yeah, duh.”

He put the bread knife down and strolled up to Tommy, looming over him. Still grinning like a mad man, he untied the bandages around his face and pulled them away, revealing a large blue scab above his brow, which was almost healed over into a scar. Tommy’s eyes widened.

“You’re healed.”

“The one on my chest is still a bit iffy, but yeah. The small ones are all gone.” He held out a hand, stretching the fingers apart. No bandages covered the pale blue scars, just his usual fingerless gloves.

“You never did tell me how you died.” Tommy blurted out.

“Never needed to. And you still don’t need to know.” Wilbur returned to the bread and tossed the slices on a pan. “Which jelly do you want?”

“Strawberry.”

“Of course-“

“Thank you.”

Wilbur blinked, head rising up to the open window. A bird nest had been made, a few finches and songbirds curled up in the twigs and strings.

“F-for, everything, I guess. For staying. For being a good guy and not some fucked up piece of shit that would... I don’t know, kill me in my sleep and run off.”

“I considered it.” Wilbur mused, Tommy tensing with a scoff. “But it only took a day for me to realize that you deserve nice things... so I decided not to be a fucked up piece of shit.”

Tommy paused. “Do you still... do you not want to be revived still?”

He shrugged and rested his hands on the counter, taking in the smooth wooden surface with tender fingers. “It’s complicated, but yeah. I’d rather stay dead, thank you very much.”

There was a warbled roar of rage, and a particularly loud clatter of blades meeting. The silence that followed brought stones in Tommy’s gut, and he ran outside faster than he ever had.

He slid to a stop between Tubbo and Phil, who had remained seated, eyes on the development in front of them. Instead of the bloodshed Tommy expected, there was a sword pressed against the Blood God’s neck, the piglin tossed to the floor and left breathless, eyes just as wide as theirs.

Ranboo was still, only the rise and fall of his shoulders indicating that he wasn’t a statue. Tail raised a bit, feet planted evenly, his free hand curled into a fist at his side, ears drawn back. He had a shadow over his face, a look commonly shared between the teens, like he had done this before. The shadow was gone with a steady exhale, and his grip on the sword lessened.

“I won.”

Technoblade’s brow furrowed, but took an outstretched hand nonetheless. “About time. Took you all morning.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean t-“

“Save it, kid. You did good.” He patted the hybrid’s back and turned towards the others, taking the training sword away. “Who’s next?”

The two British teens shook their heads furiously. Philza stood up and spread his wings in a stretch, easily taking Ranboo’s spot, who gladly sat down and messed with the sleeves of his suit.

“I haven’t done that in years.”

“I don’t think any of us have.” Tubbo muttered.

“You okay? Need some water?”

Ranboo nodded, and Tommy was off to the kitchen, rummaging around the shelves for the bottles.

“What was that all about.” Will asked, face pressed against a window.

Tommy scoffed something and found one.

“Come again?”

“Nothing, man. Just sparring.”

“He was about to kill Techno.”

The teen chuckled and shook his head. “No he wouldn’t.”

“And how do you know?”

“Because it’s Ranboo.” He shrugged and strolled up to the back door, eyeing the corpse with an amused smile. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose.”

Wilbur frowned and nodded with his words. “I forget that you two were close... so, why did you leave? Or did they leave, and you have a grudge against Schlatt.”

“I left because I didn’t want him finding out about the whole necromancy shit. Didn’t want them to get in trouble too, so.” He shrugged. “I had to.”

They stood there, silent for a moment as Wilbur reassessed his thoughts. Pride spread across his face in the form of a grin, hands tucked in his pockets. “You did it for them? That’s awfully selfless of you, Tommy. Tough little Tommy, caring about his friends-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He warned, though there wasn’t any heat behind it.

“Go off and be with your friends. I’m enjoying this protective side of you.”

“I’ll kill you.”

He tilted his head. “You will?”

After a moment of consideration, Tommy sighed and pushed open the door.

The battle between two gods was much more epic. They fell into familiar patterns, their feet light and blows heavy. It was mesmerizing to watch. Most people would describe it as a deadly dance with how their clothes swirled and hands grasped at each other. Tommy would call it a game instead. Offensive and defensive, sometimes switching, one barely getting ahead and the other quickly catching up. Every move was dangerously calculated, and blocked or dodged. The first point would be given to the winner.

Technoblade hopped back away from a swipe, and just as quickly sprang forward and brought his blade down towards Philza’s shoulder. The angel’s wings flared, his heels digging into the earth, his own sword brought up with a ear-piercing clang. He used his sword to push the other’s away, a foot brought up and slammed into his chest. Techno only staggered, before racing up again to attack.

“Thank you.” Ranboo mumbled, grabbing the bottle from Tommy’s hands. The blonde sat down with the two, who were more focused on Michael than the fight. The piglin was preoccupied with trying to grab his dad’s curled horns, little finger-like hooves barely reaching his face.

Tubbo smiled, hair over his eyes. He leaned down and twisted his head, letting the toddler grab at the horns and tug. The feeling was familiar—like when someone pets your hair and you’re forced to lean into it because man that feels weird, but good. No pain, just pulling.

Unlike most horned folk, Tubbo and Ranboo didn’t decorate them. Most would stroll around with beads and feathers and gemstones, sometimes large earrings, bands, rings, chains—whatever you could handle would be tied or pinned on. Schlatt himself had loads, dangling gold beads and chains and bands that really sold his whole “I’m rich” vibe. Tubbo and Ranboo, however, only shared a matching silver band, on their left horn. Wedding rings, Tommy assumed, and he’d be correct.

They had gotten longer, too, since he last saw them several years ago. Ranboo’s would forever remain short and straight, most enderman having those two small devilish horns, and a select few having spindly antlers. He got the short (ha) end of the stick.

Tubbo’s were much more round and cared for, probably by Schlatt. They curved around his head, the ends barely reaching under his ears. They were made to bonk people, and bonk they did.

Tommy grinned. He had cool friends.

When Michael’s grubby little claws landed on the ring, that’s when Tubbo pulled away. “No, Michael, no stealing.”

He pouted, reaching up again for it. They chuckled at the stern look on his face and his neediness.

The two stood apart from each other, breathing heavily, holding their swords out offensively. Philza had a cut on his arm that was just pissing blood, Techno having scrapes on his knees and hand from falling and being dragged. They were matched, it seems, though they knew that they weren’t attack each other as hard as they could. This was practice after all. Best to not scare the kids.

“I’m going to be sore in the morning.” Ranboo muttered, stretching out his arms. They felt loose, and energized, which is just the sweet beginnings of a world of pain. Muscles barely used daily had been reactivated, after all.

“Great. Now we gotta deal with exhausted Ranboo all day.” Tommy sighed.

Techno kicked off and slashed at his abdomen, getting dodged, then blocked. Philza spun around, shoving Techno to the ground with a wing, and by the time his head stopped spinning, a sword was to his throat.

He hissed between breaths. “You still got it, old man.”

“You haven’t been doing what the blood God’s told you, haven’t you.” Philza said, a bit more morbidly.

Techno frowned, the mood ruined. He grabbed Phil’s outstretched hand and pulled himself up, the two still catching their breath.

“Of course I have. Not doing so would kill me.”

“Not unless something’s wrong.” He whispered back, sparing a glance over to the three snickering teens. “Don’t play dumb with me. Death hasn’t called me in a week.”

“Funnily enough, neither has my God.”

“This is serious.”

“This is a topic that shouldn’t be discussed in front of mortal children. You know that.”

Phil sighed in defeat and shoved the sword back in his friend’s hands. “Fine. We’ll chat later.”

At afternoon, the storm had settled back in, a light mist cascading down onto the forest. The animals were outside playing in the old and new puddles, a few keeping to the trees, the majority having been kicked out to accommodate the company. The snakes remained on the shelves, a few birds nestled in the cabinets.

They had planned a walk into town. With... well, everyone, seeing as Wilbur and Michael couldn’t be too far from Tommy, and Tubbo and Ranboo refused to be separated from their son again. The walk there was nice, the path muddy, the sun peeking through the clouds occasionally. All in all, it was going great.

They visited Niki’s bakery. They chatted, they bought and ate some cupcakes. They ignored the odd looks they received from some of the other patrons—specifically, two guards that never looked away, one dressed in green with a mask, and the other mainly white, both armored. The unmasked one had vibrant orange fingers that glowed and sizzled as they moved. They didn’t say a word—just watched, which would be weird if they weren’t so preoccupied in their own thing.

By the time they left the quiet town, the sun was disappearing over the horizon, casting reds over the sky in streaks. They paused by the statue in the middle of town and watched a blimp float on over, off to a different, larger city.

And when they finally started their trek back home, mumbling lighthearted words to each other, Tommy shivered. His skin crawled, and somehow he knew eyes were on the back of his head. When he turned to look into the dimly lit village, he saw nothing. No green, no glowing fingers, no fire. No smiling masks or enchanted armor. Still, something was watching him, but he ignored it, seeing as none of his friends seemed to notice.

He couldn’t shake off the deranged giggles that echoed through his mind.

The world was dark. The void below him felt wet, but didn’t sting like water did. It felt thicker, kept him buoyant. When he sat up, he didn’t sink, nor did any of the not-water cling to him. That’s when Ranboo knew he was sleeping.

That, and he could see something red in the distance, glowing. It hummed ominously, filling his mind with a sound that forced him away from his initial panic. The rest of his dream remained in an odd conversation, despite him not uttering a word. Two voices that were only concepts, no living person behind them.

“What do you wish?”

“⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⎅⍜ ⟟ ⍙⟟⌇⊑?”

“Yeah. What’s your goal in life, your want, your needs, your desires. Wishes.”

“ ⎍⋔ ... ⌇⏃ ⎎⟒⏁⊬ . ⌰⍜⎐⟒ . ⌰⟟⎎⟒ .”

“Good. To achieve those, I need you to help your friend.”

“ ⍙⊑ ⊬ .”

“He’s sick, silly.”

“⊑⟒’⌇ ⌇⟟☊☍?”

“Yes. I need you to help him.”

Ranboo let out a shaking breath, the world materialized back into focus. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, the rims of his vision red. The world was black and white in the darkness, in his enderman night vision. He stood, body stiff and robotic, and it was only then that he realized he had no control over his actions.

The enderwalk.

But something’s wrong. It’s different this time.

“To the other room.”

He moved without much resistance, stumbling through the dark towards the other bedroom where Wilbur slept.

“⟟⌇ ⏁⊑⟟⌇ ⏃ ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔?”

“No.”

“⍙⊑⊬ ⏃⋔ ⟟ ⎅⍜⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟟⌇? ⍙⊑⍜ ⏃⍀⟒ ⊬⍜⎍?”

“Because you want to help him, silly. You don’t want him to die, do you?”

“⟟ ⎅⍜⋏’⏁ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⊑⎍⍀⏁ ⊑⟟⋔...”

“You won’t, Ranboo. He, on the other hand...”

“ ⏁ ⍜ ⋔⋔⊬ ? ⍙⊑ ⏃⏁ ? ⋏ ⍜ -“

“Don’t worry about it. You’re helping him. You’re keeping him from hurting you and your beloved husband and son.”

“⊑⍜⍙ ⎅⍜ ⊬⍜⎍ ☍⋏⍜⍙ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋏⏃⋔⟒⌇? ⊑⍜⍙ ⏁⊑⟒ ⎎⎍☊☍ ⎅⍜ ⊬⍜⎍ ☍⋏⍜⍙ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋏⏃⋔⟒⌇?? ⍙⊑⍜ ⏃⍀⟒⊬⍜⎍?”

“I know everything. I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. I know what you can and can’t do. I know your weaknesses.”

“☌⟒⏁ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⋔⊬ ⊑⟒⏃⎅. ⍀⟟☌⊑⏁ ⋏⍜⍙.”

“I don’t think I will. Or, rather, I can’t stay for long anyway. You’ve already helped him. Now I need to make sure everything’s in place...”

“⌇⏁⍜⌿, ⟊⎍⌇⏁ ⌇⏁⍜⌿. ⌰⟒⏁ ⋔⟒ ☌⍜. ☌⟒⏁ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⋔⊬ ⊑⟒⏃⎅. ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⏃⍀⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⟒⎐⟒⋏ ⎅⍜⟟⋏☌? ⌇⏁⍜⌿! ⊬⍜⎍’⍀⟒ ⟒⎐⟟⌰. “

“Evil? No, no. I’m saving you! Saving your friends, your family. You just don’t know it yet.”

The voice laughed as he fell back into the pool of darkness—the dream. It consumed him, dragging him under the waves and the thick imaginary liquid. The panic flooded back through him, claws scrambling for something to hold onto as he sank, as the voice let out one last fit of laughter before speaking.

“I’ll see you soon, Ranboo.”

Chapter Text

“It’s noon.” Techno grumbled from the couch, a book resting against his knees. He wasn’t wearing his usual clothes, more casual with poofy sleeves and no excess jewelry. The emerald was still there, though, and his modified reading glasses were connected by beads. 

Wilbur, at the table playing solitaire with Philza, scoffed and glanced up for a moment, the bandages around his face gone. There was an ugly blue scar above his brow, though, half hidden by white hair that started to grow back. “And?”

“Tommy hasn’t woken up.”

Philza hummed thoughtfully. “He’s a kid, of course he’s gonna be sleepin’ through the day.”

“Something’s wrong.” Technoblade insisted. “And not just with him, with... everything.”

Wilbur placed down an ace and crossed his arms on the table, humoring the blood God’s chosen one. “How so?”

The piglin huffed and closed the book, eyes closed. He gathered up his thoughts, making sure to delicately chose the correct words:

“The voices are quiet.”

Philza stopped sifting through his cards, staring at him with a furrowed gaze. He continued:

“They aren’t chanting for blood anymore. They don’t say much, actually. It’s quiet. And... Well, Phil, you know the other part.”

Wilbur turned his attention to the angel. “You do?”

He sighed and clasped his hands, nodding as he brought them to his face. “Yeah. I do.”

“What’s the other part?”

“The gods are busy with something other than their initial job. They won’t talk to us, they haven’t given us orders. It’s-“

“Refreshing.” Techno mused.

“It’s odd. This never happens. Never.”

“And now Tommy’s sleeping in.”

Wilbur snickered and eyed him curiously. “That last part’s a coincidence.”

“It is. He’s looking for a reason to be on guard.”

Technoblade rolled his eyes. “Alright, well, if he’s dead or something don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The two at the table muttered their amusement, returning to the game. 

An hour had passed. Ranboo and Tubbo were laying in the grass out back with their son, the three soaking in the sun and pointing up at the clouds. For the ones inside, it was their tenth game that evening. Wilbur yawned as he filled out an entire stack yet again, eons before Phil could. The avian frowned and sent him a glare.

“Is this boring to you?”

“No, actually. I’m having a great time. Just tired is all.”

“It’s the after noon.” Techno closed the book again, loudly, startling Phil.

The Angel scoffed, gesturing comically with a hand. “And?”

“And Tommy’s still in his room.” 

Wilbur yawned again, messing with his new hair between his fingers. “Like Phil said, ‘s probably just being a teen.”

This time, Phil studied Wilbur, face twisted in concern. He reached forward and put the back of his gloved hand against his forehead, and Wilbur leaned away with a glare.

“The fuck-“

“You’re tired. You’re freezing.”

“Okay? Thanks for caring about my health, but-“

“Is there anything else? Any nausea, any blood?”

Wilbur blinked, alert as he can be. “Pardon?”

Philza stood up abruptly and stormed towards the backyard. He tossed open the door, the two teens jumping to sit up. Michael remained laying, curled up in the grass. His chest rose and fell as he slept.

“Huh?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Minecraft.” Tubbo joked.

Phil glanced up at the windows of the second story. “Has Michael been acting weird today?”

“Uh... no.” Ranboo glanced down at him, petting his floppy ears. “Same old Michael. Why?”

Phil hummed in consideration, then shrugged.

“Nothing, just checking up on him. Go back to sight-seeing.” He gave him a bright smile as he closed the door. 

“What’s going on in your head?” Wil tapped his own. “Whatcha thinkin in there?”

“Follow me.” Phil said grimly, hands folded in front of him as he made his way upstairs. The two shared a glance and followed him immediately, Techno summoning an enchanted blade.

Wilbur wanted to ask questions, but by the time he opened his mouth, Tommy’s door was open. The sunlight fell through in strips of gold, dust catching the light like glitter. The room itself was somewhat tidy thanks to the husbands, the animals within sleeping peacefully on the floor and shelves. It was still, though, and Wilbur’s heart stopped for a second, wondering if Technoblade was right in his hasty assumption just an hour ago.

However, a rough cough from the bed erased all his initial worries, and replaced it with something fresh. The three let out their held breaths and creeped forward. Slowly.

“I-I thought he was-“

“I called it. Is it a coincidence now, Phil?” Techno hissed.

“Yes. He could just be really sick.” He didn’t sound too sure of himself, stepping over a dog and reaching over to his side of the bed. Now that the sunlight didn’t hide him from view, the blankets were shivering and whimpering.

“In a night? This badly? No.”

“Let me check.”

“Check what?” Wilbur hesitated by the end of the bed, hands outstretched and ready to do something—anything, really—to calm his nerves. 

Philza knelt down and uncovered Tommy’s head. He looked... well, sick, face flushed and brows furrowed. Dark circles under his eyes, and something even darker spreading from them like cracks under his skin, the same odd details in his neck, and probably spreading everywhere else too. His hair was a mess, but that was normal. Phil rested a hand on his cold face, and the teen leaned into it the best he could, probably unconsciously savoring the warmth.

Techno looked perplexed, staring at Tommy before tearing his gaze away to meet Phil’s stern frown.

“Wither scars.”

Baffled, Wilbur repeated the words, glancing from the sleeping mound to the two.

“But how?” Techno’s ears fell back.

“Doesn’t matter. He needs healing potions. Or... more of his pets.”

“Pets? Why?” Wilbur shuffled back, glancing around at the still creatures. His heart picked up it’s pace, making up time lost just moments before.

Phil gestured around, his other hand still holding the blanket up. “Remember the tether? How familiars are used? Extra magic and all that?”

Technoblade grimaced and stepped over the dog. Wilbur almost missed the pang of sympathy shown in his eye. “He’s not gonna like waking up to... this.”

Wilbur backed into the doorway, a hand pressed against his chest, where the wound was still somewhat there and yet not at all. A scar, maybe, but he felt all too paranoid about it tearing apart again. So this was why he was tired. Not because it was a warm day, not because he was bored, but because he was dying. Tommy was dying, and somehow that also meant everything—everyone—he resurrected would die too. Or again.

Philza sat down on the bed and ran careful fingers through his hair, a lost look in his eyes. His voice was level, forced, on the softer side.

“You two go get him some potions, magic, anything really. Whatever that can work. I’ll keep him company.”

Techno nodded stiffly and grabbed Wilbur’s shoulder, dragging him further down the hall into the spare room. 

Meanwhile, Tommy’s eyes opened just a bit. Philza’s chest tightened at just how exhausted and pathetic he looked. He ran a hand over his forehead again, brushing away his golden hair, then hooked an arm under him and forced him to sit up. The teen groaned in protest, flinching away from certain movements that only brought more pain, and even tried pushing Phil’s hand away. It didn’t do much, of course. He draped a wing around him and pulled him in close, surprised at just how cold he was. Tommy mumbled something incoherent as he leaned against him.

“I know. I know it hurts.”

Never in a thousand years, literally, would he think he’d grow attached to a necromancer, of all people. He’d dealt with a few during their final moments, them usually going out from age or corruption or in a blaze of glory. And he’d guide their souls to the next world after warning them of the dangers of being, well, a necromancer. Hell, he vowed to death themself to never get attached to anyone other than his wife. 

Then again, this isn’t a stereotypical necromancer. This was Tommy, who didn’t live alone in a spindly tower, who didn’t use his magic for sinister reasons, who was just a kid in Phil’s eyes. This wasn’t a normal death, either. He had to be poisoned, and even then, who had the supplies necessary to do it? Who could sneak in through the window, who can avoid a house full of warriors and jumpy teens and a fussy toddler? None of it made sense, and never mind even pondering the idea that someone in the house did it—because, as much as some of them would never admit it, they loved Tommy just as much or even more than Phil did. 

He shuddered and clung onto his shirt, drinking in the warmth he gave off. Philza smiled and let him half-lay on him, let him continue to mumble things that he only half-heard. He replied to each of them the best he could.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Wilbur and Techno are off finding you things... Yeah, it’ll help.”

Then Tommy whimpered, and Phil glanced down to see tears roll freely down his face, sharp blue eyes peering behind his unnaturally darkened face, like a mask over his eyes. He swallowed the bile in his throat and spoke a bit louder, voice broken and rough from the deadly poison, and trembling with emotion.

“I-I don’t want to die, Phil.”

His heart shattered into a trillion pieces, then were thrown into a furnace and baked. He cleared his throat to stifle his own shakiness, smiling still and continuing to pet him. 

“You won’t.” He leaned down and put a kiss on his hair, another sly distraction from his watery eyes. “I promise. Just... just stay awake, and stop talking, okay?”

He hummed roughly and sank into him even more, if that was possible. Phil wrapped his arms and wings around him and shuffled back, cradling him and letting him soak up as much heat as he wanted, despite him still shivering. He bit back his own sadness and did what he did best. Waited.

Eventually, Wilbur and Technoblade returned from downstairs, bottles of potions and salves in their arms. They set it all down on one side of the bed, Wilbur’s face unusually pale as he stared down at the mounts of fur and feathers that once seemed like wholesome napping time.

“It’s best if you stay away. You know, just in case.” Techno muttered, and Wil nodded as he backed into the doorway.

Phil shook the boy in his arms. “See? We’re going to make you feel better, m’kay?” 

Tommy’s head lifted for a moment, then rested back down with a sigh. That’s the best they were gonna get.

“Oh Raaaannnboooooo.”

His ears flicked. Their afternoon nap out in the sun was plagued by a voice in the forest. At first it was definitely just a trick of the wind. The trees rattled with fresh leaves and frail branches, the birds were, admittedly, awfully quiet, however. But bit by bit, the hush of the trees sharpened into a sing-song, mocking voice that called to him.

It was just in his head, though. He knew he had a nightmare. Couldn’t remember what it was about, but he knew he did. He couldn’t shake the feelings it brought, the sense of panic and anxiety that filled him with unreasonable fear. Also, Tubbo didn’t seem to notice the voice, as his ears didn’t flick around to pinpoint its location. So...

“See! Your husband’s fine, Ranboo. You all are.”

He blinked open his eyes and stared up at the yellow-ish sky, some clouds still sliding on past. Ranboo could’ve sworn the voice laughed.

“Go say goodbye.”

He shot to his feet, startling the drowsy piglin and Tubbo in the process.

“What the hell?”

“Something’s wrong, I-“ he glanced up at the window, second story, the same one that Phil stared at mear hours before. “Somethings wrong.”

“Well, shit! Lets go.” Tubbo scooped Michael up and followed him inside. The two scrambled up the stairs and sure enough, saw Techno and Wil leaning against Tommy’s doorframe. Techno’s ear flicked back, his head followed, and right before they were ready to push themselves past, he slammed a hand on the opposite wall and blocked them.

“Hey-“

“Don’t go in.”

The two teens still had grass in their hair, still had a sun kissed flush to their faces. They frowned, ears simultaneously pinned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is he okay?”

Techno and Wilbur shared a glance, then Wilbur fully turned around too. 

“He was poisoned.” 

They stared at him like he had lost his mind. Tubbo’s chest collapsed with a simple “what?”

“And because he was, he’s... draining the magic out of his creations.” Techno continued, voice flat. He gestured to Michael. “Which includes him and Wilbur. So, yeah. Kinda bad.”

Oh.

Oh.

If he goes, they go. Nervous-looking Wilbur Soot, who continued to glance back at the bed and curl a hand into a fist, would die again. Sweet little Michael, who snores peacefully in Tubbo’s arms, would also die, again. If they go, and he lives from their sacrifice, he’s never going to forgive himself. 

If that doesn’t cause a magician to go mad, what will?

Maybe Ranboo wasn’t fully grasping it. Tommy? Dead? Even before their first breath of fresh air, all those years ago, they knew that was impossible. He was too stubborn. Too loud and fast. Dying was not an option, never was, never will. Even on accident.

“H-how?” Ranboo voiced his thoughts, but only received shrugs.

“We think someone snuck in, somehow. But there’s no tracks in the dirt, no mud on the window, or finger prints... so.” Techno shrugged and glanced back too, a lost look in his eyes. “Who knows.”

“And you’ve tried everything?” Tubbo spoke up, bouncing the child in his arms as he adjusted his grip. “Everything?”

“Potions didn’t work. There’s no open wound to fix. It’s not centered in one spot, so no amputation. Waiting for it to run It’s course isn’t an option, even if we wanted to... we got Michael to think about.” Wil tapped a finger on his arm.

“Can’t he just bring him back again?”

“Only if you want a son that’ll never truly live.” Techno spat.

So that was that, then. No matter what they did, someone was going to die. Unless there was a different way, which Ranboo tried to think of.

Phil sat up, holding Tommy to his chest, tears brimming his eyes but never falling. He muttered words of encouragement and apologies to combat the feeble whines and groans. As he stood, he let Tommy lay back in the bed, hands trembling almost as much as the teen’s. Dark fingers tried to grab at him, tried not to let go, before falling to his chest to rest them, little to no energy left anyway. Phil’s voice rose just a bit as he walked backwards.

“It’s okay. I’m just going to leave for a few minutes, okay? Stay awake for me, please.”

Ranboo’s stomach churned, his chest tightened. The feeling of realization creeped into him as Philza turned back, a frown weighing on his face, all other emotion wiped clean. He watched Tubbo take a few steps back, sharing the same impulsive denial he did.

“I can feel it.” He started, glancing back for a moment, everyone else following his gaze. “I don’t know how, but he’s trying to grab into the world’s magic and use it instead. Into my own life force.”

Wilbur’s brow tilted. “He can do that?”

“I guess? We only know a fraction of what necromancy can do, so anything’s up in the air.”

“So, what. We wait?” Techno scoffed.

“Or we move him somewhere with more magic. The only place I can think of is the church, but that’s way too far away.”

“Then let’s go.” Tubbo glared at him. “Stop wasting time.”

“Tubbo....” Phil let his mouth hang open, averting his gaze.

“You know,” Wilbur yawned yet again, covering his mouth while he did, glancing back at them with exhausted eyes, the stain in his old yellow hoodie looking awfully vibrant, “and I know this might sound fucked up, but at least these animals and... at least they left peacefully, you know? There’s no pain. Just sleepiness. And that’s not so bad, I reckon.”

No one really knew what to say, so they didn’t, looking anywhere but each other as they tried to find a way out of this mess. Eventually, Ranboo stepped past the servants of gods and sat down with a shivering Tommy, who looked behind half lidded eyes.

When he rested a hand on his arm, he understood what Phil meant. The feeling of your energy, your life, getting sucked out from your fingertips was... odd, to say the least. Like something was being drained, but it wasn’t painful. It didn’t take long for him to start to feel the effects of exhaustion himself... It doesn’t matter.

Tommy tilted his head to stare up at Ranboo, throat almost completely blackened, eyes barely open, blazing a brilliant blue that were far too stubborn to dull.

“Outside?”

Ranboo sucked in a breath, but smiled and nodded anyway. “Yeah. We can go outside. Um... Phil? Techno?”

The Blade hesitated before taking a few stiff steps forward, coming around to the other side. Together, they picked up a wincing Tommy, watching almost every movement hurt him.  Ranboo could only imagine what it felt like. On one spot with the wither effect, like a tipped arrow or scratch, with access to the right materials, was fine. But with the poison spreading all over, probably seeping into the heart and spreading through the body through the veins, consuming him from the inside, with no pain meds or ways to fix it... that sounded like hell to Ranboo. 

The rest of the group turned tail and led the way, keeping distance between Wilbur, Michael and Tommy. When the teen coughed, something black dripped from his mouth. He struggled, but eventually, they made it outside to the garden.

The first completely excellent day, with no rain, no fog, no mist, barely any clouds... just had to be this one. Tommy didn’t seem to mind, he lifted his head and closed his eyes, drinking up the sun like he was a plant. The others were behind them, Michael moved to Phil’s arms, seeing as Tubbo was nearing a manic episode that they’d deal with once... this was over.

“Grass.” He whispered, the worlds smallest smile on his darkened face. Ranboo swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, and him and Techno carefully let him sit down on his knees. They let go as he hunched down, hands on the earth, the two unsure as to what to do now. They all waited with baited breath, though for what none of them knew.

That is, until, the grass around him started to dry up. The bushes in the garden wilted, and like a ripple on the water, with Tommy being the droplet, the world died. The trees around the house lost their color, leaves speed running the dying process, then falling with the wind. The flowers died. The moss shriveled up. 

In a minute, the entire backyard, and some space beyond, was completely dead. Dried. Rotten. Tommy exhaled deeply and sat back up, staring at them with a lot less of the deadly poison on his throat and between his eyes. His gaze shimmered with the same brilliance they had an hour ago, never once glossing over with defeat or death. Though this time, it was through wider eyes and a real smile.

“You really thought I’d die from some fuckin’ poison?” He spat with a grin, his voice still raspy from being withered. He coughed before he continued. “You fucks need to give me more credit. Tommyinnit doesn’t die.”

Philza, Wilbur and Tubbo almost broke down in tears, but somehow held it back with big grins and relieved gasps. Though they were still baffled, and rightfully so. I mean... what?

“How the hell did you do that.” Techno demanded, more furious than anything.

“Well, big T, while I was rottin’ up there with Phil, I realized somethin.” He nodded up to his bedroom window, then gestured a hand to himself. “If I can bring life into things, I can also take it away. So I did.”

“That’s... simplified, right?” Ranboo’s ears rose.

“Mhm. Still tired, though. So...” he held out a hand for the enderman to take, and he gladly did, lifting the blond to his feet and giving him a shoulder to lean against. The poison was gone in terms of fatality, but it still ebbed away at his energy like a cold. Still visible under his eyes and on his throat.

“Never do that again.” Tubbo hissed, though something told the adults that he’d said this before, in the same way. There was a fondness in his voice.

“I won’t.” Tommy replied immediately, again, like he’d done this a thousand times. They shared a smile, though, and Ranboo’s tail wagged, so nothing else was said until Tommy was in bed and the three teens were together.

Wilbur closed the door and sighed, a hand rifling through his hair. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Oh, fuck.” Phil slammed the palm of his hand to his head, an awake Michael watching curiously. 

“What now.” Techno groaned, already manifesting a sword.

“I gave him potions.”

“And?”

“A lot of potions. His entire stock, several different kinds...”

Wilbur glanced up to a blank-faced Techno. “What does that mean?”

He smirked, evilly so, and glared down at Wilbur.

“It means he’s going to be out of it for the next week.”

Chapter Text

Being out of it was an understatement. Medicine and potions alike are a funny thing—especially if they were made and gathered by a teen who barely knew what he was doing. The art of alchemy was not his best skill. Wilbur recalled a time where he made them for a job at a market... but the memory was barely there. Faded and worn away by time.

Still, when given the opportunity to go into town with Tubbo and Technoblade to find ingredients (or the potion they needed itself), he immediately remembered such a time. When he’d crawl out of his bunker of a home and sit in the back of the open stall with all the smoke and noise from the city attacking his senses. His fingertips would be burnt at the heat it took to dissolve some tougher parts of the solution. The smell from the brew alone was enough to choke out the smog, and often he’d come home sicker than the day before.

But this time was different, of course. The sun was out, a wind rustling through the trees, clouds dotting the sky. The air was fresh and he wasn’t alone.

“Remind me again, what do we need?” Tubbo looked up at Technoblade, who’s hand was firm on the hilt of his sword, half-hidden under his royal red cloak.

“Best case scenario... something to take the pain away. I don’t know what Philza was thinkin’, giving the kid everything we had.”

Wilbur was about to mock the old man, but Tubbo beat him with a more sentimental statement: “People do dumb things to save those that they love. And we need everything he had. Some healing pots. Fire resistance. Strength?”

They stepped onto the trail, following horse tracks engrained in the path towards the village.

“Those are easy to find.” Techno mumbled, glaring into the forest. “It’s the other one that I’m worried about.”

“What does it take to make an anti-pain brew?” Wilbur asked, smiling all the while, hands stuffed in his coat’s pockets. He felt the wind pull it up, letting it billow behind his knees towards the sky. It made him look bad ass. Hopefully.

“You’re asking the right people.” The piglin mused.

Tubbo nodded quickly, a lopsided grin on his face. “Yeah! I reckon some sort of unactivated toxin and something sweet. Like lavender autta be nice. Goes well with most bitter and sour things.”

“I was going to suggest something floral too. To combat the wither affect.”

“Like a wither rose?” Wilbur scoffed. “Aren’t those dangerous? And last time I checked they were illegal.”

Techno nodded, squinting as their pace slowed. “You’d be right. Now that I think about it, Tommy probably already has some hidden in his house...”

“Just some dried petals is all we need.” Tubbo continued with a tap of his chin. “Like fighting fire with fire, but It’s death against death. Guess that’s what the toxin would be for too. You reckon venom and wither rose petals would go good together?”

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen.” Techno deadpanned, turning on the teen as the gravel turned to slabs of bricks under their feet. “Do you want him to die?”

“I think it would work. Maybe. I’d have to test it first.”

Wilbur chuckled at their argument, turning his attention to the statue in the middle of town.

It was of some town hero, kneeling over a pedestal of real flowers, a serpentine feathered beast perched on her shoulders, wings flared out giving her a look that rivaled Philza’s. Her features were vague, barely carved out in chunks, but it didn’t take a genius to see she was grinning ear to ear. Stone flowers were set in a long braid that draped across her shoulder, and a trident resting in her hands. Weather had worn away the engraved strands, water dissolved the stone that made up the statues name—but whoever it was nothing more than an ancient artifact, lost to time even when it was preserved.

They moved swiftly past.

“How do you two know about potions anyway?” He reached a hand out and brushed a collection of hanging flower crowns, the woman under the little stall waving with a smile. He waved back.

“I’m immortal. Besides, you gotta know what to do when faced with someone who just chugged three bottles of the stuff.” Technoblade shrugged, leaning down to enter  a store. The corpse’s head tilted towards Tubbo, the teen hiding in the shadow of the blood god like he always belonged there, shoes tapping lightly on the wood.

“I-uh...” he cleared his throat, voice quiet as they passed other shoppers. “Have experience.”

Wilbur hummed and put a hand on his head, and Tubbo instinctually stared up at him indignantly. “Wha-“

“Can you tell us? Maybe when we get lunch?” He offered.

“We won’t be here for lunch. We need to help Tommy.”

“I’ll tell you two the time I fought off a horde of the undead if you tell us a story about your... experience with potions.”

Wilbur grinned and peered down at the teen, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes behind his dark hair. He sighed and brushed Wilbur’s hand off, fixing the fluffy fabric around his jacket along the way. Technoblade stopped by the shelves stacked with thick glass bottles, each filled with colorful, shimmering liquid and labeled accordingly. As he started to grab some and mumble to himself, Tubbo sighed.

“Fine.”

Wilbur fist-bumped the air. “Let’s go! It’s about time you eased up. Drop the shoulders! Losen up your jaw! You look stressed!”

“My best friend almost died yesterday.” He frowned, glaring up at the snickering human. “My son did die.”

“Relax, you’re scaring the customers.” Techno flashed them a cruel smirk, Tubbo instantly glancing around and adjusting his appearance, paranoid of being watched or listened to.

“Whoops.”

The two adults shared a look of flattened amusement before picking out the next assortment of potions.

Ranboo let out a sigh, back pressed against the corner of the doorway. His body was aching for rest, his eyes heavy in the soothing warmth of the house. His hands hurt from some sort of unnatural phantom pain. No matter how many times this happened, it never got any easier.

After Tommy had showed off his magic skills and stomached some food and settled down in bed, the wither effect and combination of potion and medicine caused pain that Ranboo could only imagine. That night was fairly sleepless for Phil, seeing as he refused to leave the teen’s side anyway. The next morning, the others left, leaving Ranboo with his son and Philza with his... son. Maybe. He didn’t understand their relationship yet.

The enderman gladly switched places with Phil to give the Angel a needed break with Michael. It wasn’t too hard, giving Tommy company and someone to hold onto through the pain.

“It’s... it’s like I’m on fire. It’s hot and everything hurts.” He had explained it poorly, breathlessly, between winces, but Ranboo nodded along anyway.

They didn’t know what caused the random spells of agony that would leave him thrashing and screaming. Scratch that—they knew it was a combination of what he was given to try and stop him from dying as well as the ever so painful Wither affect mixed together into just... hell. But it came in waves. Philza noticed the trees further in the surrounding forest turning grey, the leaves wilting away, so maybe he’s still leeching off the world , Ranboo thought.

It was a familiar sight, seeing one of his friends in pain, black poison pulsing through his veins, but his experience with the situation didn’t make it any easier to deal with, either.

Finally, after almost a full twenty-four hours after he initially healed himself, he slept. And Ranboo was exhausted, wiping his split hair out of his face as he leaned against the door.

Phil strolled up beside him, carrying a dozing piglin in his arms. He smiled warmly at the teen, then towards the sleeping mound. They stood there for what felt like ages, and yet, somehow, the time flew.

“I’ll stay with him until they get back.” Phil started, voice barely registering in his brain. Ranboo hastily nodded.

“Yeah. Okay- uh, you sure?”

When he glanced down to the short man, he was pleasantly surprised to see a fond smile across his face, and a glassy look in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Oh. Ohhh . Maybe Ranboo was right in that whole son assumption. The thought made his tail wag, a gleeful pressure caught in his throat.

“You actually care.” Ranboo blurted.

“Of course I do? What?” He blinked and met the enderman’s gaze for a second.

“I-I mean- well- it’s just...” His eyes dragged across the still blond in the bed. “Um... he deserves it, I guess. Tubbo and I have Schlatt, and Tommy has... you.”

Phil’s lips curled back in a smirk. “Ah. I see. I suppose you have me as well, then.”

“Well,” his breath hitched, wide eyes falling down to him again, “what?”

“Parents, aye? You three come as a bundle.”

“W-well... kinda, I guess? Tubbo and I already have Schlatt, who isn’t the best but-“

“Which is why I’m here. Don’t worry. I sent in my notice to stop being an Angel of death. It would be more of an honorary title than a Job if it gets accepted. I want to stay for you and them and this little guy.” He cooed, shifting Michael against his chest.

Ranboo’s ears spread wide, his tail falling still for a moment. “Really?”

“All three of you deserve a family. Wil and Techno too, even if they don’t want it.”

“I know that.” He sighed shakily, forcing his voice quiet. “This is happening so fast.”

“I guess it is.”  Phil held out the child to Ranboo, he quickly took him back and bounced the toddler in his arms. Michael snorted something in his sleep and his fists bundled his buttoned up shirt tightly.

“Um. Thank you...?”

“Anytime mate. Go take a nap.”

His tail wagged again as he made it downstairs. The cottage had been filled to the brim with animals, some more skeleton than fur, but after yesterday it had become vacant. Thanks to some early morning work with Techno and Tubbo, the poor souls were out in the forest, buried or left to rot in the foliage. It made the place feel still and truly empty. No more birds sitting on open windows or dogs demanding pets.

A shiver ran down Ranboo’s spine, though he figured it was from the breeze on the nape of his neck and not his grim thoughts. He settled down on the couch and cradled his son on his chest, the plush material worn down from over a year of being used by undead animals. The warmth in the house made him yawn, and despite wanting to do something a bit more productive, he slipped off into a dreamless sleep.

Tommy, on the other hand, sat in the pool of darkness again, the red figure in the distance staring at him within the suffocating silence. The red glow behind the silhouette spread out like wings, curling away into the expanse. Two glowing dots remained fixed on him.

“This is getting ridiculous.” He scoffed, voice echoed back in his ears.

The voice hummed like static, but didn’t do much else.

“Can I go now?”

“No.”

“Who are you?”

The eyes shifted to the side, as if their head tilted. “A friend.”

“Bullshit. Friends don’t induce panic attacks. Besides, I’ve only seen you once.”

The voice chuckled, and he flinched, afraid that the maniacal laughter would fill his mind again—like last time.

He hissed. “Fuck off.”

“You seem to forget easily.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve forgotten that you’re not in charge here.”

In the blink of an eye, the figure appeared right in front of him, bending down to be face-to-face with the sitting teen. His blood ran cold as he stared into the abyss that was their face, white eyes pinpricks, like little stars. The red consumed the space behind them, trails of crimson expanding out in jagged motions.

“In the waking world, you are a machine. A tool. An item used for mass destruction and death. In the wrong hands, you’ll suffer. As you already have.”

The figure had no face, but he knew it was grinning madly, mocking him, speaking in a tone like they were talking to a child. He set his jaw and glared right back defiantly.

“Here, you’re nothing. That’s what you want, right? No more heroics, no more pain... I can give you this. Forever.”

“Sounds like a scam.” He spat. “Besides. I have shit to live for now. I can take the pain.”

“Can you?” They hummed, not missing a beat.

“And it’s boring here. If this is your world, I’m sorry man but this place blows.”

A hesitance, then another creepy giggle. He shuffled away as the future stood up, crimson wrapping around vaguely defined legs. It became brighter, almost neon, and his head spun and he felt like something was stabbing the back of his skull.

“Good to know. I’ll make it a little more your style. Just for you.”

Tommy circled in on himself and held his head. All he felt was pain, something prodding It’s way through and tearing it apart from the inside. He choked on a cry and squeezed his eyes shut until it eventually ebbed away into a dull ache, a cool feeling on his arms, replacing the void.

“Take a look.” The voice cooed.

When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at a scene he had lived through first hand. Three young teens stood in front of a metal gate, a bright light coming through the other side. They spoke softly between each other, anticipation ripe in the air, fear hanging above them. His hands balled into fists as he pushed himself up.

Every detail was exact. The dark stains on the stone floor, the rust at the edges of the metal bars, the mess that was their appearances. The distant smell of gunpowder and iron. He preferred the weight of the void over the caverns any day.

“H-how-“

“Your welcome.”

“No.” Younger Tubbo spat. His hair was a lighter brown, horns unseen under the mess of knots and dried blood. The majority of his body was covered in dirty bandages, a shirt far too big for him hanging loosely off a frame that was far too small. When he turned his head, his uncovered eye blazed with determination that should’ve faded long ago. “I’ll make them. You two take turns on defense and offense.”

“You sure?” Ranboo croaked, looking arguably even worse. His split hair fell past his shoulders, fresh and old scars clear as day on his wrists, hands shaking violently behind his control. His claws were unnaturally long, an animalistic glint in his wide gaze.

Tubbo smiled, a small one, but it brightened the dark room a bit more. “One hundred percent boss man.”

“I’ll take offense.” The youngest nodded sternly, facing away from his older self. “We’ll take turns chugging whatever Tubbo makes.”

“Yeah.” Ranboo took a shaky inhale and gripped the metal, tail coiled around one of his legs, shoeless paws digging into the sand that scattered across the entrance to the arena.

“Don’t fuck up.” Tubbo scoffed.

“Avoid water.” Tommy added.

“Kill any explosives.” Ranboo briefly glanced down to Tubbo, who had grown still, facing the sandy area.

“Don’t get killed.”

“Or stabbed.”

“Or shot.”

Someone beyond the metal gate shouted, and soon the entire arena was filled with customers awaiting an epic battle, cheering. The fear that had hung around them dropped, dread filling every crevasse and space between sand particles. Tommy’s bandaged hand rose up and gripped Ranboo’s arm, partly comforting the warbling enderman and partly grounding himself. But it wasn’t him that continued the to do list.

Tubbo muttered grimly, voice wavering. “Use all the tricks in the book. Cheat if you can... please.”

“Kill them.” Tam Ranboo hissed, shoulders rising as a cruel growl rumbled into his throat, tail uncurling around his leg to lash freely, the anger rising from him was jarring, even to the much older teen that had seen this before.

He had stood and watched, fixed on the moment. The figure that had been also watching glanced between him and the three, remaining eerily silent, but there like an annoying fly in his ear. The gates rattled as they were lifted, the hybrid letting go and shuffling back, shaking hands returning to his sides. Tubbo quickly held one, tense but prepared as he’d ever be.

He knew the next words like he knew how to breathe.

Young Tommy sighed and ducked under the metal, his words quiet and sharp, but clear as day in the viewer’s mind.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“So... basically, it was for a competition thing. One of us would make the potions, the other two would defend the potion maker or try to... to tag the other team’s potion maker. The potion maker needed to make potions to benefit the team before getting tagged. Swiftness, strength... you know. To tag the other team’s alchemist and win.”

The pot boiled a collection of ingredients together, slowly the liquid turning thicker and darker in color, bitter and sweet smells rising into the air. Tubbo put the lid on the pot and glanced behind him briefly at the adults. Phil had descended the stairs a while ago, switching with Ranboo yet again in favor of taking care of Michael. They were lucky Tommy was such a heavy sleeper. Still, stress is an exhausting feeling. The Angel bit back a yawn and sipped his tea, his hat being played with by the rampant toddler.

“So, you know. I was the potion maker. If something didn’t work we’d throw it at the enemy and watch it explode. If something did work... well I don’t think we drank many potions. We’re more offensive when it comes to it, but I got good at making healing potions, so...”

“So you, Tommy and Ranboo joined a competition when you lived together. Makes sense.” Wilbur shrugged, Phil nodding along groggily.

“Yeah...” Tubbo sighed, leaning against the counter, the heat of the rustic stove on his back. The quiet that followed was greeted by cicadas and crickets outside the windows and open back door. A comfortable ambience that soothed frayed nerves and, upstairs, lulled a sick blond back from the walls of a blood-filled arena.

“There’s a puzzle to piece together.” Techno scoffed, staring the teen down with narrowed eyes. “Between you three. How he was poisoned. The scars and how Ranboo managed to put a blade to my throat. And as fun it is to theorize, I’m a little sick of the lies.”

“I’m not lying.” Tubbo frowned, meeting Techno’s stare head on.

Phil tilted his head and glanced between the two. “I didn’t know about them until they showed up. Weird that Tommy wouldn’t even mention them.”

“Ranboo said some suspicious stuff the other day.” Wilbur twirled the white streak in his hair around his finger. “I agree.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes and turned back to the pot, stirring the thick liquid with a wooden spoon. It had turned sweet, smelled like chocolate but would probably taste more citrus. The lavender really brought it together, made it a dark purple and gave it a pungent odor that had drowned out the initial bitterness. He hesitated, then looked around the cupboards.

“Isn’t it done?” Wilbur asked, pushing off the table to rock his chair off its legs.

“I want to try something.”

“Don’t burn the house down.” Phil mumbled from his arms, seconds away from passing out.

Surprisingly, Tubbo found what he was looking for. Two mason jars, one filled with an inch of something powdered, and the other nearly full with grains of sugar. He set them both down, poured some sugar into the pot, mixed it in, then turned back to the confused men with a grin.

“Have you ever had fudge. Or... like, a Turkish delight? Taffy?”

Phil nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

Tubbo dusted off the counter with his hand and poured some powdered sugar on it, then the thick mixture. He blocked their view, but they understood what he was doing, Wilbur smirking.

“You made it edible.”

“Precisely. Want some?”

“No,” Phil sent an eager Wil a glare, “no, it’s not safe. It’s Tommy’s medicine. You wouldn’t steal medicine from a child, would you?”

“Oh definitely. No hesitation.” Wilbur glared right back, amusement sparkling in his grin.

They chuckled as Tubbo started cutting the powdered sheet of soft goo into squares, then covered the cut sides in powdered sugar and started setting them in a jar.

Once they were collected, he closed the lid and made his way up towards the bedroom, leaving a mess that Phil complained about. He giggled along the way, until he reached a closed door, where he fell silent. The door creaked a little when he opened it, candles still lit inside. Tommy was wrapped in the others arms, the two sleeping peacefully until the door moved—the giveaway was Ranboo’s ear flicking up to listen.

“Sorry! I made the potion.” He held up the jar, whisper yelling as he tip-toed over.

“Tubbo.” Ranboo mumbled, voice raspy from sleep. He wiped his eyes and glared inquisitively at the jar. “That looks like candy.”

“Exactly. He won’t be able to resist.” He set the jar down on a half-put together nightstand, sitting down at the other side and resting a free hand on his friends back. Tommy shuttered away from the touch, then relaxed, still sleeping.

“I wish we had candied potions.” Ranboo mumbled through a yawn, tail flexing with him until it resumed its spot curled around his legs.

Tubbo could only snort in agreement, eyes rising to the back of Tommy’s neck, where under the strands of golden hair, he could see thick veins filled with the wither effect, trying to take his life away, stopped by his instinct reaction to drain the local flora instead. The horned teen shivered at the memory—at the agonizing needles of pain that tore through his arms, clawing across his body to either cripple him or consume him entirely. Ranboo seemed to have the same thought, because he smoothed down his hair to cover the markings.

“It’s different when you just... straight up eat a wither flower.” Tubbo whispered. “He had some dried roses in a box, in the spare room. It’s what I used for the sweets.”

“Of course he does.” Ranboo shook his head fondly, chin resting on the top of his head.

“It’s not as visible, or scarring, or painful. But still bad. Obviously.”

“Mhm. He’ll be okay. Like he said, some poison isn’t going to kill him.”

“It better.” Tubbo huffed and plopped down beside them, side to Tommy’s back. The teen made a hissing sound and stirred.

“Ow ow ow ow,”

“Tubbo!”

“What! I laid down! Can I not rest??”

“Ow, touch hurts, let go of me please.” Tommy leaned away from the enderman’s arms, who begrudgingly let him go. He sat up and blinked the sleep out his eyes, wincing in pain at the stinging that spread through his arms like a sharp soreness in his muscles.

“Hey, look!” Tubbo grabbed his jar of powdered squares, grinning madly. “Look! I made you candy.”

“It’s actually something to take the pain away.”

“Good.” Tommy spat sleepily and reached in, plucking a soft treat from within and popping it onto his mouth without a second thought.

And he was taken aback. In the span of three seconds, he experienced three separate sensations:

A) The smell fo chocolate and mint threw him off. He expected exactly what he smelled.

B) Instead, he got a gooey fudge-like texture that tasted like sweet lemonade and lavender, the powder dissolving in his mouth and making it extra sweet. The taste alone let his shoulders drop, and he’d be lying to say he didn’t almost cry at how lovely it was.

C) He cried.

“Uh oh.”

“Tubbo! You broke him.”

“Sorry! I didn’t-“

“Tommy,” Ranboo covered a grin with his hand, “you good, man?”

“Is da drugs.” He huffed around a mouthful, already reaching for another one.

“Wow. I really popped off.”

“Make us some with less deadly poison.”

“I just might. Is it really that good?”

Tommy nodded, his shaking breath accidentally blowing  most the powdered sugar off as he took another bite.

“Damn. It’s settled then.”

Chapter Text

Do you remember your first fight, Tommy?

Of course he did.  How could he forget? The air was unnaturally cold, his grip on the sword clumsy and far too tight, wrist too stiff. The cheers were taunting him, the owner of the whole show watching behind a glass panel. His opponent was a bit more experienced, and yet they both fought like their lives depended on it.

At the end, his wrist was sprained, he had a deep gash on his arm, blood splattered all over his shirt, sticking to his skin. He never knew blood could be so sticky... so thick between his fingers, the sensation of it thicken and dry on him was even worse—and the smell forever ruined his senses. But he hobbled back into their corner of the arena and felt the world darken around him, the phantom feeling of a sword breaking skin, breaking past bones, through vital organs, still ripe in his mind and hands.

He couldn’t touch Tubbo or Ranboo without thinking he’d cut through them. It was a childish thought, really, but it drove him mad until they were fed up with his bullshit and held him. He didn’t cry back then, even if he really, really wanted to.

It felt good, didn’t it.

Somewhere deep inside, he knew the voice was right. The sight of someone’s face going slack, the spilling blood slowing to a halt, the hum of a heartbeat breaking between his fingers, through a blade, and sometimes even the hilt of a knife. It’s why he was so good at it, how he could dodge one flailing attack and strike somewhere important immediately after. How fast and violent he was, how close quarters he could be, how his panic faded in the background as he perused. There was a therapeutic release that came with it, one that he, oddly enough, missed.

It’s a shame you’re so... fucked up right now. Or else I’d get you a knife to stab someone with. Lucky for you, this realm’s made so you aren’t so drunk here.

“I’m Not drunk.”

Do you prefer drugged?

“...not really. Sick? Medicated? Safe?”

The voice laughed, and he flinched.

If the wither didn’t kill you, the medicine would.

“And here I am.” He hissed back, black fingers digging into his pants.

You’re a powerful kid, Tommy.

“Likewise, whatever your name is...?”

The voice just hummed a laugh. The dreamscape was dark this time—no red, no star-like eyes, no visions of the past. It crumbled away as the voice cackled, reality replacing everything, a heavy fog falling over his head.

Oh, right. He was sick.

The downsides were obvious enough. He was out of it, clumsy and slow. It took him a solid two seconds to register voices, and another four to decipher what they said. He still felt remnants of the on-fire stinging sensation sometimes, but the more he ate the sweetened chunks of medicine, the less he felt the effects. 

The plus sides, though, came when he settled down on the couch and someone, like Wilbur, sat next to him. Everyone was so warm, even just being around them was nice. A sleepy Tommy didn’t care about his pride—he immediately rested his head against his shoulder and smiled as the corpse froze, stopping mid sentence.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Sleepin’.”

“On me?” He laughed, an arm tentatively holding him closer.

“Shhh.”

Another thing he noticed was the amount they cared. Borderline babying. He hated it and loved it at the same time, just like he did with the head pats and hugs. Phil was the worst at it, followed shortly by Wilbur. He mocked them about it, and they just grinned or rolled their eyes while carrying on with their day.

And how good everything tasted. The smell of blood was long gone from his senses, replaced by fresh air and seasoned soups. Or how cool the air was, and how nice the breeze and rain was on his skin. The burning sensation that was the combination of good and bad in his bloodstream was replaced with old reliable, normal, everyday blood. It felt like a restart of his system. Fabric felt softer, skin smoother. He’d never admit how nice it was to run his fingers through Tubbo’s hair.

And of course, the feeling of magic shifting below his feet, seeping into his toes and up into his chest. Stolen from the trees, running through the roots in the grass and into him. He could almost see the trails of green racing under the dead lawn. That was new, and pretty cool. He could see magic now, or maybe he was just tired. Or tripping balls.

It had been two days since he was poisoned, and he was feeling better than ever. 

“Michael!” 

The door creaked open, a a second later a weight tugged at the other end of the bed. Tommy slowly blinked open his eyes to see a piglin child crawl up to him, invading his personal space significantly. The kid had a massive smile on his snout, and a gleam in his uncovered eye that Tommy mistook for mischief.

“Michael!” Ranboo snapped again, whisper-yelling and scrambling up to the side of the bed. He was plucked off with a noisy whine, which was shushed quickly by the enderman.

Tommy blinked up at him, “Morning.” 

Ranboo froze and stared back, then broke into a smile. “Good morning Tommy. Sorry he woke you.”

“S’ okay.” He muttered after a moment, rolling onto his back and feeling a numbness fade away from his limbs as he stretched. “What time is it?”

“Late.” 

The blonde groaned dramatically and rubbed his face, “Thanks big man.”

Ranboo hummed and left, tail wagging lightly as he moved. The door squeaked shut. That’s when something clicked in Tommy’s brain.

He sat up abruptly and scrambled forwards, falling off the bed as the world spun around him. Standing was useless at this rate, so he just flopped to the floor and took deep breaths as his body rushed to catch up with him.

When he looked up, there was a very alarmed Ranboo, still holding Michael and Philza, ready to shank a bitch. Their expressions softened when Tommy gave them a grin, words slurred.

“Sorry! I fell.”

Philza let out the world's longest sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tommy, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Why? ‘Cause you're old?”

Ranboo barely bit back a chuckle, and Phil couldn’t hide his grin. The winged man stepped up and helped Tommy to his feet.

“What was the rush?” He scoffed.

“Ranboo...” Tommy started, eyes barely focusing on the unnaturally tall teen. “Since when did you wear that?”

The split-colored hybrid blinked and assessed his clothes. A light purple sweater draped off the edges of his shoulders, exposing quite a bit of his neck. It looked comfortable, and soft—Michael’s little hooves wrapped around the fabric in bunches. His black pants were the usual, somewhat fancy-looking, clean and studded with silver buttons. All in all, he looked nice, though a bit different from his suit jacket and button ups.

What alarmed Tommy was the fact that his neck—and all the scars that crossed his collarbone and coiled around his throat—was completely visible. They were a Violet-pink in color, almost matching the sweater, some sicken in and others raised. His ears fell. 

“Is... there something wrong?”

“It’s weird.”

Phil smacked his head lightly as to not send the fragile necromancer into a coma. “Tommy!”

“What?? It’s weird. He’s stealing Tubbo’s clothes now!”

“He did get this for me a while back.” Ranboo shrugged. “Plus, it’s comfy.”

“I don’t care.”

Another smack. “Ow-“

“You’re being mean.”

“No, I’m just...” he scoffed at Ranboo, “you should keep them covered, is all.”

The lighthearted, slightly confused light in his eyes drained, leaving nothing but two thin red and green eyes that stared back with... well, Philza nor Tommy could tell what he was thinking. He breathed out: “What?”

“Those.” Tommy pointed, swaying on unsteady feet, even in Phil’s arms. “They freak me out.”

The golden rays of sun that spilled in through the window was a lie. The warmth in the room had turned suffocating, the buzz of bliss turned to an uncomfortable stinging sensation. Ranboo shuffled back a few feet down the hall, tail wrapped around his leg. 

“Oh.”

“Tommy...” Phil glanced at the teen who leaned against him, taking in the dazed, obviously far too gone look on his face. He sighed and turned his attention to Ranboo instead. “He didn’t mean it.”

Ranboo squinted at the Angel, cringing slightly. He didn’t need to say a word.

“No, he didn’t. He’s out of it. I like the look. It suits you.” He smiled, feathers curling at the ends.

Ranboo just nodded, a tension slipping from his shoulders as he left, a little Michael waving a goodbye to the two.

Did he remember his first ever fight? Of course, he did. He and the second, and the third—all of them, no matter how they blended together into one massive pile of trauma. He could remember faces, situations, moments of pure genius and near-failure. He remembered each one Tubbo and Ranboo did, too, even the ones he wasn’t allowed to watch. It was a miracle three of them made it out. Barely.

In a state like this: here one can barely stand on both feet, or feel the ground beneath them, or focus on one thing at a time, it’s hard not to space out. To separate oneself from the world and drift away into a different one. To feel the situation at hand evaporate. He felt it before, usually when he laid in bed or sat at the table with the candlelight flickering in and out of his vision. Or when he would cook himself something and run his fingers along the flat of the knife, losing grasp on reality at the cold metal against his fingertips.

Since they showed up, there was no need to go into his own little world away from this one—no reason to fade off into space, because there was no reason to. No real danger. He did before at the table a few days ago. And the night Tubbo, Ranboo and Michael arrived. But that was it, really, he didn’t need to space out.

Now it was all he did. His reality became the void, and the world was just little commercial breaks between the static. It got harder and harder to ground himself, to not slip away with the flickering candlelight. Something that helped him out, however—something that grounded him—was touch, he realized.

He was clingy. Wouldn’t admit it, but he was. And his perpetual state of drowsiness really made him realize that too. How did he find out?

Well, shortly after insulting Ranboo, he was pulled downstairs and sat down at the couch, a warm cup of tea in his corrupted hands. Wilbur sat down beside him, reading something with round glasses perched on his nose. Philza was telling Tubbo and Techno about whatever Tommy said (he already forgot), and Tubbo quickly vanished to go make sure Ranboo was okay. Techno followed with a huff, saying something about how he didn’t care, he wasn’t getting attached, etc.  

And Tommy was deep, deep in his own little world, going down a train of thought that he immediately forgot about the second a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Hey, you alright man?” Wilbur smirked, eyes searching his. “You’re been quiet all day.”

The world snapped into focus. No- it tried to, but he could at least focus on Wilbur’s stupid round glasses and messy brown hair. 

“Yeah. Jus’ thinkin’ bout shit.”

“Like what?”

He paused, unconsciously honed in on the bandaged hand on his shoulder. “Donno.”

“Well, that’s it. I’ve tried Phil.” He shrugged and returned to his book, a cold ghost replacing the warm sensation. 

The world started to slip again, and a sudden fear shot through him. He didn’t want to go back to non-reality. 

“This is the second time he’s done this, Phil.” 

When the world came back, he was pressed against his side, and a shadow looked over the two. Tommy faintly found green in the area.

“Shh.” He frowned.

“I don’t know what to do.” Wilbur deadpanned, staring up at Philza and totally disregarding Tommy’s request.

“You’re on your own.”

“It helps.” He muttered, feeling a content sigh escape him. The two adults shared a glance of sudden unease.

“With what?” Phil asked, sitting down on the other side, kicking his knees-up to his chest and spreading a wing out to offer them both something warm to lean against. Wilbur nudged Tommy, but he didn’t move, so with a grunt he adjusted them both to fit under the protective shield of feathers. 

“I get all spaced out n shit.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “S’ dumb.”

“And cuddling helps with not spacing out?” PhIlza tilted a brow.

“Yup.”

“That is dumb. Why me?”

“Convenient.”

The Angel purses his lips. “And do other things cause it?”

He nodded, suddenly self-aware. And embarrassed because of it. Shit-

“Like what?” He pressed.

“Candles.”

Wilbur laughed. Disturbed by the sudden jerking movements of it, Tommy leaned back into Phil, who gladly let him and ran fingers through his hair. 

“Stop it.”

“Candles? These little things?” He stood up and reached out to grab one on a shelf, hot wax dripping down its sides. From being moved, the little flame flickered.

“The light, idiot. Not the... not the thing's self.”

“You get freaked out by fire?”

“Sure.”

“Put it away.” Phil warned, then considered Tommy for a moment. “Why?”

He thought really, really hard about that one. The best he could. He struggled to remember exact events—the memory’s only making the spacing out issue at hand worse, as they commonly did. His memory had grown sharper since his hyper realistic nightmare he had. However, long ago with the odd black and red shape cackling around him. He... recalled something though, a massive arena, fire everywhere, smoke so thick in the air he couldn’t breathe at all, the platform under his feet shifting to the side and dumping sand on another platform that had a whole new set of traps. The same ones Tubbo fell for.

Before he knew it, he was just talking:

“You know,” Tommy slurred, lifting his head to stare out the window with unfocused eyes. “I never thought I’d make it this far. Had like... a time when I was certain. Never get out... stay rotting down there. I thought we- we all didn’t make it. I gave myself six months maybe, at most, and then I’d never see the sun again. The stars. Birds n’ roses n’ cows n’ magic. I’d die like some fuckin’ tragic villain, in a pit of sand n’ fire, with... them.”

It was nonsensical, it was messy, and he chuckled at the end, but the other two grew deadly still. Wilbur only felt worse. Like an anvil sat on his chest, getting heavier and heavier with each vague sentence. Because he knew the feeling, that feeling of stark fear and sadness that he wouldn’t make it past twenty-five. The only difference is he tried, while Tommy apparently let nature take its course. Let the world keep turning, take each hit in stride.

And Philza was completely unprepared for this. His job was to guide souls from point A to point B, not comfort them through life. It was brand-new information, albeit guessed by Techno... but they were getting an answer. Somewhat. A messy, unexpected one that went down a path they definitely didn’t expect.

“I should’ve.” He continued, voice barely above a whisper, his loopy smile dropped. Eyes the color of summer skies darkened to match the dull outside world, and for a moment, they saw Tommy for who he really was. Or, the part of him that he’s been hiding from everyone. “I should’ve died in there. There were so many chances. So many swords that could’ve done it, so many arrows and sticks of dynamite. But I didn’t. I don’t know why... maybe for them. Maybe for them.”

Wilbur started to shake. For reasons beyond him, reasons he’d dissect later. All he needed to do was hold his brother close and give him all the comfort he could handle—and that’s exactly what he did. Phil, similarly, curled his wing around them both and sat up.

“I think a part of me still wants to.” He murmured, cheek pressed firmly against Wilbur’s chest as he started to completely unravel. The corpse let him, running bandaged fingers through golden hair, cradling the boy with his whole body. “I wouldn’t mind. I’ve heard death was peaceful...” he yawned, “I could use a fucking break, Wilby.”

“I know.” He finally spoke, voice hoarse. Philza glanced away, brows furrowed in thought, though it was clear that he still listened.  If Tommy had control of his limbs, he’d ball his fists in Wilbur’s sweater or tug at his coat.

Phil cleared his throat. “But you’re okay now. You have all of us here.”

A pause. “‘S not enough. They’re just as fucked up as I am.”

“We can handle it.” He offered a stretched smile.

“No, they can’t.”

The two shared a frown. “Why?” Wilbur managed to scoff.

Tommy’s murmurs melded into a nice little story as Wilbur closed his eyes and rested his chin on the teen’s head.

“Adults, thinkin’ you know everything. Ranboo’s clingy n’ too docile for his own good. Ya know I fought off most the kids on our street, and not the fuckin’ giant that was him. He could totally deck those kids if he tried.” Tommy huffed, then his voice wavered at the next part. “Tubbo... Tubbo deserves the world, man. If he asked me to burn down my house and die, I would. I’d kill for him, I’d do anything to keep him safe. He’s really fucked up, man. I just wanna hug him right now...”

He was crying. 

“I miss him.”

Philza glanced at the stairway. “He’s right upstairs with Ranboo-“

“I know...” he sniffed and put the back of his hand to his face. “I hate this.”

“We should ask them about that...” Philza mused idly. Tommy tilted his head and glared at him, face red and eyes still watery.

“Why do you care?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but words failed him, and he just pressed his lips into a smile. A hand tucked stray strands of hair behind his ear, giving the patron of a god plenty of time to think.

“I’ve followed you for a while now. I know that there are people out there that want you dead. All of you are in danger, in one form or another.” He spoke pointedly. “So I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Why.”

“Fuck, uh... I don’t know.”

“I blame magic.” Wilbur spoke up, seeming to have recovered from before, loosening his grip just a bit. 

“Maybe for you. I don’t have that excuse.”

“You’re just Dadza.” Wilbur grinned evilly. “It’s in your blood to be so caring and protective.”

“Whatever, Wilby.”

The undead man’s face turned a bright blue, which sent the Angel into a giggling frenzy. Tommy didn’t understand what was going on, he was just glad to be held, so he could avoid slipping away again. The ceiling creaked from the people upstairs moving, and soon the stairs groaned in effort too.

“I say we go to the bakery tomorrow.” Tubbo announced, flashing the three an odd mixture of a grin and a look of utter concern. 

“What?” Wilbur blinked, almost the letting go of Tommy, just enough, so he wasn’t clinging to the kid.

“Yeah! Tommy should be better by then, right boss man?”

“Fuck you.”

“Exactly.” He plopped down beside Wilbur, Ranboo arriving from the kitchen with a few biscuits on a plate. He sat down beside him, right on the very edge, cuddled up in a blanket as well. He kicked his feet up on the armrest and leaned against the goat hybrid.

Techno gladly sat down on the stool-coffee table thing, paying mind to the discarded cups and book that had long been forgotten.

“What's goin’ on here?” He glanced between the two adults, who seemed to simmer down from before. Phil shrugged, then grinned. 

“Nightmares.”

“Tommy’s having nightmares, is he?”

“OooO!” Ranboo sat up and twisted to stare at Technoblade. “You should tell us a story!”

“Yeah!”

“The Adventures of Philza Minecraft and Techno The Blade.” Wilbur announced.

The two gods stared at each other, almost as if they were communicating telepathically, then Techno sighed. “Fine.”

The whole group settled in, even Tommy’s head tilted up in an attempt to stay present.

“There was one time we followed a guy around who was looking for a special map. He was pretty evil, you know, orderin’ me to take down villages and what not. Phil was there for the cleanup, though I think Death was genuinely interested in the end goal too, so Phil got to tag along.”

Phil snapped his fingers, face brightened. “I remember that! That was ages ago!”

“I know.” He rolled his crimson eyes and shrugged. “Basically this guy sold his soul to the blood god for aid, so they sent me to help. He never got what he was looking for, before he, you know, got what he deserved.”

“There’s a lot to unpack there.” Wilbur squinted. “Didn’t you do all the killing?”

“Under contractual obligation. You can’t break a contract like that... or else there are horrific consequences.”

“Like what?”

“Hell isn’t the worst punishment a god can grant you. And some say Necromancy isn’t the worst kind of magic. It’s best to just... not.”

“What did the man want?” Ranboo’s tail flicked to and fro, dangling off the couch.

Philza spoke up again, leaning over to answer him. “A map to the Dragon Burial Grounds.”

Even Tommy snickered, but Tubbo was the one to shake his head and grin skeptically. “That doesn’t exist.”

“It might, though I don’t think so.” Techno shrugged. “We’ve been basically everywhere, and you’d think it would be hard to miss.”

“Does the map exist?”

“Who knows.”

“Why did he want to find it?” Wilbur asked.

A pause. “Well... it was a long and complicated plan, if I remember correctly. The guy wanted to find the map, find a Necromancer along the way, and bring dragons back from extinction... so he could take over the world or something dumb.”

“There’s no way.” Tommy mumbled, face scrunched up. “That’s way too much work.”

“That’s why he failed.”

“I bet there’s like... one dragon left, right?” Ranboo and Tubbo shared a glance.

“There hasn’t been one in at least a century. If there is, it’s taking a long nap.”

“Bringing a living person back is hard enough.” Tommy scoffed. “Let alone a dragon. Or army’s of em.”

“We figured, Tommy.” Wilbur pat the teen’s head.

Phil grinned. “You know corrupted magicians are often resurrected as dragons.”

Even Techno’s head swiveled for stare at the Angel. 

“Wh-“

“Really??” 

“Liar-“

“No, it’s true. Corruption is mostly found in, you know, necromancers... but they usually just go crazy and fall off. Corrupted Elementalists  come back as dragons. Or maybe they turn into them after corrupting... either way it’s not pleasant or worth it. Don’t-“

“That explains a lot.” Tommy stated flatly, extending an arm to show off the black cracks and rough material on his arms. He flexed his fingers, and stripes of white shot through the breaks that followed the path of his veins.

“You’re weird.” Ranboo stated flatly.

“Magic, innit.”

“You woke up like two hours ago, how are you still so sleepy?”

“Magic.” He waved his hands for emphasis.

Technoblade never thought he’d live like this.

Alone in a little cottage surrounded my children. He planned on short visits, just to check in with Philza. Just to make sure he wasn’t the only one not getting any information or jobs from the gods themselves.

Then he heard Ranboo try to imitate Michael’s piglin speech, and quickly told him to just, never do that ever. He asked why, and apologized if he said something wrong, and Techno watched him go through the five stages of grief and then some. 

He wasn’t attached. He wasn’t.

Something about the enderman intrigued him. Hybrids were basically non-existent, on top of a hum of untapped magic lying under his split skin. His blood was purple rather than the glittering reds and greens that scattered across his face like stars. He had the same accent despite apparently living with two brits his entire life, and he appreciated shiny things the same way Phil and Michael did. 

And the kid purred, but Technoblade would never mention that.

Okay, so maybe he was attached to one of them. But rightfully so. He’d visit a new friend and maybe teach him how to properly care for a piglin child. 

There was a storm on the horizon. He enjoyed the peaceful silence of the forest like the next guy, but the lack of birds and living things in the dried undergrowth was disturbing. At least the yellow sky offered some comfort.

He sighed and stepped back inside. Phil should be awake by now, with one of the kids, right? Or with Wilbur, being dragged down to eat something. Or even Michael, running through the house to spend all his energy and have fun. It was a special kind of adorable watching him look up at his parents and snort “Dad! Dad!” In his natural tongue.

Maybe Techno would teach him some English. 

He wasn’t attached.

The hybrid strolled up to Tommy’s door, and when he opened it he was pleasantly surprised. He expected the usual trio there, sprawled out with pillows scattered along the floor.

Instead, Philza laid on his stomach with his wings acting as a natural blanket across all three of them, face squished against his arms. Under the mass of black and white lay Tommy, who was only recognized by a poof of golden curls under the wing, and Wilbur, who was holding Tommy by the looks of it.

Techno blinked. 

Holy shit.

The voices in his head lost their shit.

AHHHHHHHHHHHAIWKCNEIFWIAA

DADZA DADZA DADZA

Crimebois brothers canon!!! Crimebois can-

GUYS.

What!!!

4/4

More screaming commenced, but it was pleasant. No blood thirsty chanting. It didn’t ring in his ears and overbear his thoughts, but instead hung in his mind like background noise. He let a smirk spread across his face and he leaned against the doorway, letting them simmer in the moment.

The golden patch shuffled, and slowly rose from the Black Sea. Two tired blue eyes landed on Techno before being rubbed sleepily.

“Morning.”

The gremlin groaned a greeting and glanced down at the two with him.

“This is new.”

“Donno why.” He grumbled and shook his hair out. Techno stepped forward, hooves clicking on the floorboards.

“Need help?”

Tommy stared up at him, and without a second thought he brought his arms out childishly. Techno grinned. Oh he’s definitely gonna use this against him one day. 

They left the two, Tommy cradled in his arms like the baby he was. He immediately realized what was going on.

“Wait-“

“Too late. You’re free.” Techno set Tommy on his feet and continued on downstairs, followed closely by the teen.

“You’re the worst.”

“Did something happen between you three?”

“I don’t remember.” He rolled his eyes and moved towards the open back door, a breeze shifting all the curtains in the building. Leaves drifted through the air in the decaying background.

“Keep your secrets.” Technoblade scoffed and moved to the kitchen, searching for a snack. Or breakfast. He wasn’t the cook of the household.

Tommy muttered something and stood out back, leaning against the house and staring up at the brewing sky.

“Can... I ask for a favor?”

The piglin’s snout wrinkled. “What? Well... depends. What’s the favor?”

From his spot in the kitchen, he couldn’t see the teen. He was focused on cutting some loads of bread into slices, craving a nice sandwich that was easy to make and easier to consume. All he needed was to cut up leftover chicken and cheese and he’d be set.

“If something happens, can you keep them safe?”

He stopped halfway through his slicing, ears rising.

“I think they can handle themselves.”

“Yeah... yeah they can. But-“ the blonde hissed something, “but if... something happens to me, just make sure they’re okay.”

“Not everything revolves around you, Tommy. And- what kind of favor is this? You’re fine.” He glanced at the door.

“Yeah... yeah. I know.”

Technoblade’s thumb rubbed over the hilt of the knife, still suspended halfway through the slice. A sudden shiver ran down his spine and with a dreadful groan, he set the knife aside and stepped towards the backyard.

“Hey, I get it, you got spooked by the poison thing. But like you said, it’s not that easy to kill you.”

The blood god peered out and tilted his head, the teen right where he was before, staring up past the overhanging roof off to the morning sky. He was rubbing the odd black stuff on his arms, nails digging in between cracks. Tommy met his gaze for a moment, then back to the sky.

“I know. But if something happens, promise that you’ll keep them safe, yeah?”

“I think the medicine’s gettin’ to your brain.” Techno faked a smile. “But sure. If, for some ridiculous reason, they can’t protect themselves or you and Philza can’t protect them... I’ll step in. Easy enough.”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it and sighed dramatically. “Thank you.”

The worst part about living in a crumbling cottage in the middle of the woods was how easy the silence took hold of the area. How the wind screamed louder than any conversation. It filled the space between them, and Techno was left shuffling back towards the kitchen to avoid the awkward quiet.

“What brought this up, anyway?”

A pause. “A feeling, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Hm. Well... I don’t know why you asked me of all people.”

“Because you’re detached. You’re not- you’re not as attached to me as everyone else is. And I have a really bad feeling, man.”

“Ah I see.”

He wasn’t attached. Why would he be.

The town was odd, to say the least.

It felt like every eye was on them. Even in the bakery, which was arguably the safest spot in the world, an intern kept staring at them. Though it was hard to blame him, seeing as the whole group consisting of a necromancer, an Angel, the blood god, a masked piglin child, an enderman, a goat hybrid, and some random guy strolled in and greeted Niki with familiarity.

He wasn’t one to talk either, Tommy figured. Tall and wearing a scarf, a creature straight from the netherworld, spaded tail and horns and everything. A demon. Those were hard to come by, surely. Everyone except Wilbur and Michael had seen one, and they weren't considered dangerous or animalistic like hybrids. They were just humans that... well, no one knows how they turn from human to demon, but Philza had his theories.

The demon at the bakery—who said his name was Bad—didn’t answer that question. Too personal. Fair enough.

Fundy and Niki were fond of Wilbur. Niki offered Ranboo milk instead of water. All in all it was a lovely afternoon in town. Even when a small group of guards came in and sat down and ate beside them, their eyes fixed on the group, they weren’t phased. 

Tommy was glad to be feeling better, to eat something soft and sweet. To be surrounded by them. It was nice while it lasted, right?

Though he couldn’t help but notice how, when they were strolling down the gavel path towards home, the storm at the edges of the sky had closed in and rumbled above, not raining quite yet. The wind was picking up, and the thunder clapped ominously. It would take about an hour for the last storm of the season to crash upon them, hopefully not starting any fires or flooding the house. He let his chest deflate.

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Life was simpler, back when all you needed to worry about was if the candy counter at the store was open or not. Back when parental supervision was minimal, and the world was just one street—a small corner of the universe dedicated to three rampant children. When the people were just people, no magic or differing looks mattered to them. There’s no fear of being hunted or thrown in prison, or executed,  when you’re a child on the streets.

The sky was always grey, the air thick with smog, but it was warm. And flowers still bloomed between the cracks of the pavement, moss spread between stone bricks on the sides of buildings. It rarely rained or snowed. The days were dark and the nights darker, but it didn’t matter to the three. They were, arguably, the best thing to ever happen to that little strip of the city. Every shopkeeper and poor man knew them by name, and although they were annoying at first, it’s hard not to grow fond of them. They were each different and yet scarily similar, bouncing ideas off each other, each idea more chaotic than the last. Stealing turned to pleas to borrow, which quickly turned to “gifts'' from the merchants. In adult life, the world is just smoke and heat, and many envied the three for disagreeing. They thought the world was nothing more than the plaza and the moss in the stone.

And in a night, in a particularly dark and suffocating cover of smog, it all changed. One day the three children were playing tag in the park, and the next they were gone.

Many shop owners lost their jobs, many residents moved away. Rumors circulated around, but none would reach the king’s ears. A few, however, made it to Schlatt.

Three orphaned children disappeared, and in one particular chunk of gossip, they were supposedly sent somewhere. Some said to an academy to train talented kids into successful generals. Others claimed that they were sent, because one of them was a mage and another an enderman hybrid, to a facility that drained their magic to charge a weapon of some sort. 

Ridiculous. Schlatt had thought. Those rumors were generated by deranged hobos who hated the other country, the nation on the other side of the continent in the deserts. Of course they’d blame the “bad guys” and not their own country.

Of course, a part of him was curious. It took him about ten years to meet one of the CEOs and take a tour around the... place, down towards the redwoods owned by the kingdom. At first it was going great—it was worth the investment, supplying the place with funds for well trained guardsmen and possible aid to his incoming revolution was a fair trade.

Then he took a trip down to the arena. The light in the ceiling was an illusion spell to simulate a false sun in the sky. It was far enough underground that he felt heavier by the earth's gravitational pull—or maybe he assumed that the weight of the situation on his shoulders was something else. There was a stench in the air that made his stomach churn, and although he was unsettled, he wasn’t going to back out of the deal.

Then he saw them.

He didn’t know it, but it was the three kids from the rumors. Standing defiantly behind bars, bandages covering them, blood still fresh on the enderman’s face from... something. It dripped off his chin, though his lips were wiped clear of the stuff. The blonde’s dark fingers twitched, and Schlatt had never seen such pure rage plastered on someone’s face. They watched him curiously, eyes round disks that never once left him or his dangling golden chains and jewels.

And the third, the shortest, and the one covered head to toe in the most bandages with two little horns sticking out between wrappings and dark hair, held a flash of something instinctual in his uncovered eye. Schlatt felt it too—herd mentality, and even if they refused to believe it or chose to ignore it, they knew why. Or, Schlatt did. Tubbo never clarified if he knew.

His next step was something he’s still shocked he did. He spoke to the trio privately, got to know them just by the harsh words and cautious ways they moved. He helped them out of that death trap and cut his ties with the company.

He remembered the first time they saw the sun vividly. The look of awe on their faces, their deep breaths, hesitant as if it would all evaporate and they’d be left alone in a cage again. It was a dream to them. And he held his tongue for the first time ever in his life—because they didn’t notice just how hard they were crying, and he decided not to tell them because, fuck, maybe he would too.

He wasn’t told the real reason why Tommy left some hours later, and when he tried the topic was changed.

His third step was changing the reason why he was revolting against the kingdom in the first place. From money to family... which was much more noble. He spent months exposing the atrocities of the academy, debating with the rulers of the castle, working with and against his own kind as well as other groups that supported him. In the end it didn’t matter if he won or lost, he had the coin to support himself.

He had his son, and dare he say a second one, and when the revolution was semi-successful and they got land and established plantations and a capital, his sons joked about marrying for tax benefits. Schlatt laughed along, and shrugged, said “go for it”, and just for shits and giggles they actually did, right there in the manor months later. The driving factor was the child they found and adopted.

Schlatt left them to their own devices. He wasn’t an actual parent, he just.... came in and saved their asses at the last second. He’d never call himself a saint. 

They left without warning. Fair enough. They can do what they want.

That is, until he received an early ransom note from the neighboring Kingdom... and he chose his family over himself yet again.

Tommy couldn’t sleep. 

The storm slammed against the house, each nail and  beam holding the place up groaning under the pressure, the cracked windows letting rain soak into the wood and further the rot. There was no dog or cat to snuggle with him, though he didn’t mind Tubbo and Ranboo being there either. He just couldn’t get comfortable. Wasn’t tired.

Everyone was asleep. He let out a sigh as he made his way down the stairs, socks slipping slightly from the wood. His eyes strained to adjust to the dark, seeing only flashes on the counters from lightning.

That’s when he heard it, after a gust of wind and clap of thunder. The real reason why he couldn’t sleep. His blood froze, and a weight in his chest sank to his toes. There was a knock on the door. 

A billion thoughts flew through his mind. Was he hallucinating? Paranoid? Was he caught? Did he accidentally lock someone outside? He couldn’t decide which of those was the worst one.

With a muffled groan, he reached forward and opened the door.

A masked man greeted him, clad in green and leather-bound iron armor. A mace remained strapped to his back, and there were many other little trinkets and sheathed items that Tommy didn’t have the capacity to count. Not an ounce of skin, except for his fingerless gloves, was shown.

“Mind if we come in?”

Tommy’s efforts to block the door were useless, seeing as they just barged in anyway, the masked one stood in front of him.

With him were three others. A royal mage, dressed in white and black and simular iron armor, a sword strapped to his hip that was dripping with fire magic, his hands simmering like embers. He glanced around and quickly slid around the lower level, on the move, searching, a hand always on the hilt of the blade.

Another was the demon from before, his usual smile replaced with a soft frown, glazing white eyes scanning the world outside before closing the door, tail lashing to get the rain off of him. He was dressed in the same armor, though his only weapon was a wicked sacrificial knife bound to his chest.

And the last one was... familiar. Short black hair slipped from a beanie, dressed in a white button up and suspenders, an enchanted axe glistening in hand. He took one look at Tommy and glanced away, a flash of something on his face that the teen couldn’t catch.

“We just want to talk.” The masked one sang, crossing his arms. Tommy’s eyes landed on the mage as he moved up the stairs, fear gripping him.

“What-“

“We just wanted to ask you some questions...” he drawled, stepping to the side to block Tommy if he got any ideas. “Why do you live out here, alone?”

“I-“ Tommy took a deep breath. He needed to calm down, his trembling fingers (which were kept behind his back) would need to wait. “I.... like the quiet.”

The demon followed the mage up, while the axe clad man stayed by the closed front door, watching the flashes of moonlight and lightning catch in the flat of his blade.

“And you live alone? No parents, no friends...?”

He hesitated, words failing him, but he nodded and felt a bubbling heat rise in his throat instead. 

“Yeah. I’m alone. Just doin’ my own thing, man. Lay off. Get- you’re actually trespassing right now, so if you could kindly-“

The mage and demon poked their heads from upstairs. “It’s clear. There’s no one else here.”

Tommy caught a sigh with relief in his throat. 

“They must’ve fled, then. Bad, go out and search the perimeter for any tracks. They couldn’t have gone far.”

The demon nodded curtly and moved past Tommy to the back door. 

“Wh-who are you looking for... exactly?” He tried, staring at the green man with wide eyes. He huffed and moved around the teen, circling from the door and back in slow, purposeful steps. Each one echoing louder and louder in Tommy’s mind.

“We know what you are. We’ve been gathering intel from so many sources, looking for people like you... the stars really aligned when so many enemies teamed up with you.”

“What are you on about, man?” He spat out, turning to meet his smiling mask. 

“Don’t play dumb.” The one by the door rolled his eyes, jaw clenched as he hissed. “Schlatt’s son is here. He’s friends with you, right? Him and his enderman husband left that place a while ago and came here, or so we think.”

Tommy opened his mouth to shout, then reconsidered. His voice lowered instead, a shadow falling over his face. “Why are you looking for him?”

“As a bargaining chip, duh!” He smacked his forehead comically and rolled his eyes. 

The mage nodded and opened the cabinet casually. “Not to mention the gods you have connections with. Death and Blood, right?”

“Bargaining?” He couldn’t believe this. Was he dreaming... no. He couldn’t be, not by how hard his hands were shaking. “For what?”

A hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed, sending a shiver up his spine. “You’ll see once we take you to the castle.”

“No,” Tommy pulled away and wheeled around, hands clenched at his sides, “no no. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t- fuckin? You’re talkin’ in tongues man! I’m just a guy hanging out in the forest, fixing up a house. There’s no weird shit happening here, no gods or heirs or hybrids here. It’s just me,” he waved a hand nonchalantly, for emphasis, “your everyday Joe. Regular human me.”

His wrist was grabbed mid air, and his eyes flew to meet the mask again. Somehow, he knew the man was grinning ear to ear. His grip tightened, and the masked man pulled his hand upwards slightly.

“Regular human, huh?”

All eyes landed on his hand. His horribly corrupted, blackened, cracked hand. Tommy struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, nearly gagging on the air. Despite his nerves, he worked up the courage to tear his hand away and rub his wrist, glaring daggers at the mask.

“Whatever man. Just leave or.... or I’ll force you out.”

Dream just stood there, and the teen shuffled under the stare. His voice was smooth and coy, but holy shit did Tommy just want to scream.

“Are you threatening the Royal guard?”

“Yes. With my supernatural magic that can and will kick your ass, green bitch.”

His efforts to humor or threaten were pointless, he knew that the second a fist connected to his jaw. He stumbled back, and it wasn’t until pain seared through his torso that he actually felt the first hit. Next thing he knew, he was on the ground, coughing, the struggle to breathe increased tenfold.

“Listen to me right now, kid.”

He glared up at the man, who had knelt before him, arms on his knees. 

“You have no power here. You and your friends are coming with us, no matter what shit you pull, magic or not. Tell us where they are. Now.”

In all honesty, he had no idea. So he spat at the man.

“Fuck you. Is that the best threat you got? How fuckin’ original dickhead.”

The mask tilted up as the front door opened, Bad strolling in soaked yet again. 

“Umm... Dream, I think they’re still here.”

“Fine.” The green, masked man stood up, looking at his little group. “Burn the place down.”

“Wait wait-“ 

“Turn it to ash. I want this dump gone.”

Tommy scrambled to his feet, catching himself from falling, hands raised. “Wait, let’s talk about this-“

“So now you know where they are?” The mage smirked.

“No.” He exhaled shakily. “I just, come on. Let's not burn down my house.”

“You won’t be needing it.” Dream shrugged and reached towards him again, trying to guide him to the front door. He flinched away.

“Aye, fuck off, what- what does that-“

“You think you’re going to come back?” Dream’s voice rose into a yell, one that held great amusement. He was no doubt smirking under that mask. “You’re a necromancer.”

His fists clenched in front of him, flashes of white shooting through the cracks in his arms. Dream continued:

“And your friends aren’t going to be back either. Once Schlatt pays for what he’s done, once you pay for practicing illegal magic, there won’t be anyone left to visit this place. This is the last time you’ll ever see it. So say you-“ 

Tommy was moving beyond his own control, tackling the man to the ground. He landed two punches to the mask before his arm was caught, before a whoosh of wind filled the house.

Philza was there in a second, stepping between the two groups, sword in hand, ready to get Dream away from him—only for the mage’s hands to set on fire and draw all the attention to him.

At the same time, Technoblade launched off the stairs and brought his blade right against a raised axe, the sharp clang of metal broke past the rain and thunder. The man screamed in alarm and scrambled back.

And when Bad got ready to shoot forward and help either of his friends, Wilbur arrived with Tommy’s short sword in hand, swinging wildly to get the demon away. All three came from the stairs, and the other three remained there for the time being.

A blast of fire was sent towards Philza. He ducked under the table just in time, the fire splattering across counters and giving a ghostly amber glow to the whole room. The angel shot forward and swept him off his feet, his next strike blocked by the flaming sword. The room started to heat up, Magic building and sizzling on his hands. He held one out and fire shot out to get Phil away. 

And Tommy couldn’t breathe.

The two had rolled towards the back door, a mess of hits and misses. And while Dream’s mask was cracked and askew, showing off his freckled face that was now scratched and bruised, Tommy flailed in a blind panic. He was much weaker than Dream, and though he could beat him in any other circumstance, something about being medicated, exhausted and caught off guard made him all the more unable to win. 

His hands tried to remove Dream’s grasp, clawing at his sleeves and pushing against his shoulders frantically. It was hard to see—the orange hues from the ongoing fight at the edges of his vision. Dream’s scowl was dark, blonde hair falling over his eyes, grip tightening further until Tommy’s senses started shutting off and all he could hear was his own incredibly fast heartbeat.

Quackity was the first one to notice that Dream was going against protocol, stealing a glance over to the two before a blade found Its place against his face from brow to chin. He staggered against the burning counters and instinctually covered his face, stinging pain replacing all else. He barely managed to grab his axe to block another swipe to his neck, metal hissing against each other, his hands slick with blood.

Philza pushed the mage into Bad, the two falling back and held off by Wilbur and Ranboo, who had appeared out of thin air to clear the way for Tubbo and Michael to escape. Bad seemed set on blocking the doorway.

The moment Phil was able to, he set off towards Dream and Tommy, a flash of lightning illuminating the two. A surge of anger roared through him, boiling his blood and pressing against his throat in a roar. He rose his sword-

“Stop!”

Philza stopped, face taunt. Dream was sitting up, Tommy in his arms. The teen coughed, hands weakly fumbling to the arms around him—the one around his neck was, indeed, holding a knife to his jawline, already drawing blood. 

“Everyone, stop.”

Techno and Quackity were locked in place, both heads swiveling to see what stopped Phil. The Angel blocked their view of the two, wings half-spread, the cloak around him shifted to widen his silhouette. Ranboo stopped, Tubbo behind him, their plan foiled from the start, both starting to slip from reality as untapped memories came back. Wilbur turned too, but kept his sword pointed at the fire mage’s throat.

“Drop your weapons. Now.”

Tommy bared bloody teeth and glared up at Phil, unable to speak through him catching his breath, but the message was clear as day. Don’t.

Philza’s shoulders rose, and when they fell, a sword clattered to the ground.

“Let him go.”  

“Back the fuck up, first.”

Phil’s wings folded under the cloak, and he stepped back. Dream pulled himself to his feet, taking Tommy with him and keeping his grip firm, and the knife closer to his throat. A good majority of the people in the household moved to attack, stopped only by the glint of firelight on the knife, and how the blonde flinched away.

“Drop them.”

“Let’s talk this out.” Wilbur’s eyes narrowed, flashing with a bloodthirsty rage that rivaled Techno’s glare.

“You had your chance to talk.” He spat. “But instead you attacked us. Made this a lot harder for your friend here.”

Despite the current situation, and the massive bruises blooming on his face, Tommy smiled reassuringly. Something that was supposed to be comforting, but it just made everyone feel worse.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

Techno pulled away from Quackity and practically threw his blade on the ground, simmering in adrenaline. Wilbur was next to drop his, and sent a deadly glare to the mage and demon. 

“Stand in a line. Sapnap?”

“On it.” The mage—Sapnap—manifested a flaming cord out of thin air and twirled it around in his hands, a grin falling into his face. The others shuffled into a line, axes and knives pointed at them. 

“Can you let him go now?” Phil kept his gaze locked with Dream’s. 

He shook his head. “No. Not until you’re all arrested and put in the carriage.”

“The gods will be angered.” Techno warned, and they actually saw Dream hesitate.

“They already are.”

There’s nothing worse than being the cause of all your problems. 

And hey, he could sit there wallowing in his own self pity, regretting every decision he ever made, wanting to curl up in the dirt and rot away... but in his spot curled up next to Phil, trembling claws weaving through his hair, he couldn’t bring himself to. All he could feel was fear, familiar and cruel, crawling up his spine and pushing him further into the angel’s chest. His focus on the world wavered, the metal around his wrists triggering even worse memories.

Tommy already passed through his initial panic attack in that spot, mumbling nonsense and on the verge of tears. His cuts and bruises were wiped away, the one on his neck wrapped up with a bit of Philza’s cloak. The man was there the entire time, reassuring him and offering immense amounts of comfort. 

The ride towards the castle was a long one. The gavel paths between towns and cities weren't the most pleasant within a wood and metal carriage. It was cramped, Quackity and Bad guarding the one and only exit, weapons held closely and eyes fixed on the group. Quackity’s face was bandaged poorly.

Ranboo’s tail coiled around Tommy’s leg, and at the same time he finally removed his hand from Tommy’s hair to sooth Michael. The husbands were also recalling memories, though they seemed preoccupied with Michael anyway. The toddler had little to no idea what was going on, tugging at their horns and playing a silly high-five game with his dads.

Wilbur and Technoblade were seething, closest to the guards, muttering various curses under their breath, each one worse than the last, some so outlandish even Quackity started to grunt in offense.

The haze over the city was the giveaway. The thick sulfur that lingered in the air for eternity, making it uncomfortable to breathe. It wasn’t from factories or machines, though it added onto the smog, instead it was all created by the volcanos a mile or so away, on the lip of the gulf, smoldering.

The castle was built like the arenas.

Cobbled walls wrapped around the first few levels, brown Ivy and discolored mosses growing along the edges. Every single window, although huge and rimmed in gold, was heavily frosted. The upper levels were the color of jades, a mixture of gold trim and copper walls that has long since been oxidized. This place was once a popular tourist attraction, so full of color and light, spires of metal arcing into the sky to highlight the growing silhouette of the city. That was a time before most of them—though Philza could remember it clearly. 

Those days were long gone. The active volcano really scrubbed the place off travel lists. The only reason for anyone to come or stay was for tax reasons. Or gambling. Or to train in the Royal guard.

Now it was just a looming threat to them all.

Around the back, where the cavalry and trainees were stationed, is where the carriage stopped. 

“You’ll be okay.” Philza whispered into Tommy’s ear as Techno was dragged out. For the first time since his own house, he met the man’s friendly eyes. “I promise.”

They weren’t taken to prison.

Which was bizarre, right? Not normal. Usually people who attack the Royal guard get thrown in prison immediately. And this group would most certainly deserve being thrown into a heavily guarded cell deep underground, right?

Instead, they were led (or, forced, seeing as Techno was first in the single file line and dragged his hooves on the ground) in one of the spire’s columns. There was shouting coming from inside.

The doors opened up into a large room with a high roof that narrowed into the sky. On the far side was an elevator mechanism—one of the first ever built and powered by steam, copper and stone withered away. It no doubt led to other sections of the castle rather than rooms, seeing as the whole pillar was just the courtroom. The rest of it was uncharacteristically dull: stone floors, dark wooden desks and chairs, the podiums only having gold encrusted into the wood. Large windows at the very top lit up the entire pillar, giving the whole place a white glow that glinted off the metal.

A few eyes landed on the group from the mess of tables and chairs. There was a long pause of silence, Tubbo being the first to mutter a name, ears pinned to his head, Technoblade, Wilbur and Philza shuffling in front of the teens the best they could.

Dream scoffed something under his bloody mask and stepped forward. “I thought the plan was to wait a few days?”

“What.” Schlatt turned on the king again, rage flashing in his yellow eyes. He hadn’t changed much since Tommy saw him last, maybe less jewelry dangling from his horns. He wore a very nice suit and tie, no weapons, no guards. Not that he was stupid—he just didn’t have any.

“No...” George tried, hands folded in front of him. “Well... he came early. Snuck past the guards. He should be arre-“

“You kidnapped my kid and threatened to hold him for ransom. Which one of us committed the war crime, pretty boy?”

George frowned. He wore white rimmed goggles and had fungal growths planted along his Royal robes, layers of silk and mesh that really made him look like a king. An obsidian crown sat on his head, imbedded with jades and gold, his outfit showing a similar color palette minus the black. Behind him was a nervous looking wizard—not someone with naturally born powers, but instead with a book bag and a wand clutched in his hands. Dressed in purple and green. Odd fashion sense.

“Well it’s best you know some things, President Schlatt.” Dream continued without missing a beat, gesturing to the shackled individuals. “Your son’s been working with a necromancer and the angels of blood and death.”

Schlatt hesitated for a moment, considering this by glazing over the group, lingering on Tubbo, then Quackity, for far too long. He shook his head clear. “Let them go.”

“Schlatt... you’re on our turf now. Nothing you say has any power.” Quackity sang, axe still firm in his hands.  

“What would other nations think of George, the lazy and thoughtless king, threatening innocent lives, and for what?”

“The others can be let go.” George blurted, turning his attention to Dream yet again. “Other than a payment that he’s already offered us with, we have what we want.”

“And what's that exactly?” Techno tried, brow tilted.

“An audience. Witnesses and defendants for a trial.”

Tommy felt his heart stop as the king stared directly at him. 

“This is dumb. We can just leave, there doesn’t need to be a trial. We can work this out, yeah?” Schlatt grinned, hands extended to convince the king.

”Oh don’t worry. It’s not your trial. Or your son’s, or even the enderman’s. It’s the Necromancer’s trial. And it wouldn’t be fair for him to be alone, defending himself.”

While the magical metal bands were returned to Sapnap, and Bad kept a firm hold on Tommy’s shoulder, Schlatt stared at the kid. They recognized each other, though they hadn't had a conversation together. They heard a lot about each other, mainly from letters and Tubbo talking his ass off, but there was no reason for Schlatt to care about him. None. He could leave with his family and stay perfectly safe in his crumbling society down south. Tommy knew that better than anybody, and so he didn’t meet his piercing golden stare.

His teeth grit. “He’s a kid, your highness. That should mean something to you, yeah?”

Dream came to George’s side. “His trial starts when the Plaintiff arrives. Save it for then.” He waved a hand to Bad and Sapnap, who nodded in understanding and pulled the teen back to the doors. He stumbled a bit, then found his footing and kept pace with them, ears ringing and blocking out the sudden argument that erupted.

“I don’t think you understand who you’re picking a fight with.” Philza started.

“Isn’t it your job to stop him? Any means necessary?”

Tubbo and Ranboo easily found their way next to Schlatt, the hybrid bringing them both in for a light hug before squeezing their shoulders. He glanced between the two, all rage drained from his face. Michael reached up for his golden jewelry, but was otherwise ignored.

“You guys okay?”

“Thanks, dad.” Tubbo breathed out, focused on petting his son’s back more than anything else. 

Ranboo nodded with a forced smile. “Just shaken up a bit, is all. Um... sorry about all this.”

“You shouldn’t- no, you know what,” he sharply inhaled, “I’m gonna save that for another day. Today, we focus on getting your friend out, yeah?”

“Thanks, Schlatt. Again.” 

“I thought Necromancers were executed.” Wilbur spat, more of a flat statement than a question. 

“Would you rather have that?” Dream tilted his head a little. “Or give him a chance.”

“Who’s the opponent? Is it someone we know? One of you-“

“It’s a third party. Someone none of us really know... but I guess they know the necromancer somehow.” Dream interrupted Phil. 

“That’s impossible.” Wilbur smirked. “We’re the only people that know him. Unless he has a secret second or third life...”

“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” The green man shrugged.

“I’ll double my pay.” Schlatt said, heads turning to stare at him. He puffed out his chest. 

“No.” George sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You won’t. Just... just wait until the trial.”

A dark cell was like his second home.

And oh man, was he hating his house. The second the door was shut, he spiraled down again, his chest tight and hands pulling uselessly at the cuffs. Every time he opened his eyes, sand replaced the stone floors, and the air was thick with blood rather than stale mold.

He was not comforted this time. This time he struggled until his wrists started to bleed, until the ringing in his ears was too much to bear. And he screamed, because he knew he was going to die soon.

He knew what some of his triggers were. Found them out, all by himself. He was claustrophobic, of course, so the cell was suffocating him all by itself. Flashing lights and loud noises sent him into his dissociative state—luckily, neither were present. And metal on his skin creeped him out, sometimes he’d space out and run his hand across a blade without realizing it. The chains on his wrists was what sent him over the rails, how he could almost guess what he was going to do next. Which arena would be spat into? What foe would he have to kill? 

Or would he be dragged somewhere else because he fought back?

Exhaustion caught up with him a few hours into his panic. He was immediately woken up by footsteps coming closer. Just a single pair, nice heeled dress shoes by the sound of it. 

It didn’t comfort him any more.

When the door opened, he tensed out of habit, expecting to be pulled or kicked or something. The chains between the cuffs were grabbed and pulled up, along with his wrists, and he was twisted to face whoever it was.

He was met with the blank glare of a stitched up Quackity. 

Healing potions were incredible. His damaged eye was cloudy, sure, but the jagged wound was just a thick scar now. His lip was broken, as was his brow, but it suited his rugged casino look. His eyes fell to the teen’s hands.

“Don’t say a word.”

Tommy nodded dumbly and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to control himself shaking or his heavy breathing. A weight was removed from his arms.

And chains clattered to the floor.

He opened his eyes and stared at his bloody wrists. He was free.

“Don’t tell a soul I did this.” Quackity warned, voice lowered and dark. “I’ve been told to keep an eye on you... and frankly I’m not in the mood to deal with... that. So here. Solution.” 

Tommy felt a lot better without the sharp sting of metal against his skin, his shoulders lowering with a sigh. The cell door locked shut again, with Quackity lingering in front of it.

“Go to sleep.” He pushed off the bars and started walking away, shoes clicking on the floor. “You have a long day ahead of you.”

Chapter Text

Trails only happened when disputes happened. Between petty shop owners and heirs to the throne, to settle something peacefully, to find middle ground in terms of words and coin. Not when someone clearly broke the law, especially with so many witnesses. Not when you broke the biggest taboo of all time and attacked the Royal Guard. Self defense or not.

Tommy should be dead, but he wasn’t. He should be pulled up to the gallows, but instead, he was led to the courtroom by Quackity and Sapnap, the mage right on his heels and the other ahead of him. 

The courtroom was cleaned. Two podiums sat opposite of each other, chairs and tables scattered behind them, creating a runway towards the elevator from the door. 

Behind one was King George, Dream, the wizard from before and Bad, all sending Tommy a glare mixed with unadulterated hatred and maybe, just maybe, curiosity. The other had Schlatt, holding the edges of the podium, along with Tubbo, Ranboo, Phil, Wilbur, Techno, and Michael—who was napping in Technoblade’s arms. All of them offered Tommy a comforting smile instead, except maybe Techno and Schlatt, then a new determination filled each of them. Tommy’s throat tightened.

This was going to end very, very badly.

“Sit down.” Quackity offered Tommy a chair in front of a lone desk, placed between the podiums. “And stay quiet. You’re not allowed to speak unless spoken to.” 

Tommy plopped onto the seat and rubbed at the cuffs on his wrists, and the two guards shrank back behind their king. 

The trial began.

“George’s Kingdom and Schlatt’s Union. Deciding what to do with a necromancer.” Dream made an amused “huh.” “The answer should be obvious.”

“It’s different this time. This time it’s a kid, who’s backed by the gods themselves and some of the most powerful people on the continent.” Schlatt’s brow furrowed. 

Phil piped up. “What are the punishments?”

“Usually, execution. But, like you said, there are outliers that we need to consider first.” Dream shrugged.

“What did he do to break the law?” Quackity questioned the Union. 

They all hesitate, Schlatt turning towards the group.

“Nothing that’s worthy of execution or life imprisonment.” Techno drawled.

Tubbo grinned nervously. “Plus, most of it was self defense, and... and what teen hasn’t done stupid shit.”

“Honesty, right? That’s what you’re looking for. If you knew about Ranboo and Tubbo visiting Tommy, then you know more...” Phil spared a glance at Tommy, then fixed his gaze on the royals. “He robbed a grave, resurrected two mortals, along with loads of animals, but that’s about it. Hasn’t stolen anything or killed anyone to my knowledge.” 

“Your honesty is appreciated.” Dream nodded.

“And his magic isn’t out of control. I’d know if it was.”

“You can’t trust what you see.” Sapnap stated flatly, arms crossed. “Magic is powerful, and dangerous with or without use. It’s just... no one knows what necromancers can do. With any other element, you can narrow down exact spells and how much energy it uses, but not with his kind of magic.”

Bad cut in, voice edging on sing-song and morbid, “It’s too dangerous to keep him alive. Even worse, to keep him around for testing, if he’s as sane as you say he is.” 

“You do realize that you’re in a room filled with patrons of gods?” Phil sputtered, gesturing to himself and Technoblade. “We already know all this. Cut the bullshit and tell us what’s stopping you.”

Bad grinned, pearly white teeth gleaming under blackened skin and a red-rimmed hood, but didn’t say anything.

“Other than us.” Tubbo stepped up beside his dad, barely reaching his chest in height, but all the more intimidating. “If you so much as touch him, I’ll skin you and sell your organs on the black market, right after I burn this place to the ground. I don’t know how, but life finds a way.” He smiled cheerily, and the wizard took a step back. His joy was a facade, however, seeing as his hands were curled so tight his knuckles were white, and his teeth were far too clenched for it to be a friendly smile.

“Well, maybe not that.” Ranboo cleared his throat and pulled his husband back. He shared the same level, threatening tone the hybrid did. “But yeah, I’ll definitely kill you if you kill him.” 

“No, no. There will be no killing today. No bloodshed. What’s go-” Schlatt waved a hand to get them back, then sighed to stop himself from continuing. 

“You’re trying to find dirt.” Wilbur realized with a blink. “You’re trying to find a real reason to execute him, aren’t you?”

He stepped forward, in front of Schlatt, hands tucked in his trench-coat’s pockets. The royals met his golden stare head on. “You’re looking for ways to get around it so you don’t feel as bad. None of us are lying when we say he’s done no wrong. He’s as innocent as any other citizen out there, and the only reason why he’s here is because he was born with unnatural abilities. If it weren’t for his magic, I’d still be dead.” He shrugged, a real smirk teasing his lips. “And as fucking cringe as it is, I’m glad to be alive with him. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel proud or enlightened to be around him and I wouldn’t trade him for anything else in my new life. He doesn’t deserve this treatment and you fucking know it.”

Tommy felt a weight leave his chest. Okay, maybe he was wrong. Maybe he could get out scot-free, live with them in his little cottage, or better yet, finally move up north, past the mountains. In the tundra, in the ice. Create an Antarctic Empire or Boreal Commune—or whatever. The name didn’t matter, he just wanted to not stare death in the face for a bit. Take a break from this shit.

His heart sank the moment he heard someone applaud.

Clapping was not something they expected to hear, seeing as no one’s hands were moving.

Steam puffed out from the elevator, pistons and pipes shifting as the platform lowered. Like some dramatic act in a performance, the steam billowed around as the elevator clicked into place; the shadows given from the angle of a morning sun blocked whoever was clapping from view. 

From the darkness, two crimson eyes glinted with amusement. A sharp-toothed grin split the face, a familiar red silhouette stepping from the shadows.

Tommy was the first one to stop breathing.

“Well done. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” The person sang, voice sweet as honey and as venomous as a scorpion.

It was... a woman, maybe? Taller than Tubbo but shorter than Tommy. Very colorful, though her outfit and wings were mostly red. She resembled a guard that had been stationed at the door, with the hair and fashion sense, but their smiles were different. While the sheep-hybrid knight’s was warm and comforting, hers was deceptive. Fake. Cold.

Bad’s expression changed in an instant, and his head dipped down as if he was just scolded by his parents. Similarly, Dream finally moved to be side by side with George and Sapnap, tense, forced to not take another step back.

Ranboo also recognized that voice, ears pinned and tail lashing, and how his hands shook did not go unnoticed by the blood god. Though, it was surprisingly Tommy who spoke up first.

“It’s you...”

She put a finger to her lips, a simple warning, two colorful wings shuffling behind her back. If it weren’t for her ill-intended grin and blackened claws on her hands, she’d look joyous and carefree, happy—nice even. A friend. But she wasn’t. Her sharp blue eyes held no real emotion. 

“But really? Why so corny? If you wanted to say just how much you cared about him, you should’ve threatened their lives.” She sent a look to Wilbur, who stepped back in line and glared back inquisitively. “And you, my king, need to speak up more. Don’t let Dream be your master, just for today, hm? It’s a very important day to me and I don’t want anyone backing down just yet.”

Every other word was emphasized with grace, each step towards Tommy becoming more and more threatening. 

The closer she got to him, the more magic he could see spilling out of her form. Just like in his nightmares, her form was encased in darkness, red prince-suit and wings breaking up the bits of void. The magic itself was wrong. It filled his chest and suffocated him worse than the smog, sending every nerve on fire and every sense on high alert. It was like dark clouds circled her, red lightning flashing occasionally. 

He could see magic. He almost forgot about that until it slapped him in the face.

It was wrong. Something was very wrong with this woman. This was no regular mage, or even a necromancer. This was something new and undocumented. He recognized her the most. He started to shrink back in fear.

A hint of mischief entered her stark gaze. 

“Y-you-“

“You don’t have the right to speak right now, Tommy.” She warned, then blew him off and turned to the royals. “It’s time for the real trial to begin, gentlemen. I’ve listened to your cases. Oh, he’s too dangerous! But he’s so young! His magic isn’t or is that powerful. Yadda yadda. Blah blah sappy bullshit and empty threats. One side wants him dead, just gone, no more, and the other wants to keep him because... well, family. Am I correct?”

One by one, they nodded, watching the way she paced around, feathers lightly dragged along the ground. Her thicker secondary feathers were longer than a regular macaw’s would, draped around her legs like a revolutionary coat, or hell, maybe even a coat like Wilbur’s.

“Now it’s my turn. But first, let me expose the truth for you all. I’m talking stuff even Tommy, here, has almost forgotten.”

“You’re lying.” He blurted. “There’s nothing-“

“Don’t even try, kid. Among other things... What about Ranboo?”

The enderman blinked, then glanced between his friend and the rainbow-haired woman. “What?”

“Necromancers aren’t born, silly.” She tilted her head, and her grin widened. “They’re contracted into existence. Lonely widows and desperate men. Dying children and grieving parents. People who have nothing to lose... or, so they think.” She faced the Union and extended an entire arm to Tommy. “He was one of the stupider ones who signed a contract when he was a child, trying to wake the corpse of a kid he didn’t know. He signed, so he could bring you back to life, Ranboo.”

This was a lot to take in. 

It felt like eons ago when Tommy stumbled along a steaming lump in a rainy alleyway. He had tried everything at the time. The kid was his age, with burn marks all over from the rain, bruises on his face and god knows where the vibrant purple blood was coming from. He didn’t remember how he got separated from Tubbo, or why he tried so hard to save him, but he did remember seeing a figure appear by Ranboo’s head, dressed in red, black, feathers, and a wide smile- 

Oh. 

Oh.

Oh, no...

Maybe an execution wasn’t so bad.

“Contracts are when a mortal signs a binding agreement to a god. In this case, Tommy signed a contract to be granted world-ending powers at the cost of... well, anything I decide really. His soul, or maybe his power. Haven’t decided yet.” She shrugged. Like it was no big deal. Techno was ready to throw something at her.

“I’m correct, though, right? That’s how contracts work?”

Techno nodded stiffly, shaking with the amount of rage he had.

“Tommy, when he was a little kid on the streets of this very city, signed a contract with me and was granted an immense magical destiny. He knew that giving this hybrid, Ranboo, life, had a cost.”

“Bullshit!” He yelled and stood up, suddenly, chair squeaking backwards, his once dissociative, slack face was tight. “I-I was like, four. I couldn’t fuckin- I couldn’t read, I didn’t know I was- would... I’m-“

A hand slammed on the desk, and his pent-up anger evaporated when he came face to face with the goddess. Out of surprise, he fell back into his chair, and her wings widened noticeably to make her block light from the windows far above. A deafening silence followed. Then she spoke:

“You forget that you are chained in a chair. Your power is useless without a thing to bring back from the dead. You have no real power, not anymore. You may have been a child, sure, and for that no one can blame you for being selfless... it’s what you did afterwards that concerns me. You have every right to be evil, and I can feel yourself slipping. Your own power is luring you into a dark abyss of pain and death... that’s why you poisoned yourself with your own wither roses, no?”

Shocked silence followed, all eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed. His mouth ran dry, her unblinking stare was laced with just as much magic that swirled around her. 

She continued, removing herself from the table.

“You signed this,” she summoned a scroll out of thin air and a display of red magic, “a binding piece of paper that forever made you into an unnatural magic user. It shows the date, weather conditions, location, and circumstances of Mr. Ranboo’s resurrection. As well as your signature. Here, read it over.” She handed it to Schlatt, and the entire group leaned over to read with wide eyes and speechless open mouths, especially Ranboo. 

There it was, a sloppy scribble at the bottom of the page, some specks of water damage around the ink. It also had the god’s name, the one who managed to trap Tommy in this cycle of danger. A thin script, old and styled in the same way ancient scriptures were. Cal.

“And now, you’ve suffered the consequences. You’re guilty as charged in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of every sane citizen of this nation and its neighbors. However, I’m not here to send you to the gallows. I’m here for a trade.”

“You... want to spare him?” Bad frowned, alarmed.

“Oh, of course. He may be a vile creature that deserves the worst, but he’s already been through it all, and has managed to stay good. He’s my abomination, my own little pawn that I have every right to use to my will. Of all the people I’ve contracted, all of them have been old men or stupid kids who die too quickly. He’s lived nearly a decade and a half with this curse, and only now has he started to slip. I would never hurt my star student.” Her lips twitched into a grin again, a shadow falling over her blazing blue eyes. “I want to take him under my wing, literally. Train him. Make sure he never hurts anyone ever again. Keep him safe and locked up, but alive.”

“And...” Phil took a deep breath, gaze distant even as he met hers. “And why should we trust you? Why should we let you take him?”

“I know for a fact King George won’t let him just waltz on out, alive and free.” She pointed to the door with a chuckle. “That’s a disaster waiting to happen. If news gets out that a necromancer was set loose, imagine the carnage? You lot might be more understanding, considering you’re all traitors or murderers in one form or another... but not many will.”

“This is bullshit.” Tubbo spat, Schlatt rolling the scroll up and tossing it off his podium. 

“Or he can come home with me. My own nation, all I gotta do is amend a few laws-“

“A debt ridden nation run by an alcoholic businessman harbors a dangerous necromancer! I can see the headlines now.” She tilted her head, some streaks of yellow and green falling from the low ponytail. 

Dream warned with a frown, something very menacing on his bruised and patched up face: “And don’t even think about kidnapping him, or I’ll burn your nation to the ground and kill him myself.”

“So we have two options. Execute him or send him off to the other side of the continent.”

She hummed, locking eyes with George. “You wouldn’t kill a child, would you?”

“Well-“

“You can’t have that on your conscience. You’d never live with yourself, even if it was for the benefit of your country. A country that doesn’t do shit for you, anyway. If it was anyone else calling the shots, you would turn a blind eye, but you are the law. The almighty. From one ruler to another: You don’t want his death on your hands.”

Silence again. She was right. Of course she was.

“You’re what the gods are afraid of.” Technoblade started, taking a step past the podium, giving Michael to a stunned Ranboo who barely had the time to take this all in. He needed a distraction, anyway. 

Her wings lowered, so she could get a good look at him from the corner of her eye. “They’ve gone quiet. It’s because of you.” He huffed.

“They don’t fear me.” She sang, a voice so sweet Tommy thought his teeth were going to rot. 

“Then why is all this happening now? Ranboo and Tommy recognized you. The gods are silent, he was poisoned-“

“He did that himself-“

“And how do you know that?” Techno stood a mere two feet from her as she turned to face him fully, hands still tucked behind the small of her back, wings arcing around her to look bigger. Not that she could beat his height and ferocity, but her instincts kicked in to puff out her feathers, anyway. For once, she hesitated, then her lips flattened into a smile.

“Just like how gods can see through the immortal souls they collected. I can do the same thing. I tried to stop him, but... there’s only so much a false god can do.”

“And yet you want to keep him safe.”

“This is not your call. Nor is it Schlatt’s. I could take him by force, I guess, but I won’t in favor of the law. This is for the king to decide. His land, his castle, his rules.” She tilted her chin up.

“And- Tommy?” Quackity spoke directly to him, who blinked out of his daze and nodded in acknowledgement. “What do you- is all of this true? All of it?”

“I don’t know.” He said, voice quieter than he intended. 

That set off all sorts of alarms in Wilbur’s head. He stepped forward next to the hybrid president. “You don’t know what?”

He shrugged, face half hidden by his messy hair. The winged woman grinned again. 

“Let’s start from the top, then. Tommy.” She stepped towards him, and Wilbur watched Ranboo and Tubbo stiffen, Phil’s hand hovering over where his sword should be.

“Did you revive Ranboo?”

He nodded. Ranboo’s ears dropped.

“Did you revive Wilbur Soot and Michael Beloved-Underscore?”

Another nod, but they all already knew that.

“Did you revive and kill all those animals?”

He hesitated, then nodded, shoulders tucked in.

“Did you try to poison yourself?”

Did I?

He didn’t move at that one. She spun around, clearly unaware of the weight that dropped in the air. Her arms extended in a dramatic gesture as she strolled up to the still piglin. “There we have it, gentlemen. Technoblade, under my care and protection, I’ll make sure he doesn’t do that again, will that make you happy?”

“You can’t just waltz in here and accuse him of things... and just expect us to give him to you willingly.”

She cringed a bit and lowered her arms, black claws twitching idly. “I suppose not. So, King George, I’ll give you a day or so to think it over.” She turned her attention to him, and he nodded hesitantly. “Okay? Good.”

“I meant us.” Techno nodded his head towards Schlatt and the surrounding gathering. “You know that we won’t-“

“You’ve grown soft, Blade.” She cooed, uncomfortably close to him, a massive grin on her face. 

“Wh-“

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you visit. Can’t separate a son from his brothers after all.” She giggled and brushed past him, blue-tipped wings curling at the ends. 

They watched her go, no one actually bidding her farewell, except maybe Tommy who looked up enough for the color in his eyes to be seen. He let go of a breath he didn’t know when he started to hold.

He was taken back to his cell and greeted by a red shadow. An argument erupted in the courtroom once he was gone, gods against kings, child soldiers facing generals. Shouts echoed up the spires. Staff of the castle were left restless, cooks preparing dinner for the guests, butlers giving them drinks and discarding any empty glasses. The courtroom was left with scattered paperwork and chairs, and even a few burn marks across the stone from a bored Sapnap. It was quite the show to watch two teens easily speak over the president when it came to refreshments. And even more shocking was how he held his tongue, sent them a fond glare, and continued debating. And the two would return to keeping Michael preoccupied, occasionally giving their input or sending casual death threats to the king and his company.

And how his fingers twitched when Philza took a sip of wine. That didn’t go unnoticed by the two either, but the unspoken agreement was honored despite the amount of stress they were under.

“Are we done yet?” George groaned, glasses discarded on the table. 

Philza sighed and put his head in his hands. “I don’t see what’s so complicated about this. It’s a pretty straightforward transaction.”

“I’ve given you everything I have to offer.” Schlatt frowned. “All my money goes to you. You won’t even take cheap trade negotiations.”

“We’d make sure you all could check in to make sure he’s not breaking any laws. Live in the city. Out in the cabin. Move north, away from people-“

“Or we could take her offer, get paid, get him out of our hair. Gain a powerful ally. Pros outweigh the cons.” 

“She makes all your problems. Necromancers for fucks sake.”

“Who knows what she’s planning. She wants to train him, she said?” Wilbur, locked in a constant pattern of pacing, pivoted and glared at the king. “You’re willing to throw a kid with a family into the hands of a god.”

“This is a family?” Quackity pointedly snarled at the horned president. “Two immortal dickheads, some dead guy, two reckless teens and an alcoholic asshole that’s burying his nation with every word? Isn’t he an orphan? He definitely isn’t related to any of you and there’s no adoption papers-”

He stood up abruptly, chair scraping against the stone. “Don’t start that shit.”

“If you cared, wouldn’t you know everything that he’s been through? The contract? The fact Ranboo was brought back from the dead? Ranboo didn’t even know that! Isn’t your son best friends with him? Why didn’t they mention any of this to you?”

“Because they knew I would’ve acted the same way you are.” The hybrid spat, then savored a moment of silence with a sharp inhale. “And there are many things that I’m pissed about. As a governor and a-“ a sharp sigh. “I can’t hold that against them. I know that they’re close, close enough to run to for help. I know that they trust each other and have a bond that even I can’t rival. It’s in the best interest of my son to defend Tommy, and I’m willing to throw everything else out the window for that.” It’s the least I can do.

“So you’re a hero now? Now you’re a selfless politician who puts some random kid off the streets before his own country and son?”

“I’m not a piece of shit who’s willing to throw him into the claws of a demon, that’s for sure!”

Bad scoffed at that, but it seemed no one had any more input. Until Wilbur finally sat down between the teens and Technoblade, who all broke out of their train of thought and considered him.

“Tommy’s the nicest, most caring person I’ve ever met. Just look at all the friends he has, even the fucking Blood God considers him an ally. If he wanted to hurt anyone he’d do it by now. You’d know that if you talked to him instead of- of this. If you want to sign another one of her contracts, then go for it, after all we all jumped on her case fairly quickly. If you want that on your conscience, the possibility of sending him to someone who’s going to use him to take this kingdom down, of tearing away the rest of his teen years to who knows what... then go for it. See what happens.”

Chapter Text

In the desert, nights were cool. No clouds hung in the sky and no smoke blanketed the stars. Reptiles slithered out from the miniature oasis’ between rocks, while other animals tucked into hollowed cacti for safety. Creatures one can only imagine come out of caves or from under the sand-drakes shaking the dust off their wickedly sharp scales, basilisks lapping at the air for a scent. Pegasi stand idly in their herds, sleeping, their ears flicking around for any danger. 

This was one of the few deserts in the world. The biggest one. The most dangerous. Legends say that dragons ruled the land from the volcanoes in the middle of the continent to the tropical reefs in the west. Beasts of fire and metal, with wings wide enough to block out the sun for good and talons sharp enough to cut through steel. They were always depicted to be huge monsters: ravaging beasts that are up whole armies as a midnight snack. 

How they went extinct was a mystery. One day they terrorized nations, and the next, they were gone.

That’s what Sam was told. That’s what everyone was told. No scholar or mage could figure it out. No one could track down their nesting grounds. Rumors started a century ago about some sort of burial ground, where all the dragons fled to die in peace. Many adventures tried to find it, most died trying and a few gave up while they were ahead.

His mother was a victim of such curiosity.

A few years later he finally became a Royal Guard to the duchess, the queen—the goddess of the realm. The desert had always been his home, and he’d die defending it. Though his first meeting with the lord went... poorly, he still remained. And didn’t shy away from any odd tasks he was given.

He, like most people in the desert, knew nothing about the queen. As a personal guard, he was able to tag along and live in the castle. But no one knew where she slept. What certain rooms held within them. Her real name (though the kingdom referred to her as Calypso, he knew the nickname wasn’t hers. She was no goddess of the sea) remained hidden. Mayors did most of the work, with her giving the final say or left to her own devices. It’s hard to complain during a time of peace.

He’ll never forget the first time he saw one of her... pets.

It was his second year as a guard. She led him and one other guard down a staircase into the cells below her castle. Cramped hallways and puffs of steam made up most of the adventure—even the queen herself struggled to squeeze through some slabs of stone. A maze of tight turns and metal. Objectively, it was difficult for the feline centaur to follow, but he didn’t dare complain.

The tunnel opened up. Weird mechanics and gears were overhead, turning, constantly whining and clicking. When he finally turned his gaze away, he was left face to face with a five headed beast.

Rippling blue-green scales, like plates. Frills at the sides of each head, dressed like butterfly wings and just as colorful. Glittering green eyes, the color of jades, and sharp spines going down each neck to their tails. It was small, then, the size of a pony, jaws clamped shut and chains rattling with each movement.

“Hydra.” She had said, voice breathless with the same amount of awe he felt. “Haven’t been around in- well, even I don’t remember how long. But I found one.”

She put a hand through the bars, kneeling down, wings draped across the ground like a cloak. At first, the beast reeled back, each pair of eyes flashing with rage. A deep blue glow started at their chest, though was cut off at their throats with the first band of metal—where it cut deep enough to draw blood, enough to stain the metal and rub away at the delicate scales. Sam could only imagine the amount of pain they were going through.

Her hand—the cracks between blackened fingers, under wickedly sharp claws—glowed red. Her eyes held the same potent magic, her smirk more smug than anything.

In an instant, their hostility evaporated. Eyes shifted to match the crimson color. They stepped forward and lovingly nuzzled her hand, competing for pets with the same robotic actions Sam saw in his fellow guards. Fear gripped him, kept him from asking any questions. The other guard shared the same look.

“You two are tasked with feeding this lovely fella. Twice a day. A month to start, just in case one of you loses a hand.” She flashed them a grin- one that was meant to be friendly, but only came off as evil. With a little tug on each of the muzzles, they were off, clattered to the ground lazily. They opened their mouths testily, fangs glinting in the dim light of magical lanterns.

When she stood and turned away, jokingly mocking them to follow, the hydra thrashed against the bars, snapped at the air, and if Sam didn’t know any better, he’d think they were screaming in pain.

He didn’t like his job.

But he loved the desert too much to leave, the sand getting between his paws, in his fur. He didn’t mind it, in fact, he found it therapeutic. The queen left earlier that day, a few hours ago at most, saying that the plan was in motion.

What the plan was, he had no idea. He was glad that he got a break, got to lay under the empty abyss that was the night sky. Out, far away from the city, he didn’t have any pets to feed or monsters to guard. It was just him under a split moon. In his real home, the thing he cherished so much nothing could come between it and him.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and stretched—front paws digging into the dunes, muscles rippling under molted greens, tail flexing. He grabbed his basket that once consisted of dinner, his favorite spear, and stalked off towards the city.

At first, all was well. The night was greeted with quiet citizens, only a few nocturnal hybrids out and about, offering him smiles and bows. He nodded in response, walking right past the inner walls and up the marble steps to the brass spikes that was the castle. 

It was built like a maze, too. Rings, with the middle being the largest, hallways randomly allowing access between them all. The front gates, the main hallway, led right to the middle, but it was still easy to branch off and get lost. And don’t even mention the dome-like pattern the upper levels followed, all to accompany the arena-like throne room in the center.

The castle was quiet. Not unguarded, but less so than he expected. Most had left to visit family, it seemed. The queen was surprisingly lenient when she was gone. That didn’t bother him—he’d visit his pen pals when he finally took a tour of the continent with the duchess, one of these days...

———

The plan was simple.

Well, no it wasn’t. It required multiple steps and had to be fool proof enough to trick a king, his most loyal guards, and a literal god. It had to be quick, no more than twenty minutes from start to finish, and it had to have no violence or death or fuck ups. No mistakes. 

“It’s settled.” Philza’s hands remained on the small table—the group banding together in a tavern within the city, seeing as George refused them any of the millions of spare rooms the castle had to offer. The place had a small room for the large group, but it was good to scheme. And close to the stables. 

“Schlatt and Quackity will distract the guards—one of you will find and keep her busy. The rest of us will go in, find and help Tommy escape. We’ll go to the stables, where our pre-bought horses are staying, and ride off.”

“I might be coming with...” Schlatt winced at the sharp glares he got. “Not exactly an ally with these guys.”

“Fine.” Tubbo huffed, turning his attention to Wilbur. “And you’ll meet us outside the city, with Michael?”

He gave a thumbs up while Ranboo checked to make sure the toddler was still asleep, on the bed that was far too big for the piglin.

“Promise.”

“I promise, just get Tommy out of that hell.”

“Get in, get out.”

“I’ll take the heat, they trust me.” Quackity grinned, half his face still a bit fucked from the other night’s fight. 

The others questioned him at first, skeptical as to why a Royal Guard would help them—especially Schlatt. His rocky history with the president made him petty—made him do all this in the first place. Made him spy and kidnap the president’s son and family. While it was a good way to get revenge on the man he used to marry, and an easy cash grab with this whole bartering deal, he realized that it wasn’t worth it. 

He knew it while he guarded the private prison cells. While he leaned against a cage and listened—and watched the kid spiral into a panic attack. Watched him claw at the metal, enough to where he started to bleed, and kept going, and screamed, and repeated the same words over and over again without fail. Watched him tear at his hair and curl up on the stone.

Revenge wasn’t worth this. 

So he opened the door and took the cuffs off, he offered the necromancer an ounce of sympathy, and the teen stared blankly, calming down just enough to understand he wasn’t in immediate danger. The look on his face—those wide eyes, puffy and dark from old wither magic, the twisted frown on wet lips, the blood in his hair lifeless glint in his gaze—remained burned in Quackity’s skull. A part of him wanted to hug the kid, to console him enough so he didn’t look so damn terrified. He blamed the angelic wings under his shirt for the need to assist, to help in any way possible. In the end, he didn’t. 

And in around thirty minutes, Tommy would be able to get all the hugs and comfort he needed. From his real family. That was enough to get Quackity to push aside old grudges.

A shadow of relief fell over Schlatt’s face, and he actually smiled a little at the angel. “Thank you.” 

“Whatever.” He spat without missing a beat. “I’m not doing this for you.”

“We should go.” Techno deadpanned, peering out the covered windows. 

The royals were easy to find. They were giving the goddess a tour of the castle. Convenient. The two easily slipped in with them and chatted and toured, winding down art galleries and through the library. They showed the visitors the view of the volcano, and were surprised at the gasp of surprise Mistic made.

“Holy shit.”

“Language.”

“It’s a short flight away.” Her eyes sparkled, a massive grin on her face. Her wings rustled at the thought. “Isn’t that a health hazard to your people?”

“Free healthcare.” George shrugged. 

“It’s been brewing for eons.” She muttered, hands finally removed from her back to place on the windowsill, talons clicking on the stone. 

“How old are you, again?” Dream scoffed.

“Doesn’t matter. That thing’s gonna blow one day. Wonder why it hasn’t...”

“Luck?” Sapnap shrugged. “Anyway, it’s getting late. We should wrap this up.”

Quackity snapped his fingers. “Oh! Shit, right. I need to talk to you guys about something. Regarding a report from up no-“

“Let's take this in a different room.” Dream offered, a firm hand on the king’s shoulder leading them away. Sapnap and the wizard—Karl?—followed. 

Quackity and Schlatt shared one last look. Their thoughts were read exactly, from years of friendship that had long since been soured.

Good luck.

“Let's blow this pop stand.” Schlatt grinned mischievously and practically skipped away in the opposite direction. Just as expected, the goddess followed, copying the way he held himself perfectly. Or, maybe he copied her? It was hard to tell.

Up in one of the stone halls, a few floors above the ground, the city was beautiful. A massive expanse of fairy lights and towering silhouettes. The windows were even bigger up close, and foggy. It was like staring into a dream. A few, by the front of the castle, were open to let fresh higher altitude air in—a breeze stirred the curtains.

“What do you think of this place?”

“Not my cup of tea, but they tried.”

He blinked. What...

“Okay... what’s your place like? Aren’t you the queen of the desert?”

“So people do know what I look like.” She flashed a grin, walking behind him towards the next window. “Yeah. Born and raised on that side of the continent. The biggest castle I’ve ever seen, and it wasn’t even built when I was around.”

“You’re famous. Longest lasting peace in the world lies in that kingdom. Though, I don’t think people know you’re immortal.”

“That’s a shame.” She sighed. “But yes. Peace. It made my kingdom prosper. Happy, healthy. Huge.”

“Wealthy too, I imagine.”

“I don’t care about money.” She stopped by the next open window, the dim light of a half moon filtering through the clouds, and spilling across her colorful frame. She half-turned, blue eyes reflecting the firelight of the city, the wind rattling her feathers and ruining her neatly tied up hair. Their eyes met.

“I care about power. And you have none.”

“I have two gods behind me now.” He stated matter-of-factly, chin up in defiance. He stood at the other window, pushing aside the curtains to see the city below. Shadows stirred by the front gates.

“No, you have their servants at your side. You have people who can be used against you. You have a crumbling society driven on a lack of money and... well, safety. I’ll grant that to you, your kingdom is more open to hybrids than this one is...”

“There’s more to it than protective laws.”

“I know.” She grinned, face darkening. “Something about an academy, right?”

He turned to face her fully as well, baffled, ears falling lower than he wanted. “What.”

“You saved your son from hell.”

“How-how do-“

“I’m a god, Schlatt.” She rolled her eyes. “I know more than you.”

“So you know, but you didn’t do anything...?”

Her face scrunched up in disgust. “What? No. Gods, no. Why would I do that to my own company? That’s-Pff, that’s ridiculous. Kinda redundant. Counter intuitive.”

His mind whirled. When the world snapped back into focus, a building heat filled his chest and tightened around his throat.

“Your... company..”

“It’s a shame, really.” She continued, staring out the window. Unbothered. “Tubbo would’ve made an excellent general. If you didn’t come in and save them, they would’ve died—but Tubbo, he had promise. I’d let the other two die and take him for myself, as a second in command. But you came in and ruined that... no worries. If it weren’t for you, Tommy would’ve never been able to make it to this point... never be able to achieve what he has in terms of magic potential. So I thank you, Schlatt. For saving him. So I can use him in ways I’d never be able to with Tubbo.”

“You’re a monster.” He managed to grit out through his blind range and spiking fear, taking quick steps back, out of the dim light the outside world provided. She chuckled and stepped forward. Schlatt's eyes widened as light caught the base of a blade in her hand. She sang, mockingly, reds swirling around her heels to kick off and fight.

“I know.” 

Finding Tommy was easy with Quackity’s instructions. As a team, they made sure they weren’t caught as the reached the cells. The castle was filled with dull ambient chatter from guards and maids, probably laced with local gossip. 

Urgency was met with hesitance at the door. Phil was the one to go in, the others waiting by the entrance, though it only took one to make sure they weren’t going to get caught. 

Tommy was right where Quackity said he would be, curled up on the floor in his dirty poet’s shirt, shaking and mumbling incoherent things. Phil took the key he was given and opened the door.

“Tommy?” 

The teen flinched and twisted to see who it was, and instant reassurance filled his reddened face, though he couldn’t formulate a viable sentence.

“Shhh.” The Angel knelt down and helped him out of his cuffs, the metal clinking to the floor. Tommy rubbed at his wrists, still feeling the sting, leaned against him for comfort. He was tired. “Stay quiet, okay? We’re getting you out. Just deep breaths, okay?”

Tommy nodded and struggled, but did manage to take a steadying breath eventually. They were already up and walking at that point, a wing draped around him for warmth. He was shaking, and spaced out, on autopilot following the man.

Tubbo practically slamming into him broke him out of his trance, hands squeezing so tight Tommy swore he felt the fabric stretch. Ranboo was there a second later, resting his head on the blonde’s shoulder and sighing out a relieved purr. 

Together, led by Techno, they navigated the hallways, staying quiet and stealthy. Somehow this was all too familiar, yet foreign. The feathers around his shoulders were new, but Ranboo and Tubbo were not. The piglin ahead of them, paving the way and stopping them if a patrol stepped by, was also new. It made him upset to be in the same position again, or maybe he was overjoyed to have more people to fight for him this time. He couldn’t decide which one was making his heart beat so damn loud.

It was hard to breathe again. 

His throat still hurt from the other night. And from screaming—maybe he had been, he couldn’t tell. Panic filled him with each step, the phantom cuts of metal against his skin sent him into a frenzy, the fingers laced between his tightening their grips before he could scratch at them. He minutely glanced to Tubbo and Ranboo, who looked childishly determined, and somehow that helped him take another breath.

Quackity met them by the entrance, here he held a sheathed short sword out for Tommy—his own blade. The teen took it without much thought and was given help clipping it to his belt. Quackity held the door open for them, and their pace picked up once they were outside.  

The sky was dark, but there was no moon, no stars. If there was, it was blocked by a hundred layers of smog, and choked out by the light of a thousand street lights. The air was denser down in the streets of the city.

His grip on Tubbo tightened tenfold when a chill ran through his spine, and it caught the hybrid’s attention.

“You’re out, big man. Relax.”

“N-no. Tubbo.” He balled his fists in his friend’s fur coat, finally finding the words and meeting his gaze. “You don’t understand. There’s a great evil in that fucking woman. She will hunt you—she’ll hunt everyone down to reach me. She...”

Techno and Quackity glanced back with a worried look, though kept pace. In desperation of shaking Tommy out of his trance, Tubbo grabbed him back, hands firm on his shaking shoulders. They stopped walking for a moment just so he could get the point across. “Tommy. She won’t be able to. I’ll make sure of it.”

He sounded so sure of himself. Tommy choked on a bitter laugh, a soft hand on his back. He turned and met Ranboo’s gaze for a moment, the enderman’s expression neutral, matching Technoblade perfectly. His other clawed hand rested on the hilt of a sword. Luckily, none of them had to draw their weapons yet, and Tommy could taste the anticipation in the sticky, smoke-filled air. 

A wing draped over him next. His grip lessened on his friend, cracked fingers fumbled for a moment before they became intertwined with Tubbo’s. He looked again to see where the dark wing came from, a smile on the angel’s face, feathers blanketing the three teens.

“We’ll keep you safe, mate. I promise.”

Tommy smiled back, vision blurry. The last few days—few weeks—had been so hectic, he really just needed a nap. A day of laying in bed and doing nothing. Never did he want to see snow fall so badly until then. Anything but that red and black silhouette. 

But he wasn’t naïve. In the span of a few hours, he knew more about the goddess than any of them did. Being able to see magic had its perks, insulting her mid conversation helped too. No matter how hard he wanted to see snow, how much he wanted to curl up in his bed and never get out—or how he wanted to pick strawberries with his best friends and listen to Technoblade read a story in the living room, nothing but the candle light to shake him, no wither roses, no impending doom and magical destinies. No matter how much he wanted all that, he knew she was persistent. 

It was either to go peacefully, or wage war on the god of fear.

So he shook his head sadly, staring off into the night, a sob bitten back by his words.

“You can’t.”

There was an agonized scream from the castle behind them, the entire group spinning around to search for the sound. Tubbo’s ears fell flat against his head, the hair over his eyes hastily brushed away to get a better look. Quackity’s face paled a shade, grip on his axe tightening.

“Schlatt. That was Schlatt.”

“Go find him.” Philza barked, lightly nudging the goat hybrid. He nodded and finally drew his own blade, darting off with the royal guard hot on his heels.

Technoblade’s eyes remained on the sky, snout scrunched up. “We need to move. The stables-“

“I can’t leave him there.” Ranboo interrupted, glancing behind, hand falling from Tommy’s back. There was a purple hue circling his fingers, dissipating before they could wrap around his arms. “You two take Tommy, I’ll make sure Tubbo’s okay.”

Sure enough, the clash of metal against metal was heard from one of the many open windows. In the smog, they could see a plume of flame a few stories up, hopefully from Sapnap.

Philza held his breath and nodded, pulling Tommy along with his wing. The blonde glanced back and met Ranboo’s eyes again, nodding. With a small smirk, the violet particles increased in opacity and collided around his frame, and in a flash and vuoop, he was gone.

“Since when could he teleport?” Techno huffed, taking the lead and setting a brisk pace into the quiet city. Past curfew, only a few guards remained, and most had been called to the castle to accompany the guests. The stables were near, a hub for activity among stable boys and Knights alike. 

In the dull light given by the dangling fairy lights, it was hard to tell anything was inside. The occasional knicker came from the slanted building, but other than that it was quiet. And dark.

So it was no surprise when something shot out of the sky and landed on the Blood God’s shoulders, toppling the man over and rendering him useless at the moment. Philza and Tommy stopped, the Angel of death moving to protect the teen. There was no mistaking who it was, even as the smoke dulled the vibrant reds and blues of her wings.

She stood up and turned, the blade in her hands coated in red and purple, the wickedly sharp tip dripping with it. Tommy’s breath caught in his throat, and the world froze for him as he stared at her rapier. 

She left no hesitation for Philza, however, pushing off Techno and hurtling herself at him, wings flared wide. He bared his teeth and parried her strike, metal scraping against metal, screeching in their ears. She bounced off and aimed for his side, him easily blocking again, a step forward pushing her back. 

She was no swordsman. She made that abundantly clear by her sloppy handiwork and basic blows. By the time Techno dusted himself off and grabbed his axe from his back, Philza had pushed her leagues away.

Tommy could only watch on, feeling the unnatural tugs of darkness lure him in. He dug his fingernails into his palms until they drew blood, using the pain as a way to remove himself from the unnatural pull. He reached for the sword he was given. Techno joined in the battle, swinging the axe towards her wing. She pulled it in just in time, fiery blue eyes alight with anger.

“Get out.” Philza seethed, holding his sword out, the blade aimed at her head as she took a few steps back.

She just grinned, blood smeared across her face and darkened already red clothes. The same shades were in her eyes and between her fingers, literally glowing in the smoke of the city. She kept the rapier in her hand, though held it to her side in an offensive stance.

“I’d watch your tongue, Philza. It’s not me you need to chase off.”

His brows furrowed, mouth opened to retort something right back. All that came out was a strangled gasp instead. Technoblade spun around and held his axe to the throat of the attacker, only to be met with wide blue eyes rimmed in red and tears cutting through the grime on his face.

“Tommy?” Techno’s ears fell, a sickening stone in his gut, the voices that had once chanted for blood turned to more hesitant, shocked murmurs. Philza fell down, wings spread, fingers reaching back shakily to try and get the sword out of him. The god laughed at the sight.

“T-Technoblade...” Tommy croaked, shaking, a billion emotions strewn across his face. He sniffed and stared up at the patron of the blood god. “I-I didn’t-“

“Tic tok, Tommy.” She stepped forward, wings neatly folded behind her, a smug grin overtaking her face. 

“Go.” Tommy breathed out. “Get out of here. I’ll be okay.”

“No you won’t.” 

“Techno!” The god continued, holding her free hand out casually despite the air of impatience in her tone. “You don’t want to kill him, do you? You don’t want to watch him tear his friends apart, hm? Let him go. He’ll be safe with me.”

For once, he was left speechless, searching Tommy’s gaze.

The teen nodded sternly, chin up to avoid the blade of the axe. Philza coughed, his attempts at holding himself up failing. He glanced up at Technoblade and Tommy, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth. The voices muted any chance of a thought--mixtures of “BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD” “SAVE DADZA” “TECHNOPROTECT"  "SAVE THEM SAVE THEM SAVE THEM”. A glint of the castle’s fire caught the angel's eye.

“Don’t. Techno, don’t-“

“Time’s running up, blood god.” She sang, raising her hand, red sparks shooting from the cracks in her palm, and at the same time Tommy’s sorrowful gaze turned red, his tense shoulders relaxing into neutrality, his clenched fists loosening.

Techno lowered his axe and stared at the blood-covered, cobbled pavement, watching a pair of torn up shoes stroll right on by. She hummed in approval and flared two brilliant wings, the teen standing beside her like a soldier would. 

“Thanks for doing this peacefully. This whole thing would be useless if you mauled my star pupil.” She ruffled Tommy’s hair, and he just stood there, blankly. “We’ll be seeing you soon!”

Red circled around them, lighting the two up in a display of ribbons of magic. In a flash of bright red and a cackle of laughter, they were gone, leaving nothing but a laugh echoing between buildings.

Phil searched his friend’s expression, at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry.” The blood god muttered, looking up at the figure that had burst from the castle in the distance, “I promised.”

Somehow, that let the Angel forgive him easily. He rolled to his side, giving up on the whole “sitting up” part of getting stabbed.

“Phil!” 

“Oh, right.” Techno immediately collapsed next to his friend, pressing between the sharp end of the blade to help stop any blood. Phil tried to laugh, but only winced in agony.

“Techno!!!” It was Quackity yelling, which was horribly worrying. He said something to the rest of the group, the armored lesser guard disbanding into the city, then he sprinted forward through the smoke. One of his sleeves was completely singed off, skin burnt in places, blood smeared across his blouse. He looked fine otherwise, the axe clipped to his hip.

“The fuck happened? Where’s-“

“She took him.”

Quackity opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and dragged a hand down his face.

“Shit. And- okay, Phil needs help. Great, excellent-” he mumbled something in a different language, lowering himself and assessing as an exhausted Philza shuddered there.

“Indeed.” He nodded curtly, squinting at... well, there shouldn’t be this much blood. “Go help the others.”

“I need your help, man!” He spat. “George and Dream are hiding, Sapnap half-carried Schlatt to a spare room, Karl IS carrying Ranboo-“

“What happened to Ranboo?” Techno’s attention shot up to the man, despite the blood thickening around his hooves.

“He got a nasty hit to his back, like straight across.” With how round Quackity’s eyes were, he was reliving the sight. Violet splashing against the walls, a black and white shield covering another teen that had been caught off guard. How quickly his shoulders drooped and body fell forward completely. The cry that must’ve been Tubbo, and the roar of anger that followed. 

“But he’s still alive-“

“Why didn’t you notify the medics?”

“They have been notified! Other magicians are working on the fire, the entire castle is practically on lockdown. There- medics are usually there for, like, disease and sickness and assassination attempts. Not a goddess. How did she-“

“We have a lot to talk about.” Techno muttered, hooking his arms around Philza and lifting him up. The man groaned, head rolling onto his shoulder. “But first let's make sure everyone lives, okay?”

“I- okay.” Big Q stood up and followed, step by step with the hybrid. “You’re oddly calm about that.”

He sucked in a breath, then coughed at the harshness of the ash in the air. “Well... I figure... we got spoiled, having Tommy around. He told us he’d bring us back if something like this happened.”

“You’re acting like he’s dead.” Quackity scoffed. 

“And it’s hard to kill an Angel. You already know that, right?”

“Duh. But, I mean... Phil doesn’t look so good.”

Phil tossed a hand lazily, brushing that aside with a small smile. Though he was a bit too pale for Techno’s liking. He picked up the pace up the steps to the castle.

“You think a hit like this could kill him?”

“Yes, Technoblade. Angels aren’t immune to getting stabbed through the chest.”

“Now look who’s being oddly calm about this.”

“I’m freaking the fuck out!” He yelled, tossing his arms up. “A god came to this castle, not only managed to attempt murder and assassination, but also took out every single one of us before jumping out a goddamn window! And she kidnapped a necromancer! That’s fucking crazy, man!”

They continued through the halls, maids and guards rushing past in both directions to get to their stations—to help in any way they can. They found a room some of them crowded around right as Quackity stopped his rant, and the two pushed past and assessed the situation.

In this room were Ranboo and Tubbo.

Ranboo was laying face-first on the bed in the spare bedroom, bandages covering his bare chest, blossoms of purple dotting across it in massive bunches. He was fast asleep, either still unconscious from the initial hit or given pain medication. It was odd looking across all the scars littering his shoulders and arms, and Techno realized he never saw him in short sleeves before. The scars around his wrists and neck looked incredibly painful, among others that were fine cuts.

And Tubbo was not okay in the slightest. The medic that hovered around him was ignored as he paced, legs shaking, ears pinned. She tried again and an attempt to stop him, to grab his arm which was definitely bleeding, but he pulled away and politely asked for her to leave him alone please.

“Quackity?” Techno started, glancing down at the Demi-Angel. He met the piglin’s gaze, though one of his eyes had greyed and contributed to several misses during the fight. 

“Yeah?”

“Go find Wilbur.”

His face dawned with realization, and with a nod, he sprinted out of the room and down the hall.

Techno left the room and rested Philza in a different one, stepping back to let spare medics take care of him the best they could. The sword was keeping most the blood in, but some that had dribbled out had already been too much for him. Techno would keep an eye on him, the voices insistent that he stay.

But until then, he had a traumatized child to soothe. For once, the voices agreed with him.

———

A flash of red caught Sam’s eye. He was just about to take a turn away from the massive opening into the throne room. The centaur paced back and opened the door just a little, making sure no one broke in or... something that would warrant a display of magic.

A laugh broke through the air as he peered in, ears flat against his head. A pair of wings folded, and a tall figure stood to the side, hunched in on themselves, a soft sob accompanying a shudder. The winged one pivoted, a pair of blazing red eyes caught in the midnight light of the moon in the dome like room, and a wickedly evil grin spread across her bloodied face. Red covered every inch of her being, from her hair to the tips of her blue feathers—blood and magic alike making her one blob of color. 

“Lady Calypso...?”

Magic swirled around the stranger and the queen, returning back to Its owner as she spoke:

“Sam, come bring our guest to one of the special rooms. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

All he could do was obey.

Chapter Text

“Move. Everyone out.” 

Nurses and guards alike shuffled past the blood god, sending him looks of restrained hate as they did.  The room was like any other guest room—small, box shaped, with hardwood floors and a golden pelt of some kind acting as a rug. The bed was only big enough for one person, and had brown and white blankets stacked on top of the unconscious teen. The walls were painted grey, with a few pieces of abstract art hanging from the walls, adding some color to the otherwise dull room.

It smelled like dust, probably stirred from all the movement. The medics were already stretched thin, seeing as their own Royal guard were injured, they didn’t need to fuss over someone who clearly didn't want help.

That someone was Tubbo, still fidgeting in his spot, sat in a chair to shrink away from the crowd. His coat was hanging off the back of it, all stained in purples and reds, parts of it burned off. The white fur within the coat was preeminently ruined. The shirt he had on now, the green button up, was slightly less ruined, but one of his sleeves hung by a thread, and a large gash turned his arm red.

“… but if... something happens to me, just make sure they’re okay.”

Ah. That’s what he meant.

Tommy’s words echoed through his mind, adding to the cascade of voices demanding blood. Technoblade closed the door behind him, lingering by the doorway before stepping closer to the teen. Tubbo flinched and glared up through his dark hair.

“Can you leave me alone?”

“No.” Techno scoffed and sat down at the edge of Ranboo’s bed, avoiding his eye in favor of checking on the enderman. The soft rise and fall of the comforter was all that moved for a moment.

“Where’s Schlatt?”

Tubbo shrugged. 

“What happened?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Dreary eyes lifted from the floor. “You tell me. How’s Phil?”

Technoblade folded his arms and huffed: “I think you know. I'm asking how a whole castle couldn’t stop her.”

“I thought gods were invincible?”

The piglin blinked, considering the hybrid thoughtfully. Tubbo’s hand had found itself over the large gash. The bleeding stopped but… it was still rather concerning. The room grew still again, until a heavy sigh from Ranboo catching Tubbo’s attention.

He was at the other’s side in a second, his less dirty hand ran through white and black locks. He mumbled comforting words, ears still tight against his head.

“Can I see your arm?” Technoblade’s monotone voice cut through his murmurs. 

He scoffed. “I’m fine.” He fixed his husband’s blanket, keeping his shoulders covered. 

“Do you want Michael to see you like that?” Techno tried, leaning forward to peer into his eyes. Tubbo hesitated, sitting back against the bed the same way Techno did—leaning more than sitting. He stared at his now red hand, at the way it glistened and felt uncontrollably sticky against his palm. The way the half-coagulated substance rose in peaks when he cupped his hand, the way it ran between his fingers in bands, just barely able to drip off. The metallic sting in the air—all so familiar, too familiar. 

“…Tubbo?”

He blinked furiously, ridding himself of the cloudiness. The dull throb in his shoulder returned. With a sharp exhale, he shuffled closer to the blood god, keeping his eyes on the darkening red in his hand.

Technoblade rarely had to treat wounds, much less those of another person, but he tried his best. Gathered some items from beside Ranboo’s bed and tore off the rest of the loosely hanging sleeve. It was a clean cut, a solid hit to his arm. This wasn’t exactly a killing blow, but if left untreated there could be much larger issues.

He got to work, Tubbo immediately slipping back into his daydream. A part of him thanked the gods for letting him, not wanting to deal with… anything else.

Tubbo also remembered the first time he killed someone. 

Granted, it was by accident. His fingers slipped, he let go of the drawstring too early. Instead of stopping the beast that hunted a competitor, it landed in the poor man’s leg, tripping him and leaving him defenseless against the monster. Tubbo had never felt so shit, and probably never will. 

Scratch that. He felt like shit, sitting on his husband’s death bed, staring at his own blood. Best friend kidnapped and father… well, Tubbo clung onto whatever hope he had left that they’d all be okay. 

The second time, and every time after that, was no accident. He killed to survive, just like Tommy and Ranboo, was crafty enough to outsmart the best warriors. He even practiced some gymnastics to get away easily. And it worked! 

Until he triggered a trap, and something pushed him to the ground. He forgot what exactly happened—but the burns and ringing in his ears had enough clues. He was used to blood. They all were, but a part of him knew that it wasn’t normal to be so comfortable with the slimy sensation. He wished he wasn’t. 

Hooves ruffled his hair. “There. All patched up. Wilbur will be here any second.”

“Thanks.” Tubbo sent one last glance to his hand, then wiped the red across his already ruined pants. “With Michael?”

“Yep. Relax.”

“Wow. Relax! Easy. Thanks.” He hissed sarcastically, taking a deep breath nonetheless to calm his nerves and settle his frazzled mind. 

“This is Philza’s job.” Technoblade frowned. “Im not used to dealing with kids.”

“Not a kid.”

“You don’t look like one.”

Tubbo scowled at him, the piglin chuckling and patting him on the back. “I mean… focus on yourself. Keep an eye on Ranboo. Take each day and moment as it is, worry about the bad stuff later.”

“Easy for you to say, prick.” Tubbo shuffled away, turning to the rising and lowering of the blankets. Ranboo still had not moved.

“We’ll plan a rescue once everyone wakes up.” Techno continued, voice tighter than intended while looking at the mess of hair, a bit damp from cleaning out the violet blood. 

Tubbo nodded in response, adjusting himself to sit more comfortably on the table, by Ranboo’s head. He kept his clean hand busy by petting him, the other clenched on his thigh. 

The door opened. The two turned and saw Wilbur, holding Michael, the toddler bundled in a light blue pajama set and overalls and a coat, all of which kept him warm in the chill night air—which would keep him safe when they’d gallop into the forest. Not that they could now.

The piglin squirmed out of Wilbur’s hands while he held him out, across the bed and into Tubbo’s shaking hands. The hybrid held the child to his chest, putting his face to the soft fur of his hood. The two embraced, mumbling things that neither understood. To Technoblade, Michael was asking loads of questions and rambling about his lovely time with Wilbur. And Tubbo was repeating the words “it’s okay” over and over again.

“What the fuck happened.” Wilbur spat, by Ranboo’s head, taking a good look at his face. Placid, not a hint of pain or anguish on him, his breathing slow and even. Wilbur let out a sigh of relief.

“We underestimated her. Did Quack-“

“He told me she took Tommy. She…” he shook his head and glared at Techno. “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“She used him against me.”

“You could-“

“Tommy stabbed Philza. He’s in a different room, getting treated. Trust me, Wilbur. There was nothing I could do.” 

“Phil?” Wilbur scoffed, standing up. His fists curled at his sides. “Tommy would never-“

“The goddess can mind control people. The god can and did use him against me. It’s either I fight him or let him go.”

“You-“

“Stop arguing.” Tubbo groaned, pulling his face away from his son, the piglin following his gaze and staring at them with wide eyes. “Please.”

Techno stared at the two. Poor Tubbo—the fact his voice wasn’t shaking was surprising to the god. His shoulders lowered with a nod, and Techno briskly left the room. Wilbur sat down in the chair.

Something was off about this place.

This room. This small, box shaped, windowless room. No paintings, no color other than a weird blueish color and something darker smeared across the door. There was some glow in the dark substance on the ceiling, giving just enough light for him to see shapes but not color. There was a bed, a small one that was barely a foot off the ground, with soft blankets and plush pillows. 

The door had no windows, no gaps. It was smooth against the wall with cracks, not even wide enough to let in a draft. The air was stale, cool, and smelled like the ocean. Which was comforting, he figured, if it wasn’t for the fact he was kidnapped and thrown into this box. 

He actually forgot when he was put in here. Tommy sat up, his sore muscles tensing in protest. When did he… he remembered pacing for a while. Falling asleep in bed. Pacing more. Slamming against the door—his palms still stinging from the effort to pull and push at it.

His stomach growled, his throat was dry. When was the last time he ate something? Had a sip of water? The trial—he remembered that. The trial and the kingdom and his friends. Philza, Technoblade, Wilbur, Michael, Tubbo and Ranboo fighting for him. Saving his ass until… 

The blood on his hands wasn’t just his own, was it.

The funny thing about this room… this odd room like nothing he’d ever seen, was that it didn’t set off any triggers. The light was glow in the dark paint instead of candles, the air was clean of smoke. He didn’t have any handcuffs on or saw any metal bars, and it was far too spacious for there just being a bed.

Still, his panic returned when he realized he could die here. And never see them again. His friends and family, his house. This was it, the end of the road. He’d rot in the weird room and never feel the sun ever again, never get a chill from a breeze, never hear the rustle of tree branches or sit in the rain. 

That thought sent him back into the arena.

Then the door opened.

He scrambled to his feet and sprang forward to bolt, stopped by a grinning face and the slam of the door. He backed up and grimaced.

“No-“

“I’m only going to ask you this once.” She started, taking a smooth step forward. She was in a purple sweater and wore black flats that clicked on the stone, wings held nobly behind her. 

He ran into the wall and shook his head. “No, no, please-“

“Follow me around willingly as a pupil.” She interrupted him, and his brows furrowed. “No plots to escape. Or… you get mind controlled into learning from me. Simple. Yes or no. Either way you’re going to become the most powerful sorcerer in the world.”

Tommy actually considered it, his panic melting away with his frantic thoughts.

If he said yes, he’d be in charge of his actions. 

If he said no, he’d have no control again. 

Yes, he has a chance at escaping.

No, he won’t be able to. He’d watch from behind his own mind.

Yes, if he’s told to do something… he’d regret it for eternity.

No, he wouldn’t be at fault.

He puffed out his chest and clenched his bloody fists. “Yes. Okay.”

Her grin widened with her eyes. “Great! Sam will be here in a few minutes with your first meal. Welcome to Palisade, Tommy.”

The door opened on its own, and closed behind her before he even thought about following. He sank to the floor.

He needed a nap.

Sometimes people get better before they get worse.

But Philza wasn’t. He couldn’t be better. He was dead.

Technoblade watched his last breath leave him, peacefully, as the night passed with him. Phil had a small smile on his face. It was peaceful, it was unfair. And Techno seethed with rage. For himself, for that damn goddess, and even for Tommy. Angels aren’t meant to die.

There was no greater pain than loosing a friend in a world where connections, bonds, and family are everything. He never spoke openly about the topic of familiars and friends. Mostly because he convinced himself he had none.

But he lied to himself, and now that the string was shattered, he was left in a dark world of pain.

His priorities were scattered. There was nothing more that would help him other than the red end of his blade, stabbing through person after person to not feel so sorry for himself. Or he could go tell everyone that-

That his best friend was dead.

He had no idea how to feel about it. Or if he should feel anything in the first place.

Phil would advise him to keep his chin up, to take deep breaths and calm down, or keep himself busy with pointless tasks and hobbies. Anything other than self destruction.

But Phil isn’t here.

Technoblade let go of his friend’s cold hand and stood up from his seat. His bubbling rage dropped off every ounce of him, but he was willing to let it simmer for a moment while he leaned down and kissed his mess of blonde locks. Then, he left.

The nurses told Wilbur about a dead father and second missing brother. Wilbur had never felt worse, not in his life or his death and resurrection. This took the cake for how bad one man can feel.

Sure enough, there he was. If it weren’t for the stillness in the room he’d think the man was asleep. Hands on his chest, half-covered by the colorful blankets with unnatural patches of red. Hat rested on the end table. 

Stood there numbly, taking in the sight. He felt trapped, staring at a painting or sculpture, scared to touch it in case he’d smear the paint or weather the marble. If he hoped long enough, maybe the painting would take a deep breath and sit up, and give him a tilted stare and wide grin filled with platonic love and kindness. If he turned around, the door would open, and the blood god would give him a smaller kind of smile, pat his back and offer him a seat—and later they’d watch the three teens try and get Michael to take a bath, Tommy dragged into the chore but grinning nonetheless. His grin lighting up the room, all past and future worries forgotten. And they’d all eat dinner together, and laugh…

But nothing happened. The stone remained so, the door stayed closed. The tightness in his chest doubled.

He felt it too, the bond broken between him and Phil. It was by no means as strong as Techno’s and Phil’s had been, but it hurt. More than it should, he noticed. He felt that same connection to Tommy, but instead of it being a headache, it felt more like a pull. A tether yanking at his mind, trying to lure him away from here and closer to the necromancer. His brother.

Wilbur sat down on the bed, eyes fixed on the angel’s pale face. He swept some hair away, and lingered his hand by his cheek, waiting for the final pang that would let the dam loose. When it came, he hugged the fellow corpse and cried.

The first worst pain he ever had to endure, he was dragged across the stone, deeper into the caves, thrashing in a metal web that cut at his skin and dislocated his wrists. He had been screaming then, and he wasn’t even at their destination—and he panicked, and made a decision to manually cut ties to the only people that ever cared about him. When he did, he felt numb, and swore he heard the faint echo’s of their painful screams join his.

The second was tied between the wither effect and the feeling of one of those tethers being ripped away without his consent.

He curled up on the floor and screamed too, hair in his hands and a world of hurt crashing over him. Every muscle was on fire, every bone aching. His chest hurt, but he could breathe this time. Deep inhales and shaky hiccups. The feeling something so valuable ripped from him, shattered and spat on. 

He knew who it was too. It was his fault.

The castle was built like the arena he grew up in.

Tall spikes of brass in some weird maze, all leading to the massive throne room with sandy floors and a glass dome letting the desert sun in. The actual throne was up where the audience would sit if this was a real arena. Doors and gates were everywhere, but she promised none of them led anywhere important, despite them being heavy and not the usual push/pull door.

Tommy was treated… nicer than he expected, despite his jaded self having no energy to do much other than be a bitch. Sam—a hybrid that he had never seen before—was kind, and answered all his questions with ease, and even asked if Tommy was okay. He wiped away his stinging eyes and forced himself to his feet then. 

The centaur wore golden-crested armor with the country’s emblem on his chest: a round web-like pattern collecting into a figure he swore he saw in his nightmares, wings outside the circle flared brilliantly in the same thin-lined style. Tommy’s new clothes had the symbol on the buttons of his shirt to the back of his hood, both of which were… odd to say the least. Soft and freshly made, but light enough so the natural heat didn’t bother him. He was used to chill climates and rainstorms—here it was dry, the only wind felt was in the higher levels of the palace.

He expected the desert to be ugly. To be filled with smoke and greyed with clouds, like what he was used to back home. Sam and him paused by a window, metal gates blocking a swift exit. He stared across the city—the sky was blue, not a cloud in the sky. The sun was bigger than usual, the walls below in lopsided disks to signify each part of the capital. At the furthest and largest wall, the sandstone and metal kept the citizens in, and the golden sandy dunes beyond out.

He could get used to this.

Tommy’s fists clenched around the bars.

“Can I leave?”

Sam sputtered, then shook his head, mask covering his more feline features. “No, you can’t. What-“

“Please?”

“No.”

“Can I leave?”

“Tommy…”

“Fuck off.” He grumbled and pushed himself off, storming down the hallway with the guard in tow.

“The fair lady has a plan for you.”

“Sounds like a cult.”

“I’d watch your tongue.” His tone darkened, and Tommy glanced over his shoulder mid-step. “If she hears you, you’ll get in trouble.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and paused at an intersection. “Uh huh. What’s the worst she can do, kill me? Tommyinnit doesn’t fear death.” Quite the opposite, actually.

“Har Har. Very funny. No, but seriously. Even I’m not allowed to leave.” Sam tapped his shoulder with the side of his spear, then took a right and led him forwards.

“Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true. Every once in a while I’ll go for a walk but… this is my life. I’m happy here. And so should you.” 

Sam stopped by the next door, tail flicking too and fro. His front paws shuffled to the side as he craned back to meet Tommy’s eye, brows lowered.

“She’s not a bad person. Troubled, sure. Questionable, of course. But she’s not… she means well. And whatever she has in store for you, I know it’s beneficial to everyone. Not just you and me, not just her—everyone in the world. So, please-“

“She forced me to kill my- my friend… and almost made me fight the other. I don’t know where I am or anything about you. I don’t know if the rest of my friends are okay, I don’t even know if she killed them herself!” Tommy gestured dramatically, then sighed and folded his arms, crumbling in on himself. “I just want to go home.”

Sam considered the teen, then nodded and put his hand in the door handle.

“It’s been two days. Things like this take time. I’m sure she’ll let them visit one day. Just- just be patient.”

“I’m kinda over that.” He snarled as the doors opened.

In the throne room, on the sandy bits, stood the queen. Dressed in a slim red dress, one of her shoulders exposed. Her wings draped across her shoulders like a cape, reds, yellows and blues spilling into the floor. The sand rivaled the gold accents in her dress, the saturation of her hair and feathers altered enough for her to literally shimmer. She turned and gave them a charming grin.

“Welcome, Tommy. I assume you’ve been told why I’ve called you here?”

Sam’s face paled as he rubbed the back of his head. “Uh… no? Sorry, forgot.” 

“No worries.” She shrugged, the distance between them shorter and shorter with each one of her steps. She was wearing socks. On sand. Tommy shuffled closer to Sam. “Some guests are coming over tonight. Family of the guard, tax payers, and colleague of mine. You’re going to need to get used to these if you stay.”

“I’m not staying.” He spat, determined, her brow tilted. 

“You don’t have a choice, Tommy.”

“I’m not some prize to show off to your friends.” 

“You’re not?”

Tommy was left with his mouth open, blinking a few times to process that she was in fact still grinning ear to ear, if not larger at the sight of his bafflement. Even Sam stared at his queen with wide eyes.

“What makes you think you’re anything different? You’re here to stay safe, for yourself and others, to hone in your magical skills. But first, you have to know how to deal with life in this kingdom. It’ll only last a few hours. You can meet Sam’s friends, hang out with adults. Answer questions about yourself… isn’t that what you want? To be treated like an adult, to be the center of attention?”

“Fuck you!” He screamed, pointing an accusing finger at her. “You don’t know shit about me. You kidnapped me and- and forced me to stay, or else-“

“You really think King George would’ve let you live? You really think your precious family would’ve saved you last second? That Phil could save you?” She snickered, chin up to glare at him. “You’re lying to yourself, Tommy.” 

Her eyes glinted red, and the world around him shifted. The sand started to fall between his feet, a rush of sound that startled him enough to back away. The familiar feeling of cold, gripping metal returned to his throat, and he grabbed at it only to find nothing.

“I saved you. Gave you a home, new clothes, a new life. Don’t throw it all away again, okay?”

Just like that, it was gone, his chest rising and falling quickly, a hand tenderly tapping his neck for the feeling, finding nothing. 

He hated how she was right. Hated how she knew what to do to get him to listen. Tommy grit his teeth and turned away, Sam followed close, the two not looking back as the goddess chuckled and returned to where she basked in the sunlight.

Chapter Text

Juggling two depressed individuals, a child, threats of a goddess with a weapon on the horizon, two injured hybrids and the possibility of an unstable pawn of the blood god themselves was quite the feat. Somehow, Quackity managed it.

Karl and Sapnap had stayed by Dream and George’s side during the fiasco. The two magic users injured, a collective sum of a broken wrist and burns, and Quackity settled for anything that wasn’t life-threatening. He didn’t need his fiancé’s in the same state as the rest of them.

Dream suggested kicking them out. Quackity argued against that, claiming that the kingdom needed them to win.

Win what? Well, no one knew for sure, but they had their theories…

He asked for time, and Dream said when Ranboo woke up. Or perished—either way worked for him. Schlatt woke up earlier that day, after Phil passed and Techno fled. He was in a world of pain, but was in much better shape than the night before… seeing as most of his blood had ruined several bedsheets. He wasn’t allowed to move, and though he squirmed in pain and discomfort, he obeyed.

Quackity sat with him, reviewing paperwork regarding what supplies they would use on the president and his son-in-law. He expected snarky speeches or slurred insults about… everything. It had been a good few years since they last spoke, and it wasn’t exactly a pleasant exit on either of their parts. 

It was silent instead. Quackity glanced over at the man. He was messing with the jewelry on his horns, tugging at the chains or slipping on and off studded bands. The Angel exhaled slowly, then returned to struggle at reading.

Last time he saw this man, he threatened to cut off his wings in favor of the public eye. Threatened to burn the castle to the ground because he wanted to rule the economy. Wanted to create a massive casino so everyone could give him their money.

Now, that same man had stitches across his torso, wearing a sleek white button up and having too many gray hairs to count. Had a child that he actually gave a shit about, and a grandson with it. An unconscious teen in his care, who was married to his son and co-parenting his grandson. Will defend some random kid with his life, and nearly did. 

If Quackity was told that this was the same Schlatt, he’d laugh hysterically.

A part of him, a contrast to the part of him that hated the situation entirely, felt impressed. 

The door opened, a horned silhouette stepping in. The two looked up to see Tubbo, looking worse for wear. Hair covered most of his face, but between that, there were dark circles under his reddened eyes, ears low, gifted clothes baggy and barely presentable to anyone, shirt sleeveless. Quackity’s gaze swept over the hybrid’s arms briefly, sickeningly realizing that Tubbo and Ranboo had eerily similar cuts in some places. 

Tubbo didn’t seem concerned, eyes widening, and a relieved smile tugging at his lips. He jumped forward, arms outstretched. “Dad!”

“Tubbo!” Schlatt held his own arms up and gladly let the teen clash into him. “Ow, ow, ease up on the squeeze kid-“

“You’re okay. You’re… actually okay.” Tubbo pulled back enough to look at the man, grinning. 

“Meh, not much can kill me. Besides, you are too.” Schlatt pointed out, wiping some matted brown hair out of his son’s face. Quackity dropped the papers in his hand at the sight of tears on Tubbo’s cheeks.

The two bonked heads, horns clicking together at the action. “Never do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Die on me.”

“Pff, okay, kid. I… heard about Ranboo and Phil.”

Tubbo’s joy slipped with a falling smile. He hummed a response, sitting up on the bed.

“Ranboo’s a tough kid. He’ll be fine.”

“I know…” 

“Michael’s with Wilbur? Techno?”

“Techno vanished. Um…” he cleared his throat. “Wilbur’s struggling more than I am, I think.”

A pause. “Bullshit.”

“Okay, yeah… yeah you’re right.” Tubbo pulled his knees to his chest and dug his hands through his hair.

Quackity blinked, then rubbed at his fucked up eye. Schlatt being nice and helping someone through a tough time? He refused to believe what he heard. Still, he listened.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Guess.”

“Ah. Take a breath, don’t lash out on me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Go get a drink.”

Tubbo snickered, rolling his eyes. “Good one.”

The hybrid grinned back and waved a hand dismissively. “Eh, whatever. You know not to take advice from me.”

“I could use some right now.”

They grew quiet, Schlatt laying his head back and staring at the ceiling, brow furrowed with thought. Quackity had only seen him like that when he was pissed off, ready to throw shit out the window. But he wasn’t mad. He was calm, if not a bit out of his element. Quackity wished he had popcorn to enjoy while they spoke—and wondered if they knew he was even there.

“Just…” Schlatt sighed, closing his eyes. “Just… make sure Michael’s safe. That’s a decent goal, easy to manage. Make sure he’s okay, then go from there. Make sure he’s happy, too, even if… even if the worst happens. Top priority is your son.”

Tubbo and Quackity stared at him, the latter completely at a loss for words or coherent thoughts. The teen smiled sloppily and nodded, sniffing a little. He hugged his dad again; the man startled with a gasp.

“Ow! Hey-“

“Shut up.”

Schlatt didn’t move to pull the kid off him. Instead, he wrapped his arms around him and dug his fingers in the mess of dark hair. “Okay.”

Quackity wanted to cry, too. He cleared his throat, and two sets of ears swiveled. “I was going to say something like… take a break if you need to. Get some sleep? But sure, focusing all your attention on him works too.”

“Oh, and that.” Schlatt nodded, petting his head. “Definitely that. Take care of yourself too.”

“I got that much…” Tubbo let go again and wiped his face with a sniff. 

“I never knew you had it in you.” Quackity stood up, the two twisting to watch him. “This whole parenting thing. Being a dad.”

Schlatt shrugged, then winced, rubbing at his sensitive flesh. “People change.”

“Not people like you.” He hissed smoothly, the two tilting their heads in sync. He stifled a laugh. “People like you refuse change.”

“That’s until I knew I had a son.”

“So you’re a hero now?”

Tubbo opened his mouth, then closed it and stared down at his feet.

“No. I'm just trying to keep them safe. Can I have that much?” Schlatt scoffed.

“We can discuss the morals of each other when Ranboo wakes up.” Tubbo’s suggested, standing abruptly with his arms folded over his chest. He glanced between at the two. “Don’t fight before then, please. I’ll see you later.”

The door slammed behind him. Quackity stormed towards the door and grabbed the handle.  Schlatt sighed.

“Hey, before you go, I just wanted to say thank you. For everything.”

“I’m not doing shit for you.”

“I know.” Schlatt mused, a fond hunt to his voice that drew Quackity’s attention. “But still. In case they forget to, I wanted to tell you that.”

“You’re a scumbag.” He hissed.

“I know.”

“I sorta wished you died.”

“Then you wouldn’t witness wholesome Tubbo and Schlatt. And you’d think Tubbo was crazy or something.”

“I still do.”

“He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.” He sucked in a breath, as if someone had lifted the largest weight from his shoulders. “And I’d rather face your wrath than watch him turn into me.”

“Tubbo? Into you? I can't see it.”

“You’d be surprised.” He muttered grimly. 

“What…” Quackity’s mocking smirk fell. “Wait, does he-“

“No, he doesn’t drink. And he doesn’t… he isn’t me, and that’s the goal.”

A pause. “But he’s been close.”

“Ranboo caught him drinking once. Told me once he was asleep.”

“And who taught him that?”

“I didn’t reach him shit. Kid’s smart as hell and hasn’t had a day in school. He knew better. Hell, they’re part of the reason I’ve stayed sober for so long-“

“Wait. Stop. Backtrack.” Quackity let go of the door and stood by the hybrid, glaring down at him. “Sober? How long?”

“At least a few months now.” Schlatt shrugged, regretted it, then stared up at him with narrow eyes. 

“Oh.”

They stared at each other for a while. A lot of conflicting emotions crossing Quackity’s mind. Hate, anger, betrayal, envy, shock… he wanted to punch him in the face or strangle him. 

But then that would leave Tubbo alone with Michael to take care of--and maybe Wilbur if he got through this too. Quackity didn’t have the heart to do that, just like how he couldn’t stand to watch Tommy give in to his own villains.

“Don’t fuck this up for yourself.”

Schlatt grinned, lopsided and snarky, a few teeth stained gold. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now go, hang out with your fiancés. Tubbo will be back in ten minutes tops.”

He couldn’t help but smile back and return to the door. With a snort, he left.

Today. Today he’d face her. Fight her. Push out of a window and run. It was a plan he developed over the week, through watching guards move around and which windows led where. Which areas were blocked off and even some of the visible streets from said windows. All he had to do was knock her out—or kill her. Either way worked for him.

They trusted him to wander the halls alone, with Sam checking in on him occasionally. Was he scared to leave the castle while she was awake? Yes. Could he leave at night? No, seeing as his room was locked during that time. He had one chance. No fuck-ups.

Calypso was in the dining hall, a long table with many chairs placed around it. The room was full of people, business people and relatives alike. Tommy recognized some of them from the ball, but didn’t bother remembering their names or who they were.

He stayed on the Queen’s side, which she seemed to appreciate with a nod. Sam was there too, giving the friend that showed up a hug.

The food here was good. Not what he was used to in the slowest, with it being far too spicy for him. Cactus salad was also very weird to him, but he liked fried rattlesnakes. He ate with them, not listening and not bothered, lost deep in his thoughts, making that clear by how dismissive he was. The adults simply ignored him. Even Sam paid more attention to his mage friend. 

Tommy hid a wine glass under his cloak while they left.

And coincidentally, Calypso gestured for him to follow. Around the maze, towards the throne room. A shortcut to his room. She spoke while they walked.

“I’m glad you like it here. I think… Tomorrow we’ll go into the city. Greet the people. Get you a haircut.” She shrugged, feathers rattling. 

He felt a pang of guilt. “Y-yeah?”

“Of course, I cut my hair, and it’s a mess.” She joked, running fingers through her rainbow locks. “Consider it a treat for being so nice. For taking a break, settling down somewhere you can stay safe.”

His grip on the glass tightened, black fingers aching from the pressure.

“Thanks.”

“No need to. I insist.”

He set his jaw and glared at the floor. 

Maybe it wasn’t so bad here. As long as he didn’t break any rules, didn’t try to leave by himself, everything would be okay. In a week, he could sit in the room and breathe, relaxed, nothing to worry about other than his friends.

Other than Tubbo and Ranboo, who’s binds were still there, one stronger than the other. How Tubbo’s started off aching but slowly settled to just… something nervous, scared and unsure but still there. Michael, who filled Tommy with blissful joy every time the Piglin did something he liked. Technoblade, no matter how stretched the string was, was still there. Burning with a raging hate that ebbed away bit by bit for reasons Tommy couldn’t decipher. Wilbur was still there, too. Muted, cold, sad. Like someone had pushed him into a pile of snow. But still there, still vibrant.

He let himself feel calm, feel sure of himself, feel determined and safe, so maybe they could feel it strum through them. He wasn’t sure they could, but if they did, he’d be fine with that. If they knew he was safe, they’d be okay. If they were safe, well, that’s all that mattered in the end.

So he didn’t smash the class across her head. Didn’t break off the cup and stab the goddess until she resembled Swiss Cheese. Maybe he hoped she’d pull a sword first and plunge it through his heart, just as he did to Phil. No, he couldn’t put his family through that. Never.

They stepped into his room.

“Tommy?” 

“Hm, yeah?” He turned around suddenly, meeting the small smile of the sweater wearing queen.

“I have something to tell you.” 

He tilted his head. “Go on.”

Calypso’s smile stretched. “You see, Tommy… have you ever had a familiar?”

“You know the answer to that.” He huffed, surprised at how his voice lacked any heat. Tommy frowned at the painful image of Henry, his favorite.

“I do.” She stepped aside. The magical door locked anyway. “So you know what it’s like, then. Feeling their emotions.”

“Yeah…” his brow furrowed. He was just thinking about that. How-

“How can you know what they feel in any moment? If they’re in pain, or angry, or sad. Happy, even. You know what all that feels like in that head of yours, right?”

“Uh…”

“And you also know how painful it is to break a bond. On purpose or not, be it death or self-sacrifice. Correct?”

He shut his mouth and turned his head to glare at her. She paused in the corner of his eye and giggled. “Well?”

“Yes. I do. Why-“

In an instant, her hand dug into his hair, and with it the world around him changed.

“No!” He barked, feeling pain snake down his arms and chest, and he collapsed. The grayish room turned dark, the door to a solid metal gate. The salty air turned metallic, like iron, and he felt those chains around his wrists and neck again. He tried to see something other than the flickering light from under the door, but he couldn’t.

“No, Nono no no nonono-“

His back stung like crazy. His mouth filled with blood, his hands hurt, and one of his nails wasn’t there. A memory from long ago, a memory he thought he had forgotten, something his body naturally dismissed in favor of staying safe. Pain he didn’t know he could endure. Something he knew happened but didn’t know what it entailed… until now.

“I’m going to say this once.” Her voice echoed around the memory, filling his mind as he hunched over and couched onto his wrists. He couldn’t feel one of his hands, and through the firelight and blood, the other one was just as disfigured. The metal was too tight, and they were pulled out of their sockets and left in incorrect positions—but one was numb, and the other was quite the opposite. 

“Never even think about killing me. I have power you can only dream of, Tommy. Magic beyond your realm. I can make you relieve this again and again and again, among other things…”

He closed his eyes, despite hearing his own screams from back then, recalling the familiar sound of chains dragging against a stone floor, and him along with it.

“I can read your emotions. Your familiar’s emotions.”

Or him calling out Tubbo’s name, and something hot on his skin as he ran, adrenaline and rage pushing him across the arena.

“I can bring up events from your past, and sometimes even make my own. But what’s the fun in that…”

Or killing Soldier after Soldier, racing the clock as Ranboo dissolved in a pool of water. 

“I know you’re in pain. I can help you, but you can’t be attempting murder.”

Or him staring out over the sands for the last time, a heavy feeling in his chest. Convinced he was going to die, either by the blade of the enemy or his own. 

“I am the only person that can help you. I am the only person you need to follow, to listen to. You know that. And because you know that… I need you to break your attachments.”

Tommy opened his mouth to retaliate, to plead against it, but all that came out was a stream as even more pain shook through his body. Ribs snapping effortlessly, the wither effect spreading across his shoulder, leg and face. The cuts on his face sting more than ever, the phantom metal around his neck tightening enough to have him gagging. 

She sounded disappointed, tutting. “Did I stutter, Tommy? Do it.”

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and gently felt the array of strings attached to his psyche. They hummed with unease, every single one of them knowing something was wrong but not knowing what. He clenched his jaw no matter how painful it was, bracing himself as he listened in on Techno’s.

Techno stopped walking. The woods were dark, the air humid. Blood covered him from head to toe, the voices both pleased and begging for more. But they also hesitated once the pain started, once a weird prickling sensation creeped across his neck. He itched at it absentmindedly, asking himself what was wrong, because he knew something was.

Then a ricocheting pain slammed into his skull, and he fell to the forest floor and roared in agony.

“All of them.”

Tubbo burst through the room, eyes wide in panic and lips twisted in a frown. The corpse had just been telling Schlatt about some weird goosebumps feeling, and how he was going to check in Ranboo just in case. Wilbur stood up abruptly with Quackity, just as startled as Tubbo. Schlatt shuffled to sit up more, focused on his son before anything else.

“It’s Tommy.” He said breathlessly, a distant look in his gaze, just like he had before, when he stared at the knife's weird or smelled smoke, or when thunder shattered the sky and he completely shut down for reasons unknown to Wilbur. The teen knew exactly what was happening and Wilbur’s heart tightened.

“He’s- h-he’s going to break the bond. He-“

Schlatt opened his arms, and Tubbo immediately barreled into him, the adults all sharing an odd look.

“Oh, shit.” Quackity eyed Wilbur, sounding sympathetic. “You may want to sit down for this.”

Wilbur glared back, got a quip ready, then felt his world turn to dust in an instant. He fell into the angel’s arms. At the same time, Tubbo screamed, muffled by Schlatt’s chest. 

Quackity helped Wilbur sit down with the other two, giving him as much comfort as he could. He paused, watching Schlatt mumble comforting words to his son, comb through his hair, fix his wedding band, pat his back. 

Anything to help.

Seeing as no one had burst through the door yet, the royals were dealing with Michael just fine. Good, Quackity figured, the ex’s could deal with a son and a dead man easily enough. Wilbur had already stopped crying, wincing at the pain in his head, and still incredibly dizzy. 

Someone across the hall screamed, a low, animalistic, warped sound that came from an unused voice and someone that should not be awake.

“Will you ever try to hurt me again?”

He shook his head frantically as a wail escaped him, the magic across his flesh threatening to dig deeper. 

Calypso hummed in approval and let go of him, the magic pulling away from him and back around her. He coughed a few more times, the weird, uncomfortable numbness in his wrists gone, the searing across his back vanished. He clumsily sat himself up as she stepped around him. A few feathers brushed against his shoulder. The world spun around him, the empty stabbing pain in his skull affecting his chances at speaking or hearing what she said next. It sounded friendly, a suggestion. 

He wiped at his face with shaking hands and nodded, avoiding her glittering eyes and the unnaturally bright light of the glow in the dark paint above. Tommy swayed, struggling to keep himself sitting, seeing double sets of trialing tail feathers. He wanted to throw up, or better yet, hurt somewhere else. No, he wanted to tear out his own heart and stop feeling at all. She continued, still a blur in his mind, but he got the memo.

“‘Night…” he murmured, throat sore.

The door shut with a click. He passed out instantly.

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse.

Tubbo tried running to the door first, fumbling immediately, and stopped by Schlatt’s hand on his wrist. The teen twisted and glared up at him, face red and wet and matted with drenched hair. 

“No, you don’t.” Schlatt spoke first, and loud to cut over Tubbo who continued to pull his arm. “Get your ass over here, Quackity will check it out.”

“But Ranboo-“

“You can see Ranboo when reality sets in. Until then, you’re staying with me.”

Quackity, by the door, met Schlatt’s piercing gaze. The hybrid nodded, and Quackity returned to gesture and fled out the door.

He should’ve dragged Sapnap and Karl away from the castle. Go find an apartment in the city, keep to their own devices. He didn’t want to be caught up in family drama, in deaths, in more suffering than necessary, in the life of his abusive ex, his son, his son-in-law and grandson. He didn’t want to be roped in with his enemies, facing a power hungry goddess and a necromancer that just fucked the situation up even worse by doing the one thing every magic user feared.

Ranboo was indeed awake, struggling to lift himself up from the bed. Quackity was there in an instant, pushing his not-so-stitched-together shoulder back down. The enderman flinched to see who the fuck was touching him-

“Hey, hey! Relax. I’m-fuck. You’ve missed a lot.” The Angel moved to be in Ranboo’s sight, kneeling beside the bed to be face-to-face with those huge red and green disks. “Just… just try to breathe and don’t move. I’ll explain everything once your head is clear.”

Tears sizzled off his face as he nodded, gasping for air through a clogged nose and sore throat. Quackity glanced around for a pitcher of water.

“They keep extra supplies in here all the time. Give me a second.”

He found it in a cabinet drawer, enough for a few glasses. He used a discarded wineglass and filled it, then offered it to the teen.

Ranboo’s eyes narrowed into a glare as he saw the clear liquid, then at Quackity. His lips pressed into a flat line. 

“What? Can you move your arm or not…?”

Ranboo pointed a wickedly sharp claw, where his tears continued to eat away at his face. The Angel face-palmed with a chuckle. 

“Whoops. Forgot. Uh, okay… I’ll go find you some milk or something. Sound good?”

Ranboo sighed and gave him a thumbs up.

Meanwhile, Tubbo crawled between Schlatt and Wilbur, all three staring around the room. Anything to avoid the chance of eye contact. Tubbo sniffled, head against Wilbur’s shoulder. Despite how uncomfortable his curved horn was, he put up with it. The empty feeling in his head was too powerful of a pain, anyway.

Both of them held the teen’s fidgeting hands, keeping him from clawing at his bandage or--god forbid--the scars on his face. Tubbo didn’t even seem to notice, lost in thought, trying to recall the lost strand.

Schlatt wasn’t used to this at all. He couldn’t move much in case he pulled out his stitches, and his son was going through the worst time of his life. Three years ago, Schlatt would’ve reprimanded himself for caring too much, for growing soft and actually considering Tubbo more than a business expense.

Now he was glad he was there to help. Damn his hybrid instincts. 

Wilbur didn’t know what to think, so he didn’t. He felt worse than before his death, which was hard to combat, but somehow Tommy managed it.

Which led him to one question…

“…why?”

“What?” Schlatt’s ears flicked as he glared at the blue-tinted man. 

“Why did he do that?”

“I… don’t know, Wil.”

The two turned their attention to Tubbo, whose face was covered by his hair, chin tilted to his lap.

“Any idea?”

Tubbo shrugged. Wilbur let a troubled sigh escape him, shifting to comfortably pet Tubbo.

“Sorry.”

Tubbo leaned into the behind-the-ear scratches, despite how his ears pulled back with a grimace. 

“Yeah… we can get into it later.” Schlatt messed with his own jewelry. “Um… do either of you feel better?”

“No.” Wilbur stated simply, faking a sly smirk. “Feels like shit, thank you.”

“My bad. I’ve never really been through that, so…”

Tubbo folded in on himself, letting go of them in favor of holding his face in his arms.

“Hey, hey! Sorry, I, shit-“ 

“He’s okay. Tommy’s okay.”

“No he’s not.” Tubbo whined, leaning back with his knees to his chest, wiping away any tears that came as the two moved to face him. They shared a stern look, then searched Tubbo.

“What do you mean?” Wilbur sounded unsure.

The teen sucked in a deep breath, palms rubbing at his eyes. “He-he’s done this be-before… to stop us f-from getting hurt…”

“What?” He sat up, blinking. 

Schlatt visibly paled, hand on his son’s shoulder, grip tight. He stayed quiet.

Tubbo nodded, “I-he’s definitely alive. He has to be… but… b-but he’s-“

“What happened the first time?”

Schlatt nudged the corpse’s shoulder, Wilbur rubbing the spot and glaring at the hybrid. “Ow! What the fuck-“

“Don’t ask people shit like that. You don’t want to know.”

Wilbur’s mouth clicked shut as Tubbo descended into hysterical words with each sob. He rubbed his thumb over the thin fabric of the gifted shirt, watching it tug away from Tubbo's neck and show more nasty pink scars from something around his neck, different from the pale burn markings that littered one side. Wilbur decided he really didn’t want to know, at least not now, and pulled Tubbo in for a hug.

“I’m sorry.”

Schlatt smiled and patted the teen’s back, leaning down and clicking their horns together.  

The door opened, and in came Quackity, out of breath. His scarred gaze swept over the three, flashing with confusion before he shook his head and leaned up. 

“Ranboo doesn’t remember anything, including Michael... I don’t even think he can talk.”

Tubbo was up in a second, followed more cautiously by the other two. Standing felt like a chore, but they managed with Big Q’s help. No one asked Schlatt to stay in bed, and a part of him was grateful he could stretch his legs. Despite the situation. 

“Is he okay?” Schlatt asked as they stepped carefully down the hallway.

“I gave him milk because he can’t drink water. He’s in a lot of pain, but not in as much as… you two were.”

“It’s a defense mechanism.” Tubbo muttered, the three glancing down to the eerily serious teen. “If he forgets, he won’t hurt as much. S’ happened loads.”

“More than once?” Wilbur huffed, bemused.

“More than once?” Quackity glanced between Schlatt and Tubbo.

“Can you two lay off? They don’t owe you an explanation for everything they’ve been through. Piss off.”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? Healing?” Quackity snickered.

“I want to make sure everyone’s okay.”

“That’s the first.”

“Shut up! We get it, you two aren’t over your relationship-“

“You motherf-“

Technoblade opened the door, the entire group frozen in shock. The Piglin had dark circles under his eyes, pink fur matted in places with blood and rain. He wore his usual super royal clothes, crown bound to his hip beside his axe. By the way he leaned against the door, he too had felt the fragile fabric snap.

“You’re back.” Wilbur shuffled in his spot.

“Had to cut loose. Long story.” He backed away from the doorway, letting the others in. Dream, George, Sapnap and Karl stood in the small room too, all either waiting or keeping a sniffling Michael at bay. They all looked up too. Michael nearly hurtled himself off the table and into Tubbo’s arms, snorting a mess of words in his native language.

Technoblade closed the door and turned to the group. “This sucks.” He mused flatly, the three around him giving him the nastiest glare.

Ranboo sat up, fists clenched in the blankets, glancing around with white-rimmed eyes, ears pinned and tail lashing under the sheets. Without a shirt on, every wound was visible, from the violent marks on his throat to an oddly familiar symbol on his stomach, all some shade of purple. Tubbo murmured something to Michael, then handed him to Wilbur. The mood already improved after seeing his dad.

“Technoblade said that the- Tommy broke his connection to you guys. All of them.” George, without his goggles on, glanced between them.

Tubbo pulled himself to the bed, Ranboo baring his sharp teeth and pressing himself to the headboard, claws tearing through fabric. Wilbur continued: 

“Yeah. He did. I don’t know why-“

“Can you please shut the fuck up?” Tubbo snapped, ears turning to face Ranboo, showing his full attention on the hybrid. His hands were held to him, palm up, shaking with how hard he tried not to fidget. 

The room grew deathly quiet, all eyes on the two. Ranboo’s own ears flicked up, brow furrowed in cautious curiosity as he looked at his own black and white hands, then placed them on top of his husband’s.

Tubbo’s shoulders visibly relaxed, taking one of his hands and pressing his palm against his. It showed off how wickedly long and sharp Ranboo’s claws were. The goat hybrid sucked in a breath and started from the top, clearly having done this a billion times before:

“Your name is Ranboo.” He tapped his index finger against Ranboo’s. “My name is Tubbo. We…” he blinked a few times, forcing his voice to remain calm. “We are married.”

That broke nearly everyone in the room in one form or another.

“We have an adopted son, Michael. He’s over there.” He turned his head and glanced back at the undead piglin, Ranboo’s blank stare following and fixed on the child. “Um… we lived with Schlatt, but recently moved in with-with T-Tommy to help Michael… and now we’re in the castle, because… because you got hurt. But you’re okay now.” His fingers laced with his, Tubbo’s other hand against Ranboo’s scarred cheek, eyes focused on the teen. “You’re okay now.”

Right before their eyes, the animal-like enderman melted into the touch and held his hand back, light of humanity returning to stinging eyes. He smiled, sadly, voice rough still from a mixture of everything, really.

“G’morning…”

“Welcome back, Ranboo.” Tubbo grinned, even as Ranboo curled into him and cried, holding him like a pillow. Tubbo hugged him back, burning his face into the crook of his neck.

Wilbur cleared his throat. “Welcome back? But uh, listen… there’s a lot we need to fill you in on.”

“Phil’s dead.” Ranboo mumbled in a monotone, the entire room straightening up and glaring at him inquisitively. “And Tommy…” he shuttered.

“How do you know that? You weren’t even awake for that.” Sapnap scoffed, ignoring how Karl clung onto him.

“There's a lot you don’t know about us.” Tubbo half-joked, voice muffled. 

Technoblade let Michael grab his hoof. “Like what? That you can read minds?”

The two pulled apart and stared at each other, faces darkened. Eventually, Tubbo turned around and sat down next to him, a lanky arm around his shoulders. Their faces were solemn. 

“We need to save Tommy.”

Chapter Text

Tommy could go on all day about how big the castle was. About how everything in this city had winding corridors, random ends and crossing roads. Nothing was on a grid, nothing was linear. At first he called it a mess. Now, especially within the gates of the palace, he’d begrudgingly say it made sense. Someone told him that the first settlers built the city a long, long time ago. Which made sense. Old people have a fucked up sense of direction, so why not make the whole place a giant corn maze for them to meander through?  

He grew used to the heat, the clear skies, and fresh air. Used to the sheer amount of diversity in each crowd. Tommy couldn’t name some hybrids he saw, never mind whatever pets they had. Most were small reptiles and birds, others lanky mammals with round eyes. Some were stolen from fairytales and plopped on the shoulders of widows and blacksmiths. He had never seen such creatures, and he learned a thing or two back in his cottage.

Fuck. He missed his old home.

He found himself in the library more often than not. Maybe he needed a distraction from the empty pit in his soul, or maybe there was genuine interest in “Mythical Creatures”. The third option is honestly the one he told Sam: “Anything to get away from Calypso.”

It’s not that he hated her. Nor did he dislike all the royal stuff she showed him, or the magic things she taught him. He knew more and more about his own power every day through her lessons and demonstrations. Okay, that was sarcastic. He felt like he learned something, even if his magic is useless without a dead body to revive. 

There was something untapped within each surge of power. Something bigger than whatever Calypso thought he had. Every time the healing black markings crackled with white, he felt the air grow thicker, felt the ground beneath his feet still, the moisture on his skin sizzled. It was bizarre and exciting, but he decided not to tell Calypso. She thought his only abilities were magic detection, life drain, and necromancy.

Tommy learned lots about her magic, though.

She called it Fear Magic. The red and black clouds that circled her. It’s the essence of hate, black or dark magic—all of which she refused to elaborate on. Using too much, like any other type of magic, resulted in the magic taking over the user’s body. 

However, her hands always remained the same. Wicked claws, cracked skin, red lines pulsing with the stuff. No matter what she did, it stayed there, up to her wrist, and for that she was grateful.

Tommy didn’t trust her completely. That had to be why he kept himself elsewhere, be it the library or wandering around with Sam.

The guard had to be the most patient man he ever met, rivaling Philza. Tommy did loads of stupid shit, always had and always will, but something about messing with a man sworn to protect him and keep him from escaping made the teen only want to break more rules.

Honestly, he rarely did. Whenever he did, Sam just laughed it off and lightly reprimanded him. 

Today was not a day for reading sessions or mayhem. It started with Sam whisper-yelling him awake.

“I want to show you something cool.” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned. “But we need to leave now.”

“Fuuuuck.” Tommy groaned, head in his arms. He had to give it to Calypso. She gave him the comfiest pillow in existence.

“Okay, five minutes. Get ready.” 

The door sealed shut in a flash of red. Tommy sighed and pulled himself up. 

Another thing he found cool about this place was the clothes. Lightweight, bright colors, lots of gold. Even the slums had vivid shawls hanging from wires to dry, a contrast to the kingdom he came from where most people wore muted colors or grays. He was used to wearing black, but out in the desert he’d bake if he wore what he was used to.

So instead he wore a white shirt and blue trousers, then for extra fashion points he slung a red coat across his shoulders. He felt a pang in his chest. Wilbur would love this.

The door unsealed itself and he pushed his way out. The two started down the hallways, taking each turn with the skill of someone who had traversed the halls many times before. Probably because they have.

Tommy didn’t expect to be led into the throne room and towards one of the constantly locked gates. And he certainly didn’t expect it to open, or for a gust of cold air to hit him in the face.

“What the fuck?”

“Shh!” Sam put a finger to his mask, transferring his spear into the other hand. 

Tommy clamped his mouth shut and followed him in, shoes clicking against the stone floor. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to reach for it, a few feet too short. “What’s down here?”

“You’ll see.”

“This thing is huge. Who needs a giant hallway under their castle?” He scoffed.

“Lady Calypso, apparently.”

“Why is it cold?” He glanced to the walls, seeing a few torches that lit their path. “And dark.”

“Nothing down here gets any sun, for starters. People don’t regularly travel down here, either. Just me and a few guards to check on the place.”

“And Calypso.”

“And the queen, yes.”

Tommy hummed, lagging behind the green centaur when something caught his eye. The chipped cobblestone walls stood out in the otherwise well-built tunnel. Slashes of white cutting through gray. His heart thrummed in his throat at the sight, at how some were smaller and others were larger. 

Whatever it was, it was huge and desperate. Memories surfaced, some he had repressed, and with a shiver, he ignored it.

“Sam. Buddy. Friend. Tell me where we’re going.”

Sam’s tail flicked with a chuckle. “Relax.”

“I don’t like this. I hate every bit of this, actually.”

The hallway ahead emptied into… well, something. He couldn’t see it yet. The steady decline turned sharper.

“I promise that this will be the coolest thing you’ll ever see.”

“I’ve seen claw marks before. And cages. Nothing surprises me.”

“Uh, huh. That’s what I said.”

The room was immense. Cells placed evenly throughout as far as the darkness would let them see. Sam took a torch off the wall and continued through the main hallway.

“What the fuck.” Tommy repeated, sticking close to his side, a hand in his fur. 

“They recently remodeled this place to fit more, to be less of a squeeze. She said it was necessary.”

He swallowed the bile in his throat, staring wide-eyed at one of the hopefully empty cages. “For what?” 

“For whatever she had in store for you. And all this. I thought it was scary too, at first. And sure, maybe I still do. But she’s doing some good, and that it’ll be worth it in the end.”

At the end of the room was a stone wall with a cell gate. Whatever that laid beyond shifted.

Sam peered through the spaces between the metal.

“Sam-“

“Have you ever seen a dragon, Tommy?”

His breath was stolen from him, replaced with a simple “what?”

Sam grinned again, tail wagging, as Tommy stepped closer. He held the torch inside for more visibility.

Two round eyes glittered in the firelight.

“No fucking way.” Tommy’s nerves evaporated, taking in whatever he could see.

Sam snickered, failing to keep his voice monotone. “I know right?”

Tommy had seen something like this before. Though it was smaller and covered in scars and colored orange. This one, at least from what he could tell, was a bright red, covered in spines, plated scales and chains. It held its wings tight to its sides, body curled up in a striking pose, talons scraping against the stone. They stared at it in awe, even when an orange glow spread across its chest. It huffed out some smoke through clamped jaws, nose the same fiery color.

“Ho-ly shit.”

“And this is why I’m on her side.”

“How? Where did she find it?”

“How she does anything is beyond me.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the air tingle around them. The dragon radiated heat; it felt nice, but unnatural. He shivered.

“What is it used for?”

Sam shrugged, grip on his spear tightening. He felt the uneasy tension, too.

In a silent agreement, they retreated towards the throne room.

“Saving Tommy. Should be easy. All we need to do is cross an entire continent and avoid an entire army. Easy.” Technoblade scoffed.

The group met in a private meeting room, country leaders off in a different one to discuss things with maximum security. Not much had changed over the course of a week, besides wounds healing and the visitors getting used to castle life. It was nice, being treated with respect in a foreign place—in a kingdom that wanted nothing to do with you.

But it was stressful on everyone, even if they tried relaxing and having tea parties with Karl and Michael. Tried keeping themselves busy reading books or visiting the smoke filled city. Wilbur gave up on the whole calming down thing, focusing all his attention on catching up with all the things he forgot. 

Technoblade found it the most relaxing when he visited Phil. Or, at least, where he laid. Still, pale, peaceful. He never stayed for long. He just smoothed the wrinkles in the blanket, fixed the hat that sat either over his chest or on the end table, and left the cold room. He never caught the winged shadow lingering at his bedside. 

They kept him there for a reason. Kept him unburied, unbothered, for one person and one person only. The only one who could fix this mess, the one who could be dead at any moment, who just wanted to live peacefully in a ruined cottage in the temperate forests of the kingdom.

They needed Tommy more than they originally thought.

The plan was to get in, get out. Set a date. Bring only what they needed. Plan an escape. Some people refused to cooperate—and their reasons were valid, though never shared with the rest. 

“I’m not working with Schlatt. Not anymore.” Quackity snarled, standing beside Sapnap. The mage was nothing but kind since they settled in, since the attack. His brows furrowed, a frown on his face, a thoughtful look in his eye. Dream was preoccupied with fixing a tear in his glove, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Get over it.” Tubbo snapped back with the same level of salt, with Ranboo at his side. 

Quackity put a hand to his chest, failing to form the words that would neglect that statement. Telling everyone- telling Tubbo that his dad was an abusive asshole was not the goal. He just wanted to leave, check up on Karl and Michael, maybe drag his fiancés’s off to a tropical island where they could live without necromancy and death.

Wilbur and Techno glanced between the pairs, then to themselves. “This isn’t about Schlatt.”

“I-“ he took a deep breath to ground himself, “I don’t want to associate my work with his, is all. He’s a piece of shit.”

“I don’t care what happened between you two. We need him to keep the goddess busy, and we need you guys to help look for Tommy. A team of four—me, Ranboo, Techno and Wilbur—it just isn’t enough.”

“I’m not risking my life again for the kid! For someone allied with- with Schlatt of all people. Why do you even like him so much?”

Ranboo backed up from Tubbo as he bared his teeth. “He’s my dad.”

“He’s a selfish prick, Tubbo! He only cares about himself and his fucking money.”

“And thank god for that, or I’d be fucking dead right now! And so would Ranboo! And Tommy! If he wasn’t so goddamn selfish, so selfish to want his son alive and well, we’d be dead.”

Quackity scoffed, lips curling back in a smirk. “Don’t flatter yourself. He wants you to believe that.”

Tubbo stared at him with a stern glare, knuckles white. Ranboo had glanced to the side, ears falling to the sides of his head, tail curling around his leg, arms to his chest. The others stared at the teens with wide eyes.

“You- you’re being serious?” 

“I owe him my life.” He said coolly, voice level. “He’s a rich asshole with a drinking problem, but I’ll do everything in my power to repay the debt I owe him.”

“Sharp words.” Techno spoke slowly, as if soothing a startled deer. “And what did he do to save you, Ranboo and Tommy from certain death?”

Ranboo and Tubbo shared a look—their eyes locking for a good few seconds before Ranboo broke away and stepped forward, a shaking hand resting on his husband’s shoulder. The enderman cleared his throat.

“He, uh.... have you ever heard of The Phoenix Program?”

“It’s an institution that trains kids into soldiers, yeah. Gotta pay a fortune to enlist your kid, but it’s worth it in the end. It’s privately run in the kingdom.” Sapnap shrugged, eyeing the two. Their stern demeanor broke as they shuffled from foot to foot, Ranboo’s dirty claws sinking in past the thick fabric.

“Well-no. No it’s... it’s really not any of those things. It uh...”

“It trains kids all right.” Tubbo spat, a shadow falling over his eyes. “By putting them against each other in an arena. Sometimes there are special challenges for the top students, some specifically made to hinder their performance.”

“To learn is to do.” Techno shrugged, though kept his gaze fixed on them skeptically.

“To the death?” Tubbo continued, meeting his stare with his own, much better at not crumbling to pieces, unlike Ranboo, who was trying to pull Tubbo back.

They were quiet for a moment, then Quackity chuckled out a “What?”

Tubbo hesitated, then pointed to his face. The web of burn marks that forever altered him and ruined one of his eyes. “Fought Hellhounds on tall platforms that broke... turns out the fake cacti I thought were used for decoration to match the desert theme were rigged... and yeah. Pretty sure I died that day, if it weren’t for Tommy’s magic. And Ranboo teleported me out of there before I actually could, so.” 

He finished it with a shrug and averted his eyes. Ranboo’s ears flicked up for a moment, his dismay turned fond for a moment as he turned his attention to his friend.

“No, no magic. I told you, right? He just... got bandages and stuff. Full on medic mode.”

“I don’t believe that.” Tubbo actually smiled back, despite the dense air that had occurred between the adults and them. “There’s literally no way.”

“You two did the same thing with me.” He hesitated, then carefully rolled up his sleeve, pale scars littering his arm. Bite marks, claws, metal on skin—water burns scattered around randomly. He took a deep breath, voice faltering.

“I uh... after pulling that stunt, they tied rocks to my ankles and dropped me in a pool of water. Tommy killed the guards and saved my life...”

“I would’ve helped, but I was either dead or asleep.”

Ranboo rolled his eyes, tapping the thick scars around his wrists. “But, uh, these were just from the chains. I was a... pretty violent kid.”

“They were dickheads.” Tubbo deadpanned and muttered something even darker, and the look on Sapnap’s face was pure gold. 

“Yeah... that too. But on the plus side, they stopped with the whole fighting thing after that. Just kept us in a room for a while. Right?”

“Pretty much. Months or something after that, Schlatt showed up, right before our ‘graduation’. It didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together.”

“But... yeah. Evil place. I’d say that I owe him, but.... but I think I’ve repaid him plenty by working for him. And saving Tommy is more important, anyway.”

Tubbo nodded, their eyes remaining on the ground. Being lighthearted about the situation didn’t make the revelation any easier, it didn't make the horrified looks on their faces more digestible.

“That’s...” Wilbur breathed out. “Oh.”

“And how do we know you’re not lying?” Quackity asked, no real skepticism in his voice.

“I wish I was.” Tubbo’s hand found Ranboo’s, both squeezing so hard their grip shook. 

Technoblade nodded thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “So they accidentally made weapons of war out of the son of a politician, an enderman hybrid, and a necromancer, arguably three of the most dangerous things in existence with or without a sword. Plus, they let them stick together, and that’s probably where they went wrong.” Techno eyed them. “They failed to do what she did. And now, they’ll pay.”

“They all will.” Ranboo hissed, barely holding back a growl. 

“Then it’s settled.” Wilbur grinned, hands tucked behind his back. “At least four of us are already going to kill the bitch. The question isn’t if we can’t go,” he turned to Quackity, Dream and Sapnap, “It’s if you’ll join us.”

It was Dream that sighed first. “She’s going to use him as a weapon of her own if we don’t.”

“Seriously?” Sapnap scoffed and glared down at his friend, then at Wilbur. “We’re saving him again? Didn’t that go horribly wrong for you last time? As in, an Angel died by his hand, and we got our asses kicked.”

“And we’re going straight to the capital. In the middle of a desert. Surrounded by her guards, and that’s not counting the magic she has that’s... odd, to say the least.” Techno leaned back against the wall. “We’re outnumbered, out planned, and outgunned.”

“Sounds like the best rescue mission ever.” Quackity rubbed his face and groaned. 

Wilbur extended his arms. “So we go in peacefully. Play by her rules. Find him along the way. We’ll use Techno’s emeralds as homing beacons.”

“This is suicide.” Dream stated.

“It wouldn’t be Tommy if it wasn’t.” Ranboo chided, the gears in his head turning as he and Tubbo shared a smile. 

“Exactly. High risks, high rewards.”

“We’re saving an orphan from an evil queen with unlimited power.” Sapnap frowned.

“Correction, we’re saving Tommyinnit, the best offensive fighter in the arena, a necromancer with the ability to drain life from the world, who can apparently do a hell of a lot more if what the goddess said was true. You’re saving a friend from going mad and destroying the world… or something.”

“If you’re looking at the strategic side of this, then yeah.” Techno pushed off the wall again and paced. “Saving him would benefit your country. Give you a step ahead of her, for one, as well as gain someone who can and will fight for you, and you’ll fix your nation’s relations with the revolutionaries. One mission. That’s all it takes.”

“Okay, we get it.” Quackity crossed his arms.

“So we’re doing this?” Sapnap glanced from his masked friend to his fiancé. 

Dream nodded and stood up, meeting Technoblade halfway. “I guess so. We should tell them, right?”

They glanced towards the door that kept the other conversation between leaders muffled. It had quieted down in the room.

“Let’s plan a rescue.” 

The deserts weren’t perfect. It was hot and dry, too bright for most people to be day time dwellers. The sky was always blue, the sun always white. It was a beautiful place to live and work for—and that’s not counting the architecture and kind people within its borders. 

There was one thing keeping this place mediocre. The amount of metal, gold, and steam in the air was always pretty at first, but grew old quickly, and the ocean was a few hundred miles west. Which, in Puffy’s opinion, was the worst part about it.

Captain Puffy, the newest enlisted feminine hybrid commander for the kingdom’s Navy. Stationed at the capital as a protocol for her fleet, just to get them up to speed with brand-new inventions and fighting practices. Best in her class, and given a position within the maze of the castle by the Queen herself.

Puffy was excited for it, sure, but she’d give anything to be out on the sea again. 

Luckily, she had a friend with her during the few weeks of being in the middle of the desert. Sam, the greenish lion centaur that made weird hissing noises when he laughed. That was usually beside the Queen or her guest. They usually hung out right before going to their sleeping quarters, no matter how late the troublemaking teen refused it. She made a goal to meet him one day, maybe when he had more freedom to do whatever he wanted.

Her day was fine. Sam told her he took Tommy to the basements of the castle, and he mimicked the wide-eyed look on his face. She snickered and punched him harshly, him just brushing it off and giggling with her.

They separated for the rest of the day. It was a normal day.

Dream or not, he felt everything. The sharp tendrils curl around his neck, tracing every scar and sending violent shocks of a pain once felt long ago. Burns. Even his wither scars flared up, the decay eating away at his veins. Stings, stabs, the feeling of muscle tearing apart.

“Sitting out in the sun. Watching kids play, eating lunch with your friends… You don’t have that luxury anymore.”

The black tightened around his wrists and neck, seeping in and mimicking older pain. The pressure gave way with each crack. Bones twisted and shattered, and he finally let out a scream of agony. He laid on the floor and curled into a ball.

“You are a tool. A weapon. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Behind blurry eyes, he saw shoes step up to him, only an inch away from him. He wanted to run, to run and never be found. To dive into a pot of lava or in the watery depths of a frozen lake. Anything but this.

Her foot pulled back. Tommy closed his eyes right as extra pain tore through his ribs, flinching, body shivering with pain. He coughed through his sobs.

Calypso knelt down and tilted his chin to face her. He stared up blearily, not even having the energy to tear himself away. Reds flickered across her, in her eyes, circling her frame. She smirked, hair shadowing her face, index finger tapping him lightly, thoughtfully, as if considering what to do next. 

“Will you run off into places you’re not allowed to go?”

He shook his head ‘no’, swallowing the bile in his throat. The tightness around his neck and the stinging in his face, old scars tearing apart: it all lessened into a dull throb. He could breathe again, a gasp of breath pushing her hand away from him. 

“Will you obey every order, no matter how violent? How questionable?”

He took slow, even breaths, nodding vigorously. The stabbing sensations all over evaporated in a cloud of red.

“Will you fight for me, against any foe? Any friends? Defend me to your death if need be?”

“Yes, yes-“ he repeated, the pain in his arms keeping him from sitting up—or moving at all.

“Good.” Calypso grinned, turning on her heels. All outside pain left. No more prickles and tears. His arms felt heavy, every movement sending more pain through him. Tommy blinked and craned his neck to watch her leave, a swirl of feathers catching his eye.

“We have a meeting tomorrow. Big celebration, peace treaties to discuss. You’ll be in the castle, but you can wander through the usual halls, you’ll be given guards. As a treat.” She paused by the door, the room dark with her magic, eyes glittering crimson. “Goodnight, Theseus.” 

The door slammed shut.

A normal day in the desert could be anything, Puffy found out.

Sam didn’t show up that night in the hallway. She waited a few more minutes, ears flicking and straining to listen for the soft pitter-patter of paw pads on the shiny wooden floors. Nothing. Puffy pushed off the wall and searched for him herself.

Palisade at night was a bizarre place. The castle had lightning bug lanterns everywhere, candles in little nooks and on windowsills. The light of the vast city shimmered past the windows, a million more lights blinking as if reflecting the night sky above. Her heart thrummed in her ears, curly hair hitting her back with each step.

The visitor’s room—Tommy’s room. Maybe he was there at night shift? She knew more than anyone how fond the hybrid was of the necromancer. How he blamed his guard training on his instinct to protect him from anything—and how she knew better. Her pace quickened, boots hitting the wood in a cycle.

Relief filled her when she saw a feline sitting there, straight and still in front of the magical door.

“Hey, you taking night shifts now? I thought you liked your beauty sleep.” She grinned, slowing her pace as she grew near.

Then stopped when his head tilted to stare at her, a pair of blazing red eyes glinting in the shadows.

“Sam…?” She breathed. He faced forward again, hand tight around his spear. “Sam.” 

Puffy glanced behind her. No one else was around, just him defending the faux prince from no one in particular. She didn’t even feel the terrifying aura of the queen nearby.

“Sam!” She whisper-yelled nonetheless. “Snap out of it!” 

He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Puffy stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, brow furrowed as she reassessed the situation.

Everyone that worked in the castle knew she did this. Knew she could literally manipulate minds to her will, so she didn’t need to lift a finger for a task to be done. She used it on those that disobeyed her command, a way to punish them without wasting their use.

Her thumb messed with a belt loop, almost tearing it off. Well, shit. 

She wondered if this was because of the visit to the basement in the morning…

Puffy started planning as she backed away, knowing damn well she couldn’t snap him out of it without getting killed in the process. But she could do something.

After all, she knew her way around the continent. Knew the best courses when sailing, even met and worked with famous captains in neighboring kingdoms. She had connections; had ways to tell tomorrow’s guests where their best friend lay.

At the end of the day? This would just be another job. Another way to earn trust. And if her friends would be tormented—if someone out there wanted to save Tommy from whatever he suffered through here…

Fuck working for a tyrant.

Today was the day. 

The blimp trudged along, pulled by wind and the warm desert air. Sand below stretched for miles, a giant pale sheet with sloping hills and the occasional ravine. A select few oasis’ dotted the landscape, little green paradises offering water and shelter to some of the more dangerous creatures in the desert. 

And in the distance, through the golden rays of a rising sun, behind rolling dunes, spires rose into the sky.

Tubbo’s hands were chill from the breeze, his grip tight on the railings, keeping the travelers inside.

They were ready. As ready as they could be. 

“In and out.” He heard Technoblade say. “No fighting. If we need to, grab horses and flee across the desert for plan B.”

“You’re awfully good at this.” George had a tone in his voice that indicated he was smiling. “And this is the most exciting thing I’ve done.”

“You live a sad life.” Ranboo chuckled, dress shoes clicking on the floor as he neared his husband.

Tubbo let his shoulders relax. His husband healed perfectly. His arms still hurt if they were raised, and he couldn’t bend down, but Ranboo was more than capable of handling himself. They’d be okay. Safe. The worst that could happen-

“You okay?” He murmured in Tubbo’s ear, a hand on his. Tubbo stated at his claws, how just today Ranboo took the time to clean and chip away at the length. They were still wickedly sharp, enough to cut through hardened leather, but nothing compared to before. Black skin on burn tissue. Tubbo smiled.

“Yeah, just thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.”

“Of course you are.” He cooed, his pale hand running through Tubbo’s hair and adjusting the jewelry on his horns. “We’ll be okay.”

“And Michael?”

“He’s our safety net. No one’s going to hurt a toddler.”

“Wilbur?”

“He’s smart. Can't fight, but he can talk his way out of anything.”

“Techno?”

He chuckled, and Tubbo laughed with him. 

“Yeah, yeah. Ignore me. Just worried.”

“And Tommy will be okay too.” Ranboo pulled at his horn, forcing Tubbo to look at him. The wind brushed his split hair out of his tear-streaked face, sharp teeth glinting past a smile.

“I hope so. I’ll kill him myself if he isn’t.” 

“Honestly? Same.”

“We’ll just have to wait for the right moment.”

“Exactly.”

“Welcome!” The queen herself stepped forward, arms extended, and a crown nestled in her fluffy rainbow hair. The group stepped down from the blimp one by one, an odd tension in the air that no one dared address. Michael was the only one that didn’t notice, his eyes on the wisps of clouds that twirled in the sky like ribbons. 

“Thank you.” George smiled, his hands folded in front of his mushroom-printed robe.

“It’s a pleasure to see you all here. Welcome to the Palisade, to my capital and kingdom. I take it that the name given to you is incorrect. I go by Calypso here.”

“It’s an honor.” Schlatt avoided her charming smile, side by side with Technoblade, the king, and his guards. Wilbur poked Michael’s nose, the undead piglin blinking away from the sky and giggling.

Calypso nodded and took a step backwards, her own army parting to let them through to the city. “Come, come. Let me show you around before we discuss.”

“Do you mind if we grab a bite to eat?” Ranboo asked slowly, glancing past the wide-eyed crowds to the plazas.

“Of course! Go explore. Feel free to take a guard with you.”

“We trust in the security of your city.” Wilbur walked off with Michael in his arms. Dream, Tubbo, Ranboo, Karl and Quackity followed.

“Oh!” She clapped her hands and pointed at Schlatt’s emerald brooch. “You all have matching pendants! That’s cute.”

“Yeah…” he started, following her close with the others even closer. They descended into a discussion over jewelry.

The pack split up. Karl reached for an eager Michael, and was gladly given the toddler as they entered the thick of the city.

Tommy woke up in a world of pain, on the floor of his room, the door opening and letting a bright firelight in. He flinched at the stinging in his arms and covered his face, a sigh above him.

“Here.” Someone murmured and put something cool to his shivering arm. He yelped in alarm at the chill that ran up his spine, then blinked.

The pain was gone.

“What the fuck?” He spat out, pushing himself to sit up and glare at the intruder. It was… someone he didn’t recognize too well. Her white wooly hair draped across her captain's uniform. She grinned.

“Tommy. Today’s your day off.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked past her. Calypso was nowhere to be seen. Sam- well, he saw a hand on the ground, so-

“Don’t worry about that.” She waved dismissively and beamed at him. “Go explore the city! No guards, no Queen, no Sam. Hurry!” She hopped onto her feet and pranced into the hallway, eagerly gesturing for him to follow. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed a cloak to cover himself with. As he stepped up beside her, she flipped his hood on and fixed his attire.

He pushed her hands away and scoffed. “Aye? Calm down, will you? I got this.” 

“My apologies. I’m Captain Puffy, by the way.” She held out her hand.

“Tommyinnit.” He scoffed, taking it tenderly. “Are you- what happened to Sam?”

“He got… well, let’s just say he got dehydrated. You know how it is in the desert, easy to pass out. I’ll take care of him, don’t fret.”

“I’m fretting quite a bit, actually. He’s my frie-“

She put a finger to his face, shushing him, her friendly demeanor faltering.

“Quiet. You need to be very, very quiet. Don’t utter a word, okay? She’ll hear you, and she’ll find you. You want to escape, yeah? See your friends and family again?”

Dumbfounded, he nodded, even if a part of him didn’t want to. He liked his peaceful life in the castle. Liked his new friends, his room. His mind grew fuzzy—did he? Did he like it here? He had to, right? It was his fault he was in pain all the time-

“Go into the city. Okay? I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble when you return. Don’t show your face to anyone, don’t speak to anyone. Just… be a kid for a day, okay?”

He smiled. He could do that. Easy enough. With a pat on his shoulder, they separated.

Chapter Text

This had to be the largest city he had ever seen. The sheer height of the buildings  was scary enough, not to mention the vast walls, crannies, and roads—sections of poverty split by ravers and shops. Roads filled to the brim with people and pets alike, merchants and assassins, children running rampant between poles and busy feet.

All Ranboo could focus on were the possible exits. Places where he could grab Michael and run, bounce up awnings and spring across rooftops towards the nearest city gate. Steal a carriage’s horse and break his way out one way or another. Dive into an open window and hide.

He mapped out the roads in his mind, or at least tried to. He found early on that it was difficult to focus with how chaotic it was—loud noises and distinct smells fogging his mind’s eye. Ranboo tried, only for the random turns and dead ends to confuse him further. Was it a perfect grid system? Not even close—but some parts were parallel, and others were winding stretches of pathways.

He started getting a headache, led on by Tubbo’s firm grip on his hand.

Tubbo had it easy. He was short. A normal hybrid that was fairly common. Not half monster—not part carnivore, or some Eldridge beast that was known for being unreasonably hostile—so he could blend in, and stay that way if he wanted to. Ranboo could not. He figured it was worse if he smiled and showed off his glittering fangs.

The others had separated to search the city, cover more ground. It would still take all day, but they had a higher chance of finding him. If he was even here. 

Captain Puffy said he would.

They had no reason to trust her, other than one of their own captains being adamant on trusting her. Honestly? That’s all they needed, was a bit of trust and a sliver of hope.

His heart fluttered with it, it burned his chest and nearly brought him to tears. Or maybe that was his fear. Fear of being captured or killed, fear of someone in their group slipping and ruining all their hard work—fear of Techno and them not being good enough distractions. Not stalling for long enough. Not being able to find Tommy’s at all.

His grip on Tubbo’s hand tightened, and his husband glanced back minutely. A smile teased his face, and he squeezed back. Somehow, that allowed Ranboo to breathe a bit easier.

Tommy was thrown back into his early days, as a little kid scampering about the town. Stealing people’s coin or scamming them entirely. Snatching food off of plates from empty tables, or sometimes barely grabbing someone’s drink before they could have it for themselves. Rummaging through bins like a raccoon. Seven years of being a greedy little bastard, and despite the town’s harsh words, they eventually grew used to it. Smiled even when he came into their establishment. 

He remembered Ranboo always wondering why some of them gave them more coins than they asked for, or actually gave them full loaves instead of the unused crusts. At the time, Tubbo and Tommy brushed it off or assumed it was a lucky day.

Looking back on it, Tommy decided they were just good people helping out a few orphaned children. 

All that came rushing back to him as he entered a large inn and moved to the food court. The bar was filled with rich men gambling with cards, shot glasses and sipped cocktails inches from their hands. The rest of the place, tables and booths alike, all under leaf-shaped fans to fit the jungle theme of the place, was also pretty packed. Couples sharing late breakfast meals, friends gossiping over tea, teens packed together laughing over a goddamn feast. He hesitated. 

Why did he hesitate?

No, really. Why? He had seen this all before as a kid—even mocked the couples for kissing or argued with the patrons when he was little. None of this was new.

But it was. And he hated how jealous he got, when kids his age had huge friend groups and laughed their asses off, not a fear in the world, their school bags kicked under the table that held food he once dreamed of in a cell. How the tea drinkers seemed so relaxed, never under the watch of gods or fearful of their lives for a magic power they couldn’t control.

He hated how familiar it was and how alien it became, the longer he stared.

“Sir?” 

He flinched, then caught sight of a waitress. She continued, her head was tilted to the side. 

“Is everything okay sir? Do you want a seat?”

He opened his mouth. She’ll hear you. Don’t talk. Tommy nodded instead.

“Right this way, just one?”

He didn’t have money. His gaze swept past the people he’d pass. In a panic, he started to back up.

She blinked. “Uh. Okay… is something wrong?”

He grinned and shook his head, then spun on his feet and stormed out.

He couldn’t do this. Tommy wasn’t cut out for the whole “normal kid” thing. He tucked into an alleyway and sunk to the ground to calm his breathing. 

Well, he needed to get something. Do something. Sulking would get him no relaxation or joy. Once he calmed down, he pulled himself up and started to walk, hood over his face, hands under the cloak.

A tavern! Perfect. If they were anything like what he was used to, they were less fancy, less well-kept, less populated and filled with mischief. He could get away with anything in there. Maybe.

Tommy strolled in and tucked himself against the wall, taking in his surroundings again. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, tables wooden and rustic, a few machines keeping the inside cool. The one guy at the bar was passed out, folded onto his arms, a half-full mug of ale at his side. A few card players scattered around the tables, doing some kind of tournament with mostly alcoholic beverages. 

Tommy sighed and nervously eyed the sleeping man. 

Well.

Shit, no food? No Shirley Temple’s? Carbonated waters?

Uh… hm.

He took a deep breath. Was this the first time he did this? No. But that was when he was a kid, smart enough to realize the bad tasting drink wasn’t good for him. Now…

…Teens do this, right? 

Yolo.

With a casual gait and a smooth hand, he grabbed the mug and turned away, and just as casually exited the building. It was easy. No one even blinked an eye. A basket of fruit would’ve been a better prize, and he never really liked alcohol, but hey. No turning back now.

He kept on walking down the road, packed sand kicking at his heels, boots leaving minimal prints on the ground. The people around him didn’t care either, too preoccupied in their commute or friends to care about some random shrouded man with black hands and a cup of pungent apple juice. 

A group of kids scampered across his path, screaming at each other with wooden swords and dismantled flintlocks. They cheered as the leaders—a girl with snakes for hair and a little hybrid—fought, swords clattering together clumsily. Dirt and sauce smudged on their bright colored clothes. He watched them fight, never striking hard enough to hurt the other. And, yes, he was envious of a bunch of toddlers.

A moment of normality did pass through him, and at that he smiled, and tipped his head back.

Technoblade never used the word “Hate” lightly. He disliked many things. Noodles, he found, he could live without. The color blue, eh? He just didn’t like it. The sensation of feathers against his hands (no matter how many times Philza asked to preserve his feathers) he also did not hate, he just… didn’t like it. Especially now. He’d never touch a quill without thinking about him, peacefully at rest on a bed, all color wiped from his face. 

However, the few things he hated deserved a fate worse than death—worse than the fiery pits of hell, worse than what a wither-tipped arrow could do.

Contracts were one of them. Gods trick mortals into their claws, forcing them to do things, sometimes without their own will, just to complete a job. Everyone who worked for a god was, one form or another, contracted into doing it—just… life and death were kind souls who valued mortals. 

Blood, Chaos, War—they didn’t really care who it was, as long as it got the job done.

So, yeah. He hated being contracted. He hated every line on that indestructible parchment. And how he became one.

Philza was lucky, under the careful guidance of his god that cherished him. That let him do what he wanted as long as it didn’t ruin the way the world spun. How he got married to Kristin was a mystery to Techno, but hey. The wedding was the highlight of his immortal life.

Tommy was not. 

Fear, a god that didn’t give a flying fuck about who they hurt or what they did on the mortal plane. Who tricked people into her deadly talons and laughed at their misery. Abused their power enough to have even lifted herself step away from watching her world flourish.

Calypso was one of the few things he hated. She was everything Techno was against. His fingers flexed for the grip of his axe, but he held off, even as her buttered words coaxed the others into a false sense of security.

The gate into the throne room opened, and the royals and their guards stood in an… arena, of all things. The sand was smoothed down, the glass dome chained up from the inside, following the panels of glass and casting an odd shadow on the pale dunes.

Before she had the chance to step in and show more, guards came in from the side, words hushed and quick. Techno saw Schlatt’s ears strain too.

“The subject has escaped.”

Her cheery smile faltered with a sigh. Calypso nodded and considered the sand beneath her feet. “Okay. Stay here, with me.”

Confusion rang throughout the hall as she stepped into the arena, her wide grin back on her face as she gestured around.

“Palisade. We have training sessions here in the throne room. My guards are good, but nothing compared to fire mages and blood gods.”

“Shouldn’t you go see what escaped?” Sapnap narrowed his eyes, hand on a sword. He was fully decked out in glistening armor with the country’s pendant on his chest—white bandana holding his black hair out of his face.

“No.” She answered smoothly, though her next words aired with warning as she continued forwards, feathers ruffling. “The Subject will return.”

Half a cup of ale was not enough to do shit to a magically empowered teenager that had grown a tolerance, thanks to the wither effect he endured in his past. He felt really calm, though, which was good. The Best case scenario—never return to the castle wasted. That was a death sentence.

Or at least he was calm. Until he noticed an influx in armor, in red tinted helmets, in guards with red eyes looking across crowds and peering into alleyways, all headed towards the castle behind him.

She knows.

Calypso found out he left. 

The more he walked towards the outer rim, the more he noticed. Each step was another bone broken, another memory brought back from the recesses of his mind. He wanted to go home, say hi to Sam again, even catch a word with that Puffy lady. But the guards were headed to the Palisade… if he got in now, he’d be safe.

But then she’d open the door, give him a sympathetic look, and ruin his day of being a normal, non-traumatized teenager.

So he started running.

If he spoke, if he hid, if he returned—no matter what he did, he was fucked. He didn’t want to go through that again- he couldn’t, he just- the pain, and the visions of the past, the feeling of metal on his wrists and the burns and-

Tommy crashed into someone, attempting to carry his weight and momentum to continue forwards, but whoever it was tightened their grip on his arms and held him there. So he struggled, pulling his arms back and biting back curses. Don’t speak Don’t speak Don't speak

“Tommy?”

His breath caught in his throat, chin tilted up to see into the dark eyes of a- of Wilbur. Wilbur Soot, face healed, sweat along his raised brows, the white streak in his hair framing his round glasses. Trench coat on his shoulder, a dark blue shawl across his body, giving him that homeless vibe he always shot for. Classic. Wilbur Soot. 

Tommy had to be hallucinating.

As if sensing his panic, Wilbur glanced around, a net determination in his eye. He pulled the teen with him between buildings, deeper in the cool recesses covered in stone and litter, a few rats scampered away at the end.

“Tommy.” He repeated, lowering himself to be face-to-face with the dazed necromancer. There was another moment as the two stared at each other, taking in what changed and what didn’t (Wilbur looked even worse than before). Then, Wilbur ran his hand under the other’s hood and pulled it down, unleashing wild golden hair and wide sky-blue eyes brimmed with tears. He cupped Tommy’s face in his hands and frowned heavily.

“Did they hurt you?”

This. This is what he missed. What he needed for decades. Four words, and someone to hold him and ground him in reality. The tears that had built up finally spilled, swept away by a calloused thumb.

His brother’s stern glare softened, and he pulled him in for a hug instead. Tommy gladly held on and cried, drinking in his natural gunpowder-cigarette scent between hiccups. He still tried to stay quiet, making as little noise as possible.

“You’re okay now.” Wilbur said, though Tommy heard it as a lie. “Deep breaths big man, tell me what happened.”

If he spoke, she’d find him. With Wilbur. She’d- she’d kill him, surely? His ears started to ring, muting out the commotion of the nation, only the steady heartbeat and slow breaths from Wilbur could break through.

He could fall asleep, he realized. Tommy could pass out in Wilbur’s arms and let him deal with it—let the adults handle the rest of the day. He could leave with Wilbur right then, and never return, never see anyone else. Just two brothers, not bound in blood… technically. They could leave. He could be safe.

Wilbur had repeated his name several times, and even went as far as guiding Tommy to sit before he was snapped out of his trance, a hand messing with his hair and a worried look on his face.

“Tommy? Hey, Tommy.” 

He pulled back and scrubbed at his face. 

“Tommy? Please, say something.”

A lump grew in his throat. Tommy shook his head and bit back another sob.

“Did… can you talk?”

He nodded and eyed him.

“You just don’t want to.” Wilbur guessed, searching Tommy’s expression. The teen nodded again.

Wilbur let the ambience of the evening city take hold, glancing to the cobbled walls. They sat there for a bit, Tommy calming down eventually and repeatedly wondering if he had dreamt this up, pinching himself under the cloak until he felt his skin break and something wet on his fingers. He winced at the sting. 

“Stop that.” Wilbur grabbed Tommy’s arm, startling him. 

He ripped his arm away and crossed them, glaring daggers at the man. Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Sor-ry if I don’t want you to tear yourself apart. Why’d you even do that? Don't think I didn’t notice, I’ve been hanging around Tubbo and Ranboo long enough to notice these things.”

Even if he wanted to talk, the words on his tongue died. He glared at the floor and squared his shoulders. This sucked.

“I get it.” He continued somberly. “The whole tough guy act, the ‘I don’t need your help’ thing. I did it with you. But… this isn’t that.”

How do you know that? He wanted to hiss, but instead he studied a placid, thoughtful Wilbur.

“I don’t know what weird spell she put on you, or why you refuse to speak?” But something spooked you. And I get it. It’s been a while since you’ve seen me. But it’s nothing to pinch yourself over.” He met Tommy’s gaze, hand held out. An offering. “I'm here. I'm real. I promise.”

Tommy’s attention fell to his hand. He studied the creases between his fingers, the bandages that covered some of them and wrapped around his palm, still, even if it was just for that whole homeless look. He set his jaw and took his hand out of his cloak.

Black, clawed, cracked and plated unnaturally like some obsidian monster. He sucked in a breath and rested it against Wilbur’s, savoring the fabric and rough skin. And the life energies that flowed through him. And the gentle tingles of a snapped thread that once boasted about their brotherly bond. Tommy’s throat tightened as he considered that.

This could be over.

No more gods, just him and Wilbur—he was safe now. He was okay. Tommy could go home- the real home, in the middle of the forest surrounded by the graves of his creations and a half-dead forest. 

This wasn’t a dream. Wilbur was really here, and he was just as scared as Tommy for a billion different reasons—most of them being concerned. Mainly of the pale complexion Tommy had, the panic in his eyes, the rings under them, how shaky his breath and hands were, what else that bulky cloak hid from Wilbur.

“Better?” 

A group of golden clad guards passed by the entrance, speaking in low tones as they moved. The citizens cheered for their heroes, clapped and spoke fondly, loud, as the busy streets parted for them. Tommy shuffled closer.

“Are they looking for you?” Wilbur reached for his belt, specifically the hilt of a somewhat hidden blade.

Tommy nodded, his eyes stung. He wasn’t free yet. 

“Hey.” The corpse grabbed his shoulders and stared face to face again, bringing Tommy out of another spiral. “You’re okay with me, yeah? We’ll just take a break here, and once they pass we can get you out of here, okay?”

Tommy hugged him again, but this time pressed his face into the crook of his neck and opened his mouth. 

“I killed Phil.”

His voice hurt, maybe from him choking back tears or the still burning sensation of booze. Fingers ruffled his hair.

“I know, but you can save him.”

“Maybe.” Tommy continued to whisper. “If I keep speaking, she’ll find me.”

His grip on the teen tightened. “Okay, good to know. Stay quiet then, idiot.”

He chuckled and nodded, practically melting into the ashy scented dead man. 

Wilbur held a green gem in his hands and pressed on it.

“I’ll make sure to gather some chairs and tables for the occasion, if you want to stay here in the open.” She gestured everywhere, specifically up at the glass panels and chains that lit up the whole place. “I might need to deal with an issue or two, but don’t fret. Guards are arriving to-“

Schlatt’s brooch, Techno’s earring, George’s ring and something on Sapnap’s wrist: the emeralds blinked rhythmically, silent, but annoying in the corner of the goddess’ eye. Calypso glared at them as they stared at the gems, either trying to get it to stop or out of amazement.

“What’s that for?”

Schlatt kept his mouth shut, brow falling in deep thought and concentration. George clasped his hands instead.

“You see it's uh, a reminder. To remind everyone that we’re all… um.”

“Alive.” Techno finished, snout wrinkled up as the goddess studied him next. “We have a track record of deaths, and the kids, well, you know.”

A pause. “Do I?”

“Scared of death. Worried that their friends and family will perish just the same. You know.”

“I do.” She nodded, skepticism wiped clean. “Still. They should be back any second now, if all they got was a meal.”

Ranboo and Tubbo stared at their bracelets, jaws dropped and a spark in their eyes.

“Someone found him.”

They grinned, and Tubbo snatched Ranboo’s hand off to drag him towards the castle. “Come on! Let's go reconvene.”

With a new pep in their step, they ran through the streets, an evening breeze filling their lungs with air and the excitement bringing them energy in their sprint. Hand in hand, they ran, the enderman hybrid offered a slower gait to not overtake the smaller one, but it was still quick. 

They were going to save Tommy.

Guards lined every entrance and exit at the castle, more than they remembered. Still, they hopped up the steps to Karl, Dream, Quackity and their son. The piglin had some crumbs on his face, but was otherwise just as energized as his dads. Ranboo scooped him up and cradled him, a silent buzz in the air. Their eyes alight with determination. They were going to win.

The group was led in, through a maze it seemed. An army lay within, holding crossbows, swords, and swords, all standing vigil by every hallway and door. The massive door into the arena opened up.

The smiles on the husband’s faces dropped at the familiar sight of sand, tall sides, metal gates, and what seemed to be growing crowds between the high walls and glass dome above.

“Sorry, we’re late.” Dream started smoothly, already at a beaming George’s side. “Ran into some trouble.”

“The food here is great!” Karl nodded, arm hooked around Sapnap, who rolled his eyes.

“Where’s Wilbur?” Techno drawled, glancing back to two frozen hybrids. 

The gate behind them shut with a bang and locked with a few mechanical whirs. Ranboo and Tubbo turned around and looked up at it, breath stolen from them.

Schlatt’s ears widened in alarm as his son started mumbling nonsense and running his hands across the door. “Son? Ranboo?”

Calypso’s laughter echoed, and the group turned on her instead. She cackled—arms on her knees, hair over her face, shoulders jerking—and tried to regain her composure. With much effort, she managed to stand up and grin at them, wings flared and feathers stretched to grab the air.

“This is great.” Wilbur started, leading a cloaked teen through a plaza. “I can say whatever I want, hold your hand for whatever long I want, and you can’t say shit about it.” He grinned evilly.

Tommy rolled his eyes under the hood, a hidden smile teased his face. He probably would be complaining, mocking Wilbur’s sense of style or how dramatic his hair flips were, but he didn’t mind this. He was saved, he could see his friends soon. His grip on his hand tightened.

“This will be great. We can sit on the sofa, drink tea again… tell stories, learn new things. I’m excited to go back. Are you?”

The necromancer shrugged. He wondered what state his home was in, or how Ranboo and Tubbo were doing. Techno and Michael too. A pain spread through his chest.

“Schlatt’s also pretty cool, though I don’t think you two have spoken much. Oh! And Quackity. You met Quackity, right?”

Tommy’s mind wandered off as they reached a quiet part of town, the sky dulling to orange hues in the late day. He could feel something shifting, like the sand under his boot, trying to lead him towards the looming castle. It wasn’t a normal feeling—it felt alluring, like a certain goddess’ magic.

“Here we are.” Wilbur tugged Tommy to his side, and the two stared across the platform where the blimp used to be. “It comes around twice a day. The plan is for everyone else to go in and help stall until it comes back, and we’d all be on our merry way. All we need to do is wait-“

Amidst a flurry of red feathers, shouts and chains rattling, someone pressed on their earring.

A flash of green caught Tommy’s eye as something flickered in Wilbur’s pocket. He let go of his hand and snagged it for himself. A rush of enchanted magic swirled within it, making his talons itch.

Wilbur, offended, sneered. “Hey! That’s mine, prick-“

Tommy turned away from him and squinted at the flashing gemstone, keeping it from Wilbur as he tried to grab it.

“Tommy this isn’t funny-“

He held it up and moved it around him, seeing if it was what he thought it was. Sure enough, when he pointed it at the castle, its flashes were quick and even brighter than before.

The two paled at the realization. 

Something wanted them to go there, and it seemed they didn’t have a chance. The energy that lured the teen in gripped him and pulled, begging him to give in.

He set his jaw, grabbed Wilbur’s hand again, and shot towards bronze spires.

Metal gates groaned with effort, chains rattling along their sides to lift them. Guards above held swords and bows, but seemed relaxed and a few even started to cheer. Behind the creaking metal, something snarled—three doors, at least three things to kill. 

All while Calypso flapped into the air and landed safely on the edge, over another gate, wings draped around her form and spilled down the stone of the arena. She grinned wickedly as she stood.

“You think I’m stupid? Like this was convenient that we’d discuss peace after I practically stole the kid?” She sneered. They backed up to the large sealed door as a puff of sand billowed from an opening hallway.

“Honestly, I didn’t even need him. This has to be the easiest way to conquer an entire continent.”

Schlatt turned on his heels to help his son pry the door open, only to see the two teens stare. They had paled, pressed against each other and stared off into space—yet also fought to come back to the real world and do something. Michael cowered in the enderman’s arms, snout tucked under his chin. Even his shaking body couldn’t deter Ranboo’s disassociated state.

Schlatt’s jaw clenched with his fists, a burning glare sent to the woman who cackled above. “Bitch! Let us go. There’s a kid-“

“The little one?” She tilted her head, vibrant hair slipping off her shoulder. “Don’t care all that much. Let's just hope he gets a painless death, yeah?”

“You’re actually a monster.” George spat, backed up with Karl and Quackity, both immediately trying to pull at the door. Sapnap’s hands sizzled, in front of his king and fiancé’s, baking in the heat of his own anger. Schlatt felt how he looked.

“No, actually.” She mused, gesturing a hand below her. “These are monsters.”

Five heads pushed through the opening, each muzzle clamped shut with a metal band. Jade colored eyes blinked and dilated in the bright evening light. Greenish plated scales shimmered and rippled with each step forward. One of them hissed, tongue flicking out to taste the air.

Technoblade wasted no time running forward, axe in hand, gliding across the sand. The beast’s heads rose up in a pose to strike, chest burning a vibrant blue until it crawled up one of their necks and started to leak through clamped jaws. Steam rose from its nose, and water dribbled down its maw as the piglin dashed.

Another gate, a snake like beast slid out, a cobra like frill dined with spines widened at the sides of its head, mouth open to brandish several rows of wickedly sharp teeth—including two fangs longer than Ranboo’s arm. It slithered and snarled, the gate behind it fell shut with a sickening bang. 

“I got this.” Dream gripped his sword and glanced back at the group. “Get that fucking door open.”

Sapnap hesitated, then nodded and backed up to help the group. He shooed his fiancé’s and Schlatt away and tried using his fire magic, burning a handprint in the wood but otherwise doing nothing. He kicked it angrily, another noise added to the commotion.

Tubbo’s ears didn’t even flick to register the sound, eyes on the third gate that closed, but had nothing in front of it. No huge desert creature, no soldier, no reincarnated corpses to put back in the dirt. His grip on Ranboo’s hand tightened, breath coming in uneasy paces. Likewise, his husband’s tail strangled his leg, and claws threatened to dig into his hand from the grip he had, the other hand crawling their son. Wide eyes with pupils the size of needles stared at the same spot, and Schlatt wondered if the hybrid was breathing at all.

They were back where they started. A billion memories, all bad, came back to them full force, some they trained themselves to forget and others they never could. The sand felt like it would give away at any moment, the chaos melded together into a stream of sound. Black spots sprouted in Tubbo’s gaze. Luckily, he wasn’t alone.

“Hey! Tubbo.” Someone grabbed his other arm. 

“This ain’t the time to reminisce over traumatic experiences, Ranboo!” Someone yelled, the enderman in question tilting his head to watch Technoblade hold back the paw of a hydra. His sword slipped the same time he rolled away, the beast tearing and roaring in pain from a fresh cut, five heads preparing a whole new flurry of attacks.

Ranboo took a deep breath. “Right.” He nodded sternly, “Right. Open the door.” 

The basilisk lunged for Dream, slamming its head into the wall instead. He brought his sword down on its neck and wedged it between scales, a sickening screech of pain coming from its throat. 

“Tubbo?” Schlatt tried again, standing in front of his son and shaking his shoulders. Ranboo looked down at him too, tail unraveling and grip on his hand loosening.

“There’s another one.” The teen said, barely coherent. Schlatt’s brows furrowed, gaze sweeping the dunes. 

If anyone had experience in a situation like this, it would be them, Ranboo thought. They might not be able to kill one of those things, but Ranboo knew he could stall long enough for someone to open the door. Michael nestled deeper into his chest with a whine.

His ears fell and he glanced down to Tubbo. By the way his stare hardened, his lips pursed and his free hand reached for a knife on his belt. Ranboo figured he had the same idea. He let out a shaky breath and turned to a searching Schlatt. 

“Take Michael. Open the door.”

“What?” He spat, clumsily taking the crying toddler. “But-“

“Don’t worry.” The two-toned hybrid forced himself to smile. “I won’t let anything happen to Tubbo.”

“Fuck off.” They glanced down to see Tubbo grin, light-hearted and murderous all at once. He puffed out his chest and started forward, holding himself like a general. Ranboo followed, adjusting his tie and flexing claws wicked enough to rival one of the reptiles the others fought.

Below them, sand shifted. It grew dense and relaxed right under their feet, both pairs of ears flicking around to pick up on any odd sound out of the rumble. They started to speak, low and stern, hard to detect even to Schlatt. The President backed up to the struggling group and soothed Michael the best he could, considering he had no experience doing so. 

The floor gave away into a sinkhole, the two teens scrambling back and brandishing their weapons as something sprung out, a heavily armored mole-like reptile with a crest of spikes and a fat tail. It swung a set of sooth-like claws at the two—both diving away to avoid it in different directions—and gnashed wicked teeth. 

The arena filled with shouted orders and pained roars. 

“Tommy-“

The necromancer pushed onward, weaving through an endless maze of corridors and dead ends, empty of the usual guards. If he lost his sense of direction he’d start to cry—tears already stung the back of his eye, he was just one inconvenience away from crumbling.

“Tommy stop.”

He yanked his arm away from the grasping man, cloak easily concealing him once again. Something shook the walls every now and again, sending shivers up his spine and more anxiety in his stomach. He had to find a way in- one that wasn’t guarded like the front gate.

“Fucking Christ, Tommy!” Wilbur groaned. “Just stop! Let me talk!”

Tommy paused in the hallway, rocking back on his heels and forward again, chipping away at his nails. He half-turned, giving him some form of permission. The corpse sighed and held his brother’s shoulders, face tense but empathetic.

“Tommy. We can’t go in there. I can’t fight for shit and besides, they have Technoblade. We need to wait, we need to be ready to run. Please, don’t make this all for nothing.”

Tommy searched his face, maybe for a reason why he should follow and trust him. I’m the end, he rested his hand on Wilbur’s and pushed him off—gently.

“I can’t let anyone die because of me.” He whispered, his head shaking just enough for Wilbur to notice. “Not again.”

Laughter echoed around the chamber. Cheers and roars too, but the laughter was the most sickening to endure. It layered on the last echo, a side effect of it being the loudest noise in the room at all times, somehow.

The basilisk charged, skidding over Dream before he could get back up. Sapnap pushed angrily at the immovable door and raised two smoking hands, the temperature in the pit rising steadily. He fired at its frill and kept it from advancing further until the snake was nothing but a lump of charred scales and twitching muscle. 

The duo took turns hopping around the drake, blades in hand and dust clouds rising from the chaos. It roared in anger and dug under the sand, only to pup up under Tubbo and gnash its maw. He balanced on its nose, other leg up to avoid getting eaten. A flash of panic crossed his face, the knife held tight as he slipped.

Ranboo’s eyes contracted into thin lines, adrenaline and magic surging through his veins—violet particles wrapped tight around him in ribbons until, with a vuoop, he vanished. 

Mid-air, on the face of a horrible desert creature, Ranboo reappeared with his arms wrapped around Tubbo. To stop their fall, he dug his knife into the soft flesh of its face. It screamed as they landed against its open jaws, getting a front row seat to the rows of serrated teeth that could easily tear through them.

“Ranboo…” Tubbo huffed breathlessly, eyes narrowed at the teen that managed to wrap himself around him. “Get us the fuck away.”

Ranboo smiled, burying his face in his husband’s shoulder as purple magic wrapped around them both. Before the beast could throw them off, or tilt its head, so they dangled into its mouth, or start digging again, they teleported away.

“Jesus Christ!” Schlatt spat, making the two jump and look up. They were back by the door, a magical red twinkle along the metal engravings. He shifted his foot away, so they wouldn’t lay on it.

“Is it dead?”

Sapnap’s eyes blazed orange, stepping over to where the drake thrashed and tugged at the knife in its muzzle. “It will be.”

Amused by the low anger in his voice, the two scrambled up and followed him, much to Schlatt’s concern. Still, he remained with the group and bounced an upset Michael in his arms.

With three on one, it was much easier. Dream and Techno faced off against the hydra, making it more of a five versus two, but they were experienced warriors. Able to back up and run forwards at clean intervals, doing anything to land a hit or keep it from attacking the others. It had yet to spit out whatever it brewed in its chest, but by the steam that rose from their scales and noses, Techno had a guess what and when it would blow.

By the time the other creature fell to the sand in a heap of burned flesh, the only light that remained in the arena was orange. It reflected off the glass dome and coated the dunes in a pattern of rainbows and light, though it darkened with each second. As the other three returned to the group to get everyone working on opening the door, a whip-thin tail came around like a bat and sent the two flying.

It roared in victory, the whole group pausing to help the two to their feet. Dream’s mask was ajar, though quickly corrected between coughs, one of his legs bled and he held his arm in an odd way. Technoblade struggled to stand, breathing heavily, and grabbed at his chest in agony. Their time to recoup was short, however, seeing as five pairs of glittering gemstone-colored eyes glared at them from the upturned dust and darkening world. It approached steadily, the blue glow in its chest brighter than ever, trailing up each throat as steam, bubbles and water dripped onto the sand. Each paw pushed the sand up, claws leaving indents.

Karl kicked at the door, then pushed off. It didn’t even rattle. They were stuck in the arena, a deranged goddess and her guards watching from the stands, a five-headed creature taking slow, taunting steps towards them. They stood in a line, brandishing axes, swords and magic. Schlatt, backed up against the wood and metal gate, whispered comforting words into the zombified piglin’s ear.

Calypso grinned, lounging on a throne studded with geodes. She waved a hand—a signal—and all five heads rose. The cuffs that kept it’s mouths closed fell to the floor, letting their jaws stretch and drip with boiling water.

“Stop!”

Everything paused. The daylight cycle, their breath—even Michael’s quiet sobs stopped. Heads swiveled to stare at an open gate at the other end of the arena, between the monster and the captives.

There he stood, golden hair bathed in a setting sun and tempered glass rays, cloak covering his entire body as he lowered his arms, making him look much larger than he was. A fire sparked into his eyes, not anger, but something else.

And behind him, Wilbur, but mouth agape and eyes wide, staring out across the disturbed dunes and charred corpses. He regained his composure quickly and stood with his brother, sharing the same look of determination.

Without missing a beat, the beast rose up on its hind legs, the glow in its chest lighting the entire arena. It opened each mouth and aimed down at the group. Panic returned. Someone screamed.

The earth cracked beneath their feet. Sand fell into small gaps under them, and they all scattered to the sides to refrain from getting blasted, but nothing happened.

Nothing stung their heels, nothing splashed across the sand—no, instead, the sand flexed, shot up in a spike, and hit the hydra in one of its faces.

It stumbled back and rubbed the head’s snout, coughing on its own boiling liquids. Not defeated, just disabled. And everyone stared in awe at the jutting bit of rock and sand, jaws dropped and eyes following the web of cracks to the door at the other end. To an outstretched hand, blackened claws clutched at nothing, runes and bits of brown circling him. They stared at the teen, who blinked the color from his eyes and stared at his hands in awe. 

He grinned, pivoting to glare up at the goddess—who seemed to be in a similar state of surprise, her usual smile wiped clean. Tommy couldn’t get a word in, however, as the creature turned on him and aimed.

Jets of steam and boiling water shot out of their mouths, the two brits jumping away and running across the dunes to avoid it. The blonde pushed Wilbur towards the group by taking his sword.

“Get the door open.”

“What about-“

“Look.” He tossed his head back towards where they came, the gate had closed, and mist covered the ground from the heat.

Wilbur bit the inside of his cheek and nodded sternly. He veered away and joined the others as they scrambled back to open the door.

“How’s he doin?” Techno asked all too casually.

“Uh…” he glanced back, Tommy skidding to a halt and darting towards the hissing reptile. “Good?”

Quackity rolled his eyes. “I knew this was a bad idea. George?”

“Shut the fuck up, all of you.” The King spat, pushing at the door. 

A sharp cry of pain, the monster stumbled back and rubbed its eyes, sand kicked up in all directions, coating the area in dust.

“I think it’s sealed.” Sapnap huffed, holding Karl’s hand. 

Tubbo deadpanned. “No shit.”

“How do we break it?” 

Something slammed into the wall, and to their surprise, it wasn’t Tommy. The beast shook their heads clear of a concussion, a figure in the dust leaping from its legs as fast as they could. It turned around and aimed all heads at him, maws open and sizzling with a blue light.

Tommy slid to a stop and gripped the sword, cloak rested firmly on his shoulders. He bared his teeth and twirled the sword in his clawed hand, an array of colors shooting through his veins.

“We can’t hurt it physically, or open it with any kind of force… we have to break the spell.” Sapnap frowned, his other hand resting on a huffing Quackity. The shorter man leaned into him for a short break.

Techno glared across the guards, no longer cheering, until he saw a flurry of red on the throne. The queen watched the fight unravel, elbows on her knees, hands cupped around her mouth, staring with great intensity. Red magic coated her fingers, her eyes, her wings—everything was red. Techno stared at the door, a realization hitting him.

“Uh oh.”

Tommy sprang towards the oncoming animal, the energy in the earth surging through him in bursts. In sand and rock spires that shot out and tried to impale the creature, in explosions of anger that frazzled his nerves and heated his hands up. He jumped, a platform boosting him into the air, and he swung his sword.

“We have to kill her, don’t we?” The piglin frowned, staring at his companions. They stared back, then followed his previous gaze up to her. Ranboo physically cringed.

Jaws snapped at him as he grabbed onto one of their horns and swung around. One clamped onto his upper arm right as he drove his sword through the back of its skull. When he pulled it out he was thrown towards the ground.

The air around him tightened, coiled around his body and slowed him considerably before he hit the ground. He winced at the pain in his arm and stood up, one of the heads on the creature fell limp, the others in utter panic.

Calypso watched on in amazement as he bent the elements to his will. Bands of runes and glyphs wrapped around him, from his wrists to his arms to his torso and above his head like a God’s crown. As he ran he left a trail of dust and sparks, until fire coated his blade, and he slid on his back, the momentum carrying him under the creature and earning him the perfect place to strike.

He, however, didn’t expect its underbelly to be so tough. He tried to dig his sword in, only burning the poor thing.

A paw rose up to step on him, and he rolled over, letting it step in fire and scream in pain.

An idea popped into his head.

With every ounce of heat he could muster, he curled up in a ball and warmed the area around him, mostly under the hydra, effectively setting it on fire. It reared, and he fled the scene, but only to find a better way to kill it.

Enraged, the beast lunged at him, and the ground below him cracked. As the pillar rose, the hydra slammed into a wall of rock.

Tommy adjusted his grip on his sword and jumped down from the spire with the blade pointed down.

Silence filled the arena. The pillar crumbled to bits and collapsed around a dead hydra, sending dust every way and choking out the fire. On top of it, a necromancer—a teen, a brother, a friend—stood, sword coated in blood and chest heaving as the last bits of sunlight vanished from the sky, and the moon took its place.

As the dust settled, someone clapped. Slow, echoing, coming from the stands—from the throne, from a blur of red. She grinned.

Chapter Text

Magic was a funny thing.

It was odd. Random. Not quite abiding by genetics or any natural law. People could create elements out of thin air, and with some training, bend it to their will and cast actual spells to aid their homeland. It was a relatively new discovery, a poorly kept secret. How it came to be was a mystery.

Technoblade was told that the gods granted them as gifts a millennium ago, only to take it away when the people started to misuse it. Somehow, it spread between a select few bloodlines and naturally vanished for a few generations. He was born around the time magic returned to the world. Around the same time dragons went extinct.

That sort of magic was considered natural, though. Able to shake the earth with a spell, or light a candle with your fingertips, or change the tides through meditation. That’s why necromancy was considered wrong, it didn’t abide by the natural cycle of things. For once, he agreed that not all magic was good. Case and point: The red swirls that surrounded Calypso, screaming of agony and terror as she grinned.

Then again, what were mortals to say such things? He and Phil were breakers of those laws, told by their gods to do jobs and bring balance through any means necessary—and with the disappearance of the otherworldly beings, Techno didn’t abide by their rules either.

The blood god was not one to be trifled with.

But he’d take that God’s wrath over this God’s magic anyday.

“You thought you did something.” She put her hands in front of her, stripes of red flashing through her veins. “You’re too much of a wildcard, Tommy. Besides, they’re not going to kill you.”

Tommy moved to shout obscenities at her, but choked on his own words. He collapsed on the back of the hydra, coughing, red ribbon-like magic circling around his limbs and throat from within a cloud of dust.

When Technoblade looked back up at her, her hand was held out, gripping the air with wicked talons, the magic lighting her eyes. 

“It will be their downfall.”

Tommy used his sword to rise back up. As the dust settled in the new night, shrouding his form, not much could be seen besides his head. The fire along the edges of the arena lit up the mist, and it spread up a pillar and illuminated the place in orange. He turned towards the group, eyes set ablaze with the same crimson that circled the goddess.

“It’s a shame, I was starting to enjoy your company. And, I know you won’t kill him. You need him almost as much as I do.” She stated matter of fact, her head tilted to give the shuffling group a smug look. “But he will definitely kill you. So… enjoy your final moments together.” 

The teen plucked the sword out of the scaled beast and hopped down, cloak draped across him. He scraped the sword on the sand as he went, face void of all emotion.

The group stepped back. Technoblade narrowed his eyes and watched, taking note at how even Sapnap kept himself between the teen and his friends, at how the mage dug his heels in to stay grounded. Schlatt met the blood God’s eyes, a silent agreement passing between them. The hybrid grabbed his son’s arm and pulled the dazed duo back—the two transfixed on their best friend… who did not stop or spare them a glance.

Laughter echoed through the arena as the queen sat back down and rested her head on a red and black hand. 

“Good luck.”

Tommy kicked forward, sword at his side. Headed straight to Sapnap. The man’s hands burned brilliantly, only for someone else to jump in front of him and cast them a look.

“Get that fucking door open.”

Technoblade was the one to meet Tommy halfway, tearing his attention away and blocking a swing with his axe. Metal met metal with a clang, blades bouncing off each other. Tommy swung again, Techno leapt back and parried his axe for the next strike. 

He never once looked away from those glowing eyes. Red was not a good look on him. Their weapons hissed as the teen scraped them together, almost savoring the sound. Tommy moved with ease, though oddly enough didn’t use his newfound magic.

It hit Techno that his- that Tommy was being mind controlled again. This time, for good, not like before. Not like that night, when he was just about ready to burst into tears. This was the same Tommy who killed Philza.

Why was it so difficult to fight back? Techno moved to the side, Tommy drawn away from the others and the fire. Each attack was a death sentence, though Tommy- though this version of Tommy took his time with his first victim. The piglin couldn’t find an open spot to-

The thought of hurting him made the voices in his head scream in disapproval.

Usually they’d chant him on, beg him to draw blood, to decapitate his enemy. But… something told him the voices weren’t the only ones on the sidelines wanting him to spare Tommy. No, not the rest of the group who failed to pry the door open. No, not the queen who sat upon her throne and chuckled as Techno stumbled. 

The gods were rooting for him.

Tommy spun, hooked the flat of his sword against the back of Techno’s knee, and swept him off his feet. A second later, his axe was pulled from his hands and left on the ground down feet away.

Fighting someone who wasn’t in control of themselves—someone you loved like a brother, someone you swore your life to—was the worst feeling to ever exist, Techno decided, catching his breath from the impact. 

Red eyes glowed in the growing mixture of mist, smoke and dust, stepping over Techno. The Necromancer—now detailed in the same hue as his eyes, the color burning through his clothes—flipped the sword in his hand and rose it above his head, the tip glinting in the firelight, in the muted moonlight behind him.

He could almost hear the disappointment ring through the universe, a deathly silence filled his mind. Techno failed one form or another, either by letting Tommy win or killing his brother. By allowing the massacre of a family found by a misunderstanding and the death of an Angel. Or, by silencing the sun, by squashing the golden rays of hope and union that so many people grew to adore. There was no other option.  

If he let Tommy live, they lose more than just their lives. Tommy could single handedly take on a mythical creature with five heads using magic that didn’t even belong to him—what would he do under the influence of the god of fear? A goddess that basked in other people’s pain? That tricked him into this life in the first place?

He had to end this. He had to fight back and save the world, even if it meant killing his little brother.

Techno brought his foot up and kicked him square in the chest, and the kid staggered back, a flash of pain finally crossing his face. He felt a pang of shame. At the same time, the goddess grunted and clenched her fist.

It did not go unnoticed.

Techno’s eyes widened. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed his axe, twisting it in his grip and readying himself. Maybe he didn’t need to kill him. There was a small chance, a gamble of life or death, a coin flip. His odds were low. But… it was better than either alternative.

Maybe the gods placed their trust on the right man.

Taking the mind controlled teen’s moment of weakness in stride, he held up his axe like a baseball bat and swung—and no, he’d never admit to squeezing his eyes shut before the blade made contact with flesh—and felt his momentum stop after a snap.

Someone screamed, and it wasn’t Tommy.

When he opened his eyes again, two soft blue eyes stared back, mouth open but silent, confused and no longer in a trance. Heads swiveled up to the throne, where the glowing had doubled in intensity. The queen had a similar red strike across her side, visible as she writhed, flared her wings and screamed.

A second later, the door filled with a delicate web of magic, the lock symbol on its center snapped, and the doors easily opened from a draft. The group wasted no time to leave.

“I’m sorry.” Techno muttered, catching Tommy as he fell, the teen gasping for breath. 

“Techno!” Wilbur barked as guards dropped from the sides of the arena and readied their weapons.

The piglin held him in his arms and ran.

“Plan B, Plan B!”

“No shit!”

“This way!”

They burst out of the castle and flew down the steps into the city, towards their second option. Horses, prepaid and ready. An easy exit… if they were fast enough. The air balloon they rode in on had long since left.

Ranboo made it there first, sliding to a stop and helping Tubbo onto their steed, but he didn’t get on just yet. The royals appeared next, Sapnap, Quackity and Karl on one, an incapacitated Dream and calm George on another. Schlatt held Michael up to the enderman, who handed the crying toddler to his husband, but still, they waited. Schlatt got on the last horse.

Wilbur and Techno came last, guards flooding out the palace, crossbows and swords at the ready.

“There’s not enough-“

“There’s always enough room.” Wilbur spat, grabbing the goat hybrid’s outstretched hand and pulling himself up. “Techno?”

“Four people can’t fit on that thing.” He huffed, the horses heads swung up in alarm at all the hollering as the guards approached.

“I can hold him.” Wilbur decided. “Is he okay?”

Techno gestured with a hand, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. “Of course, Wilbur, I only-“

“Times up.” Schlatt reached down and grabbed Tommy’s arm, Wilbur following shortly. The struggle was real, but they eventually nestled the unconscious teen between them and shot off without warning.

Hooves hit the stone in frantic clacks, cool desert air streamed past them. It had been a while since Techno had been on a horse, the power in each stride able to overpower any well-armed guard. Arrows whizzed down from the tall buildings and walls that made the maze’s skyline. Tubbo weaved between crowds and buildings, easily able to keep pace and agility with the other horses ahead. Karl’s wand buzzed with magic, and something shot out and caused an arc to crumble before the incoming Calvary.

“We have to split up.” Ranboo hissed into Tubbo’s ear, one arm around the smaller teen and the other cradling their son to his chest. Tubbo nodded and pulled on the reins, turning down a different street.

Schlatt had the same idea, far ahead of the others. The horse slid to a halt and whinnied, spun on its heels, and tore off down an intersection. Wilbur didn’t have the energy to complain.

A staircase lay ahead.

“Schlatt-“

“I’m not going to jump it.”

“Don’t ju- what?”

He couldn’t hold back a grin. Not every horse knew how to do these sorts of things, but these were not your daily cattle horses. He knew that the second he hopped on. Besides, who even owned a ranch out in the middle of the fucking desert?

It took those stairs as easily as any human, trotting down until the final step, when it galloped away past the market stalls and nighttime dwellers. They turned the corner-

A guard tower sat in the way, men racing out with spears and shields the horse reared, and Wilbur screamed.

The top of the tower burst into flames with a bang. The two twisted to see Technoblade sitting up with a crossbow, another flame-tipped crossbow loaded in.

“Go!” Tubbo hollered, and they galloped onward.

Wilbur tried to yell over the wind. “How did-“

“Duck!” Techno roared and aimed past Wilbur’s head, firing another arrow. Something blew up right after.

“Up there.” George appeared next to them, knuckles white around the reigns. When did the road grow so wide? Technoblade looked up at the main gate. Closed now, with an army along its wall, aiming weapons of all kinds, a few magicians readying their magic.

It was a dead end. 

“Sapnap, Karl!” Techno snapped, the two giving him a look. “Aim for the opening mechanisms and hinges.”

Sapnap grinned, a fire alight in his eyes. Karl whispered something into Quackity’s ear, and with a twisted frown of concern, kicked the horse ahead of the others.

“This is great.” George stated flatly.

“Keep going.”

Schlatt scoffed and sat up straight. “You’re fucking insane.”  

“Barrel!” Tubbo pointed excitedly up on the wall. Sure enough, there was a pile of them.

Ranboo’s tail wagged. “Since when did you like explosions?”

Quackity’s horse did a circle around the entrance plaza, the two magic users firing everything they had at the weak points of the door. One of the mechanisms broke and clattered to the ground with a few ear-shattering clangs. A hinge burned to pieces, revealing the night sky beyond.

“When they don’t kill me, idiot.”

“Watch out.” Techno sat on his knees with the balance of a god, aimed, and fired the fire-tipped arrow.

The explosion was huge, fire and gunpowder sizzling into the night sky. Soldiers tumbled from the wall, a few screaming to get water or fire at the escapees. 

“We need to find a barrel.” Ranboo realized, eyes wide. “And explode the base of the door. Should give us a wide enough gap.”

“Or find another exit?”

Tommy buried his head deeper into Wilbur’s shoulder.

“No shot.”

“Lamp!” Schlatt grinned. “We need a lamp!”

“Go get one.” Techno barked and loaded another arrow, their horses finally slowed as they made it to the gate. Guards started to surround the rest of the roads from the plaza.

“Stand down.” One of them shouted.

“I don’t think so.” George snarled, shifting his weight. Dream leaned against him and held on weakly, drained and beaten.

Techno grabbed a lamp, provided by Wilbur (which was definitely stolen from someone’s inn) and glanced to the teen.

He looked, well, he resembled Phil. Peaceful, hair tousled, bags under his eyes, a bit of blood—both his own and of the monsters—on his face. Wilbur had kept his arm around his hastily bandaged wound the entire time, the horse’s white speckled coat stained red. In the blur of distant fires and screams, he couldn’t see his chest rise and fall.

Technoblade reassessed the plan and unloaded the arrow, throwing it into a crowd of armor, who yelled in confusion. The horses constantly moved, paced, weaving between each other. The blood god stared up at the sky.

The voices were quiet. They had been since the arena. Everything waited with bated breath for his next move. He hated it—he wasn’t the hero, and hell, maybe the universe didn’t give a shit about him. They cared about the chosen one, the necromancer with untapped power, someone who could save the world or end it. The only thing keeping the God's eyes on Techno, was because it was all up to him to save the hero.

He looked up at the top of the gate. It was big, overcompensating for something probably. But it had a flaw, now that most of the hinges and gears were destroyed or heavily damaged. He tested the weight of the lamp in his hands, looked up at the top of the gate, and threw it.

In an arc, the oil lamp twisted mid-air, splashed across the wood, stone, and metal, oil spread across the surfaces and coated in flame. People of the kingdom watched with wide eyes and bated breath, the group of ex captives below holding nothing but anxiety.

With a pop and a groan, the door tipped.

Schlatt sputtered. “Holy shit-“ Wilbur kicked him:

“DRIVE THE DAMN THING YOU USELESS-“

He prodded the horses side, and with a neigh, it raced forward, the other horses following close behind as the door creaked and fell out towards the open dunes of a moon-lit desert.

The castle was quiet without the fiancé’s, without the king and his loyal guard. Without the guests, be it a goddess or immortals, traumatized teens or the President. Without the little goblin running around giggling, capturing the hearts of the employees. The storms had stopped, the smoke from the volcano has lessened enough to feel the sun on your skin. The city was thriving, at least, away from the danger of a deranged queen and mind controlled necromancer. Birds fluttered between trees, singing their taunting tunes and sweet melodies.

Of all the rooms to remain the busiest, who expected the room with the fallen Angel to be the one.

Not that it was full of traffic, but still. Other guest rooms, even the prison cells and barracks had fewer visits. Again, no one really entered the room besides the occasional nurse or Bad, who sat there filled with pity and guilt until it was unbearable.

But someone did. One person. Who crept in the shadows and extended a delicate hand, and held the face of a loved one. A constant presence in the castle

She couldn’t bring him back. Maybe it was a destiny left for someone else, or her abiding by the natural rules of her world, but she could comfort him for a moment. The last time someone meddled in the affairs of mortals, a human turned into a god, and that god lashed out at everyone willing to step forward—that god remained dormant for centuries until recently.

A caw disturbed her thoughts.

She frowned and drew her hand back, giving the raven a curious look. It tilted its head and cawed again. A message.

A warning? No. A temptation to bend the rules.

She evaporated into the world’s shadows, into the mask of night, until she was high enough to transform into something more visible. Wingtips stretched, she followed the raven over the desert. The sun tipped over the edge of the dunes, the world heating steadily. Any other snowy owl with half a brain cell would stop, but she pressed forward, side by side with the raven.

The raven’s tail flicked, and the two glided down towards the earth, towards a watering hole with a few saddled and sweaty horses tied to a dried tree. She didn’t like how close they were to an enemy, but she trusted any raven with her life, especially this one.

The smaller bird landed on another tree, hopping to regain balance. It waited for her to land, and she did, though slightly less graceful. She started to regret coming to the mortal world at all, round yellow eyes giving the bird an odd look.

It bounced along the tree and looked upside-down, under the branch and into a tunnel right below them. Carved out by some ancient beast, left to house anything that could fit inside its massive opening.

There were voices. Human voices. She fluttered down to the side and peered in. 

Her heart sank. It’s them.

The raven cawed above her, and when she looked back up, it was staring her down. Blank faces and animal-like to any mortal, but to her, he was filled with desperation and urgency.

She was more than willing to bend the rules.

The shadows in the cave deepened.

He sent me to you.

A blonde teen laid there, immobile, ghost-white. The color drained out of a nasty stab to his ribs, the bone completely shattered and the lung horribly damaged. An old friend of hers pumped his heart, face stiff and his own wounds causing him great pain. The others pressed him on, a few drifted to sleep, the other young ones watching fearfully.

Her heart stung. She was hidden by shadows, unable to be seen by anyone.

And for good reason. You can’t die yet.

She lowered to kneel, dress draped around the floor around her. The piglin nearly broke, leaning onto the teen’s chest and catching his breath to hide his tears, then continued. The lady swept her hand across the teen’s face.

I would love to meet you, but not yet. Not today, I’m afraid.  I know you can hear me.

Magic trailed down her arm like a snake. This isn’t necromancy. Consider this… me declining your attendance. I’m not reaping your soul, for I am not an Angel of death.

She chuckled as his spirit started to buzz with a mixture of horror and excitement—an odd mix, but that made her grin with intrigue.

I’ll see you soon, Tommy.

Tommy woke up with a gasp, and he barely had time to breathe or regain his senses when he was wrapped in someone’s arms. The black blotches vanished, a vague shadow watching him from the other end of the cave. He could hear his heartbeat again. 

Someone smacked his back. “Don’t scare us like that!”

The shadow stepped away. A bird cawed from the desert outside.

Holy shit.

The stinging in his side didn’t go away.

“I’m sorry.” Techno repeated, holding Tommy’s shoulders and staring at the blonde, eyes definitely not glazed over or anything pfff Tommy must be seeing things-

“Yay.” Dream hissed sarcastically, using his mask as a fan. “He’s awake.”

Wilbur leaned into view. “Is he- hey, Tommy, are you still… is she in your head still?”

“Good point. I swear to the gods, if she-“

His shoulders sagged, and he smiled with a shake of his head. Despite the agony in his body, he launched himself into Wilbur’s arms. The corpse chuckled and pet his hair.

“Great! Now tell us everything.” Quackity leaned on his knees, glaring at the group. 

“Give him a second, maybe?” Tubbo sputtered, moving around too fast for Tommy to focus on. 

“No,” George stood up, crown left on the ground, “we risked our lives for you, and we’re not even out of her kingdom yet. If anything goes wrong, we need to know, now.”

“What exactly?” Ranboo questioned, his tail wrapped around his son, who was fast asleep on his lap.

“What she was planning to do with Tommy. What she can do, what other monsters she has. How many guards, enemies, friends? Anything, really.”

Tommy shuffled his weight and stared at the floor behind Wilbur. It all came rushing back. The room, the magic, the training, him running through the city, terrified of everything around him. The magic beneath his touch, every particle of sand below him shifting to his will. 

Aside from frying his brain and basically torturing him, what else did she do? Why was he so far away again? She was evil- but she… gave him a home, and-

No. He could never forget the fear that built inside him as his feet hit the sand and he, not even in control of his own body, moved towards his friends with the intent to kill. The looks on their faces, the feeling of being burned alive when Techno’s axe chopped his ribs and Calypso’s magic snapped back to her. That was all her doing. And the pain was too much for him, the sting in his ribs and bruise blooming on his chest, along with other scrapes from fighting a fucking hydra. This was her fault. He felt dizzy.

They argued during his disassociated state. Tommy raised his hand and stared at it. The black markings, the ones that finally started to heal, only doubled in coverage—he could feel the cracks and plates on his shoulders, stiff and fluid all at once, as if he was crafted from the finest chunk of obsidian. His hands had changed too, more animal than human, talons curved and sharp. 

Each movement hummed with power. He could sense everything going on under him—the underground water tables draining, the shift of magma, the slightest tremor like a ground-splitting earthquake. Even the air above the cave, the jet streams and cross breezes, he could feel them pull at his fingers, one thought away from being manipulated.

Who knew it took saving your friends to unlock some secret power?

“You don’t have to.” Wilbur stated flatly, now staring at Tommy. He blinked out of his thoughts and returned his hand to the ground, the man’s grip on his shoulders firm. “You’ve just been through hell and back. You need a mental break or… something.”

He paused, then gave the king and his goons a squinted look. His throat hurt, but he tried his best. “What do you even plan on doing? You can’t kill her.”

“We want to be prepared.” Dream grumbled from his spot on the floor, and Tommy realized this was the first time he saw the man’s whole face. Scarred and freckled, blonde hair over sharp green eyes that matched his outfit.

“For what, a war?” Tommy bit back a grin poorly. “Because you won’t win it.”

“Why not?” Sapnap sat back down, all eyes on the necromancer. 

He messed with his hands, tracing the multitude of cracks and scale-like textures. “Because… Well, she has a huge army.”

“We wiped out a sizable portion of them while you were asleep.” Techno boasted.

“And more creatures that she can control. Like the hydra, but… more. I think.” He took a deep breath, brows furrowed. “I think she has a dragon. Or more, I only saw one.”

The cave was only interrupted by the soft knickers from the horses outside. He kept his attention on his hands, feeling the soft paw-like material on his palm. Huh.

“Say that again?” Ranboo sputtered.

“A dragon.” He stared at Ranboo, who’s ears dropped. “And an army, and she’s very powerful with or without those things.”

“We saw.” 

“So… we’re fucked.” 

“She wanted to take over the entire continent in one turn, but she failed…” Karl trailed off.

“And now she’ll take it, even if she has to destroy it to get it.”

Tommy nodded. “Unless you get lucky.”

“I’m starting to think that’s impossible.” Tubbo joked, and the two shared a fond smile.

“Agreed.” He grumbled, lightly pressing on the bandages around his chest, where the axe hit him. When he removed his hand, it was soaked in red, strings of the thick substance spread between his fingers. The teens paled.

“Yeah, this is going to be a rough week.” Techno sighed, guiding Tommy to lay back down. “You might go unconscious, you might bleed an incredible amount, but you can’t die.”

“Surprised he’s even alive… at all.” Dream scoffed.

“Rude.” Wilbur put a hand to his chest.

“And if you think you’re going to die, just… don’t. Or, at least don’t kill Wilbur, or Michael, or uh, Ranboo I guess. Kill the grass or somethin’.”

“Oh yeah.” Tommy grinned evilly. “I forgot I could do that.”

Tubbo tossed his hands in defeat. “He forgot that he can insta-kill shit! No wonder it took him so long to kill that five-headed thing-“

“Fuck you-“

“Stay down.” Techno snapped, pressing Tommy’s chest to the makeshift bed made out of his cloak and Wilbur’s trench coat. “But they’re right. Did you?”

“I don’t remember.” His memory of the shadow, of the soft words from a different goddess, someone he had heard of but never met—it was all gone. Huh.

“You’re a funny one.” Wilbur smiled.

“Oh nooo, I’m dying agaiiin, can’t, hear, you…”

Even Dream cracked a smile at that.

“Hilarious.” Tubbo deadpanned.

The raven watched on, waiting patiently for their return.

Chapter Text

The desert took up a massive portion of the continent. South, a jungle took over the peninsula, but it wasn’t enough to have its own self sustaining nation. At the other side of the gulf, the kingdom sat in a forested area, though redwoods lingered south and a taiga stretched up north until it hit the mountains. Behind that the Arctic sat undisturbed my mortals and gods alike. 

Heat settled deep within the pale dunes. Even during the cool nights or windy days, the sand was always hot. They wandered the expanse, keeping to the night, staying hidden from caravans and towns. Days melded together. 

Tommy found it therapeutic. Maybe it was the steady sway of the horse, or how he could mess with the reins absentmindedly, the constant dull throb in his side. He drank in the cool fresh air, and nestled deeper into Wilbur’s chest. The corpse was asleep, probably, Tommy was never quite sure of what they were doing. He was too busy thinking.

About what? Well, about Ranboo and Tubbo, who were on a separate horse, playing with their son. Trying to teach him English, Technoblade cut in occasionally to help, sitting backwards on the same horse as Tommy and Wilbur. Michael tugged at Ranboo’s antler… something about a grabby phase. The enderman didn’t seem to mind, his tail swishing along the horse’s side.

The Dream Team took the lead, speaking quietly among each other. 

Tommy closed his eyes and leaned back. He felt the sand shift under the hooves, felt the wind lightly brush his hair. Something further away withered as they passed, Tommy leeching off of its energy and giving him what he needed. Every time he did, the horses snorted, their heads raised, on alert.

Tommy soothed the steed with a hand, black claws raking through thick hair. He sighed, the anxiety pooled in his stomach vanishing.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of a thousand eyes watching him. Maybe it was an effect of the blinking twilight, or just leftover paranoia. He set his head back and stared.

“You’ve been quiet.” Schlatt came out of nowhere, ahead of Tommy on the same horse as Dream and George. He was quiet so as to not bother their discussions.

Tommy nodded and winced, a hand to the throb in his side. It was a shame the desert didn’t have very many living things. He was living on shrubs and the occasional snake.

I need a new hobby. He joked once, and it almost made him smile. Back then, he just resurrected the dead, had a thousand animals and no friends. Now… everything turned on its head. 

“Tommy?” Schlatt tried, ears flicking. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Just thinking.”

“We’ve never properly met.” Schlatt realized.

“Sure we have. A long, long time ago… but I know who you are.”

“Do you?” 

“Yeah?” Tommy tilted his head and cleared his broken voice. “Schlatt, President, father of Tubbo.”

The hybrid chuckled, head hung as he stared down the tracks in the sand. “I should’ve stopped you from leaving.” He decided with a furrowed brow. 

“Why?”

“You could’ve avoided all of this. I can only imagine whatever the bitch put you through. But… we can’t change the past, right?” He smiled. 

“Nope.”

“So what are you, some sort of god?”

Tommy grinned, a flash of color in his hands. “I fucking wish. I can’t- I don’t know how any of this works still.”

“Figure it out.” He demanded, though there was a friendly gleam in his eye. “Or I think you’ll doom us all.”

“I’m not a hero.” Tommy admitted, adjusting his position. The horse snickered. “Just some idiot.”

“Did we see the same thing? You kicked ass. Stood up against an evil queen that captured you.”

“She gave me a home, not a cell.” He believed it. Maybe. Did she? 

Schlatt seemed just as surprised, ears lowered with a frown. “What?”

“She… It- i'm confused about it still, but… but I wouldn’t call it a bad… experience? A bad few weeks or months?”

“Tommy.” Schlatt sighed, expelling his anger. “She mind controlled you into killing us. The only reason you didn’t is- well, honestly I don’t know. I’m not one to talk on matters of caretaking or parenting or whatever, but that isn’t healthy.”

“None of this is.” Tommy countered, voice never rising. 

“Uh huh. Enlighten me.”

“I killed Phil.” He hissed the words as if it was a bitter taste in his mouth. “And Techno… I tried to kill you guys too. And I resurrected Wilbur even though he didn’t want to. Surprised he’s still alive after all that.” He huffed and scrubbed at his eyes. “And there's um. Probably more. Like them.” Tommy gestured vaguely to the Dream Team,  Schlatt momentarily glancing over his shoulder. “They tried to kill me too, didn’t they? And sent me to her in the end, so…”

“Okay, okay. I get it, you’re right. It’s not perfect. But you’ve known Tubbo and Ranboo for longer than I have—and I’m his fucking dad. That has to be better than what she had to offer, right?”

Tommy considered that. On one talon, they had—or used to have—a bond that surpassed friendship. Brothers, arm in arm, blood soaked hand in burned and bandaged hand. Taking turns saving their lives, going as far as killing other people to do it. Establishing a brotherhood that kept them alive then, and content now. Tommy glanced back at his friends, at the two platonic husbands as they applauded their giggling son on vaguely saying a word that was probably just gibberish. He felt something calm envelop him.

On the other talon, she taught him that she was all he needed to care about, and it worked. 

Somehow, that was enough to have him hesitate.

Schlatt sat up with wide yellow eyes. “You’re shitting me.”

“I don’t know.” A flash of panic crossed his eyes. What if this was all a mistake, that leaving in the first place was wrong and he fucked up big time-

“I think you’re in shock.” Someone grumbled behind Tommy, jumping him out of his thoughts. “Everything that happened in the past… however long it’s been. It’s all come crashing down on you when you should be rejoicing. I’m not a therapist, none of us are, but it would be best if you let it all off your chest so you can rest easy.”

Tommy felt Wilbur shift forward, chin on his shoulder, breaths even and warm in his back. He couldn’t bite back a smile as Techno faced forward and put a hoofed hand on his messy, long-ish hair.

“Not now, obviously, maybe when we’re not running from the law.”

“Yeah.” Schlatt shrugged and glanced away, lost in his own thoughts.

Tommy felt his muscles unravel, the sound of hushed voices and desert winds filled his mind. The rhythmic gait of the horse felt like he was rocking on a chair. He closed his eyes, ignoring how his troubles bubbled in his chest. “I’ll try. Maybe once Phil is back.”

Schlatt’s ears flicked forward. “You plan on…?”

“Of course.” He’s like a father to me. Philza Minecraft, creator of life and god among men. Dad- 

He stopped himself there, bashful of his own thoughts. Thoughts of red wings and honeyed insults filled his mind, though he had trouble recalling the fake tendrils of pain along his arms. Maybe it was blocked by how much he disassociated back at the Palisade, or maybe he didn’t try hard enough. 

The necromancer pondered that thought—the one he rudely interrupted before his fear grew—and eventually decided to shelf it with his other burning emotions. 

Step one was to get home… wherever that is. Let gods take the reins and drive him where he was destined to be.

Step two was to resurrect Philza… if fate took him there.

Nothing else mattered to him.

The more days that past, the more he started to recall. About the castle, and red magic that took hold of his mind. What it felt like to be mind controlled into killing your friends. He retreated back into his muteness, hearing the words “Don’t speak; she can hear you” vividly in his mind. 

They reached the gulf, a haze in the air from the volcanos deep within the mountains. 

Bells rang from the churches, filling the shrubbery with a mythical hum. Along the horizon, sails flailed and ships in the harbor rocked, white capped seas bombarded the shore.

Sage brush brushed their feet as they passed, the group set their eyes on the town and pushed forwards. The horses were exhausted—one of them had dropped a while back from an unknown sickness, the others close to the same fate—as were their new owners. Tommy kept his shaking hands firm on the bridle, his heart in his throat as they passed through the vegetable farms outside the town.

Farmers glanced idly at the group, a flash of concern in their eye, but they didn’t bother. George let out a sigh, almost disappointed.

“We can’t stay very long.”

Techno flashed a smirk. “That’s a shame. I can’t wait to be hunted down and roasted by some deranged goddess.”

“Can you say it any louder?” Tubbo snapped, glancing back from his horse. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s hungry.” Ranboo’s tail swished, holding their sleepy son. “We should get something.”

They sold their horses to the stables, despite the odd looks the owner gave them. The band stumbled into a large bustling tavern, the edges of the building holding dried mosses and barnacles, as if the place was built from an ancient ship. Inside was filled with drunken sailors and party goers, tables covered in cards and mugs that reeked of something bitter. Tommy’s hand tightened around Techno’s.

He kept his hood up, his eyes on the ground. The teen could feel the movement around him, the shuffled packs of bodies. He tried not to pay attention to it, the magic surging through each of them, ready for him to consume with a flick of his wrist. 

Luckily enough, the food was enough to keep their minds off things, the group cooing at a cute Michael. The firelight in the inn brightened a bit. Tommy let his shoulders drop, the curve of his talon scraped against his fork.

He hated how the guards passed by the tavern. How their armor clanked, how they boasted and laughed like nothing was wrong. Tommy pressed his lips together and leaned back in his chair to focus on their moment—at how, at any moment, he could rip away their lives. 

Why?

Because I need a new hobby.

He decided against it, of course. Damn ethics. Fucking laws and shit.

His lighthearted jokes didn’t replace the icy feeling of fear in his blood. 

A few hours later, as the moon started to race into the final half of the sky, they entered a boat.

Tommy had never been on a boat. By the awestruck looks on their faces, neither did Ranboo or Tubbo. He smiled and put a hand on his friend’s backs.

“That’s… a lot of water.” Ranboo muttered, too quiet for any of the royals to hear. The trio made their way to the other end, peering over a short railing. Ranboo shuffled back from the edge.

“I have a feeling we’ll be hanging out in the- oh, what's it called?”

The enderman eyed his husband. “Brig?”

“No.”

“Barracks?”

“No-“

“Crew’s quarters.” Techno came up to them with his hands behind his back. “It’s a fast ship, even if the wind isn’t on our side.”

“Why not?” Tubbo’s head tilted.

“The wind comes from north-east, towards the Arctic. We’re near the middle of the continent, headed East-Northeast.”

The hybrid made an “oh” sound and stared out across the horizon. 

“When will we be there..?” Ranboo’s tail flicked, side-stepping towards Techno to avoid the spray of ocean waves. Tommy rested his arms on the wooden rail and watched the white caps swirl in the distance.

“A few days, maybe a week.”

“And there’s no other way? What if-“

Techno’s smile faltered. “No. Not unless you want to stay in the desert for a month and take years crossing mountains and volcanoes. This is much safer, Ranboo.” He nudged the teen. “Stay near me, kid, if you fall in-“

“Don’t say that!” Tubbo snarled.

“What the heck man!” 

Tommy just grinned and shook his head.

“Sorry, sorry. Still. We can stay under the deck if it gives you any solace.”

“Thanks.” He huffed, ears lowered. 

The two set off towards the door, though Tubbo hesitated and watched the blonde stare out at sea.

“Is everything okay big man?”

Tommy nodded, jaw set. 

“Are you going to watch the ship set sail, or come sleep in a hammock like a king?” He giggled. 

The mage stood, a hand on his fussy wound, and turned to his friend. Arm in arm, they made their way inside and waved to the passing dock maintenance crew. 

The ship was built for speed—long with several huge sails and filled with lightweight materials. Instead of padded cots, the rooms had five hammocks and a little desk to write letters or… whatever sailors did. As they strolled in, they heard George and Sapnap have a friendly argument that ended in minor violence, and the others in the room burst out laughing.

Tommy entered their shared room. Schlatt and Ranboo struggled in their hammocks, the President nearly flipping over onto his face. Techno laughed at his misery, casually chilling in his bed. Ranboo was sprawled out, tail stiff as he figured out how to balance himself. Claws threatened to tear through fabric.

“As you can tell,” Wilbur, who was on the floor with a playing Michael, turned to the two, “we’re professional at this traveling thing.”

“Fuck you.” Schlatt spat at no one in particular, standing up. He dusted his white buttoned undershirt (his usual suit, much like everyone else’s extra wear, had been thrown in the corner) and paced around the hammock.

“I got it.” Ranboo assured himself, and slunk shakily into the nest.

Tubbo covered his massive grin and stepped forward. “No- no, let me help-“

“The boat is rocking, that’s why-“

“Yeah! Fuckin’ boat.” Schlatt kicked the wall, Ranboo’s head shot up, ears wide and glow in the dark, eyes round. 

“Let's not hurt the thing keeping us afloat.” Techno offered, eyes closed.

“This is a mess.” Wilbur sighed and poked the rope toy the toddler was given. 

Tommy leaned against the doorway and watched them try and settle in after even more struggle, a fondness temporarily overtaking his restless terror. Techno mentioned a lack of beds in the room, and after a moment of deep consideration, Tubbo grinned and easily hopped into the same hammock as Ranboo. The enderman screamed and shot his hands out to balance, claws raked against the low hanging support beams. Through some tousling and complaints, the shorter of the two leaned back and laughed, sitting perfectly on his end.

“You’re evil. And move too much in your sleep. You’re going to make us flip over.”

“What? No way. That’s Tommy.”

The blonde’s clawed hand pressed to his chest, mouth open in silent offense. Wilbur snickered.

Ranboo rolled his eyes. “Go get your own hammock. It’s too small for two people.”

“Nope!” Tubbo moved to lay on top of him, only for Ranboo to back up and unbalance them. 

“Dude!”

“Relax! You’re not going to fall.”

“I’m going to fall.”

Tommy sat next to Wilbur to watch, his head rested against his shoulder. He caught the way Wilbur beamed at him, a badly hidden glint of validation in his golden gaze.

“Can we just go to sleep-“

“I’ll kick you off if you try to hug me again.” To show his dedication, he rose a foot, shaking the cot with how hard he held onto it.

Tubbo blinked at the sock. “Uh huh. Sure you are.”

“Don’t test me.”

The goat hybrid held out a hand calmly, and patted the other’s head twice. They glared at each other, still in a Platonic war, and Tubbo cracked a smirk. He dug his fingers into his husband’s locks of black and white hair and started to scratch. After a moment of retaliation, Ranboo leaned into it and started to purr.

The second Schlatt’s head hit the cloth, he was out. 

“Do you want Michael?” Wilbur whispered to the burned teen.

“Yeah. Unless-“

“No thanks, take the fucking gremlin.” Wilbur sneered and stood up. He stretched weary bones and hoisted the toddler into his arms. By the time he set the kid down with his parents, the two were nestled in the hammock, half asleep.

Tommy stood too, glancing to see Techno also out cold. He yawned.

“Do you need help?” Wilbur asked with a head tilt, white hair falling over his eyes.

Tommy shook his head and glared down at the pale fabric. It took him some deep consideration and the will of his exhaustion, but he eventually collapsed into it. The sides pressed into him, cocooning him. It reminded him exactly of that—like he was a caterpillar finally ready to bloom. A rose bud split apart by the warmth of spring. 

A casket with a prophet inside.

…or a butterfly. Yeah. A butterfly. A moth. Whichever comes first.

He woke up in a pool of darkness. Dread filled him as the edges of his vision glowed red. He staggered to his feet and glared around, searching for the source of the light. His heart beat in his ears, blocking out all other sounds.

There was nothing there. Just black. No shrouded figure, or repressed memory. His breathing quieted.

“You thought you could get away that easily.”

Tommy spun around. Nothing was there, but her voice rang through the void like it always did. He backed away and frantically glanced around, hands curled at his sides.

“Tsk tsk. You lost the second you chose them over me.”

The darkness wobbled into some distant memory, and he shut his eyes. 

“Go away.”

He backed into a cold stone wall, the sound of scraping chains and begging screams filled his mind. Tommy covered his ears, talons digging into his scalp.

“Please-“

“It’s a shame you’re too hard-headed. You could’ve been great, Tommy. A god.”

He heard a door close, and the echo left. He was still in the same space as the sounds, hearing a one-sided battle happen. The teen didn’t need to open his eyes to see what happened.

“Instead, you never let these sessions get to you. Never let anyone break you or your spirit. Your determination. And I admire that…”

Tommy curled into a ball and started to shake, a blood curdling scream muffled by his ears—though not enough, for his liking. The voice continued to hiss into his mind, clear as day.

“…but you’re weak. Mentally, magically, emotionally—and that, my friend, is why you are so fun to play with.”

Tommy tore out his hair, phantom traces of burns and slashes stung his back. Bruised and broken wrists were numb to it, but that didn’t make them hurt any less. Bit by bit, that ghostly pain became real.

Until someone prodded his broken ribs. He shot up, face to face with Ranboo. The soft glow of his red and green eyes, pupils round in the darkness, though wide in alarm, were the giveaway as to who held him. A gentle hand with soft paw pads cupped his face. Ranboo said something, but it didn’t register in Tommy’s shattered brain. Tendrils of red magic evaporated, leaving a hot ache everywhere it touched.

Ranboo glanced over to Wilbur, who was the only one to wake up during the commotion between the two. “He’s uh… had a night terror I think.”

“Well that’s not good.” Wilbur scoffed and sat up until he was off.

“Tommy?” Ranboo tried again, his other hand gripped tightly by his terrified friend.

“He needs to breathe, Ranboo.”

“I know.” He knelt down to give Wilbur space, not removing his attention from the teen. 

The corpse rubbed the tears away with his thumbs, but neither could meet his dull stare. He bit the inside of his cheek and forced Tommy to sit up properly, which helped with the breathing issue. But it wasn’t perfect.

“Do you…” Wilbur didn’t need to finish. The look on Ranboo’s pale face said it all. He knows what Tommy saw.

He felt pity, then a tsunami of rage drained it all away. Wilbur scratched his back and let the teen slump onto his shoulder until he calmed down a little.

“You’re safe.” He whispered, feeling him shudder in his grasp. Tommy hiccuped and sputtered out words, most too broken and slurred to understand. The two shared a glance, and Ranboo combed his lanky fingers through blonde hair. 

“It was just a dream Tommy. A really bad dream, but you’re here now. With us, and you have a home out in the forest...” Ranboo trailed off.

Tommy’s claws dug in, and that’s what caught their attention first. Last time they saw him, it at least noticed his hands were back in the cottage. After Michael was resurrected. Back then, the nails had a point and the black stuff was just crevasses and tendrils going up his arm. Now they were paw-like—eerily similar to Ranboo’s, if not more reptilian. Plates of dull black and matte obsidian ran across his hand, veins traced by deep caverns. In the dark, it was terrifying to see such a thing on a sobbing traumatized teen. 

Ranboo tenderly lifted Tommy’s sleeves, the two leaned together to see just how far it spread. On the arm that clutched Ranboo’s hand, the tendrils of black reached past his shoulder. 

Wilbur paled. “Phil said something about corruption…” he glanced at the enderman, who’s face scrunched up. They fell quiet, comforting Tommy the best they could—with silent pets and forehead bonks. 

“Sh-she’s in my head.” He eventually spat, muffled by Wilbur’s chest. “She knows- she knows where I am-“

“That’s not possible.” Ranboo didn’t sound too sure about his own words.

“She can hear me.”

“No she can’t.”

“I-“

“Tommy.” Wilbur pulled him off of him, grip right on his shoulders. They stared at each other, the teens face red and eyes finally sparked with some form of sentience. “You’re not with her anymore. You’re with us now. Even if she can… see you now, she can’t do anything to hurt you.”

Uncertainty hung over their heads.

“She knows what happened.” Tommy glanced away. “Before all this, that's...”

“What you dreamed about.” Ranboo’s tail lightly brushed away a dust bunny on the wooden floors. 

He nodded and sat back, finally letting go of the two and staring at those curved talons. The waves outside the boat lapped at the sides, a soft hush that rocked the ship. Tommy finally broke out of his trance and wiped the tears from his chin. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, can’t sleep anyway.” Ranboo smiled, ears flicking at every little creek.

Wilbur pulled himself to his feet and stretched the best he could in the short room. “Yeah, some things are more important.” 

He held his arms out to the two. “I think I’m going to wander. Want to come?”

Ranboo crawled out of the room while Wil helped Tommy out of the hammock, then the three strolled through the hallway and down the stairs.

On the deck laid the captain's quarters and cargo, as well as the wheel that was being driven by the first mate. On the other side of the guest rooms were more storage spaces, the dining hall as well as the kitchen. The kitchen was small, with one metal stove, cabinets and chests filled with food. 

Down below, they found where the crew slept, as well as more storage and an armory. They slunk past and returned to the deck.

At this point, Ranboo clung onto Tommy as a life line, glaring across the dimly lit waves with white-rimmed eyes. 

“You burn when you touch water, don’t you?”

Tommy smiled, voice soft. “We’ll be okay.”

“I hate it here.” Ranboo hissed as they settled near the masts, sails flapped in the ocean breeze. “Too wet. Too much mist. My skin itches.”

“We’ll keep you in the brig, where it’s humid but dry.”

Wilbur snickered. “That’s an oxymoron.”

“What?”

“No thanks, I’ll just lay in bed all day.” Ranboo’s tail flicked.

“I want to know more about this thing.” The blonde tapped on the wood. “I bet I would be the coolest fuckin pirate…”

“Don’t say that too loud, you’re already hated enough by those snobs.” Wilbur scoffed.

Tommy grinned at the thought. In the sea, in his own ship, wearing those lengthy coats and brandishing long-swords. Free to do whatever he wanted, under no one’s jurisdiction or command. Free to use his magic how he wants to.

Even as he sat there, palm on the deck, he felt the sheer power of the ocean. He respected it more so than ever—the currents and riptides threatened to yank the ship apart. The weight of the water, far, far down below. Uncontrollable to everyone.

Except him.

Maybe.

He decided not to test it.

Tommy couldn’t sleep.

He tried, especially after the others passed out on their hammocks. Ranboo and Tubbo looked so comfortable, curled up together in a nest with their son. He could hear the enderman purr sleepily, and hear Schlatt huff in his sleep. Probably a nightmare.

So he laid there, feeling better. Not a hundred percent, but still. His chest no longer felt so tight, his muscles relaxed a bit. A drunken calm filled his mind, something close to contentment. It felt nice to not be afraid (he still was, but being close to his friends made him less paranoid), to not be on the verge of a breakdown. Again.

The final league of the journey, across the waves, and surprisingly nothing came in their way. During a little rainstorm, Ranboo nearly had a panic attack in the corner of the room—luckily for him, Karl and Quackity were masters at the art of distractions. That day, everyone sat on the floor and played various card games.

Tommy often stared out over the horizon, like the dramatic bitch he was. Who could blame him? He was a mess, but kept it concealed. He had to wait for Philza.

The royals didn’t speak to him all too much, maybe they were uneasy around him, maybe they wanted him dead. No one knew for sure until the fifth night.

The world was black, the shore barely visible with all the smoke and ash. The volcano rumbled, lighting the sky in orange. Spires of brass stood tall, twinkling with the city’s firelight and the magma.

Wilbur coughed, but Tommy wasn’t bothered by the smoke. He noted that, taking a few deep breaths. It was off-putting, and he shuffled closer to Techno at the sight of towers in the distance.

“See that?” Dream tilted his mask towards the group, hands on his hips. “Now we can relax, and talk without being spied on.”

Tommy clenched his jaw. He wasn’t too sure about that. They stepped down the ramp and towards the city, a pep in everyone’s gait. They were home.

“I missed it here.” Sapnap sucked in a deep breath and exhaled smoke—clean and even, like it didn’t affect him. Tommy’s eyes widened at his realization, but he didn’t say anything.

“We need to discuss plans for the future. War is on the horizon…” George drifted off.

“Can we take a break?” Tubbo asked, his voice cracked just a bit. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean… It's been a chaotic few months. The best we can do is have a week of rest.”

Dream partly turned to stare at the teen. “At the castle?”

“I suppose we can get an inn.” Wilbur scoffed, hands in his pockets.

“No!” Karl skipped forward. “Let them stay, please? It’s the least we can do.”

“We just risked the safety of our nation for a necromancer against a mind controlling goddess. I think they can stay at an inn for a while.”

George grinned as they were escorted onward to the side entrance of the castle. “Nonsense! We’ll discuss plans and talk at the castle, even if it counts as a break. The beds here are much more comfortable than hammocks.”

He had a point. Techno rubbed at a stiff spot on his leg.

Maids and butlers alike welcomed their king and royal guards, and then left to tell the rest of the palace of their return. Prepare a feast, make sure everything is tidy, the usual. Tommy glanced around the insides, and decided he’d stick close to someone instead of run off.

He did not forget what happened the last time he was here. Even if it had been… over a month?

“We should get Phil.” Techno mused quietly, the group turned to glare at him. “Move him somewhere else.”

“Why.” Quackity demanded.

He grinned. “Don’t you wanna watch?”

The ex-Angel rolled his eyes. “Of course I want to watch. But what will everyone else think of it?”

“I’m talkin’ a bigger bedroom, not the grand hall. You have a suite?”

George nodded, having a dismissive hand to a guard as they passed. “Fine. We’ll meet in an hour.”

Tommy’s fists tightened. No. He need- he wanted- fuck. 

Tommy just… was impatient, was all.

Lying to himself wasn’t helping.

The group split up, though Techno stayed with Tommy and the others scattered to nap or grab a bite to eat. Tommy spaced out, and was eventually guided to sit down in the dining room. 

They sat in silence, mainly because Tommy was too busy fiddling with his hands, scraping claws against each other and picking at plates of obsidian. Technoblade watched, only mildly interested, until he swiped a wad of pale hair out of Tommy’s face and caught his attention.

“You’re quiet.”

Tommy pressed his lips in a fake smile and shrugged, returning to messing with his hands. His hood was still up, hiding his face—maybe self-conscious of his long hair or the black streaks around his eyes. Techno considered the kid, then flicked his nose. Hard.

“Ow-“

“That’s better.”

“-fucking bitch-“

“Much better.”

“-fuck me man! Why did you do that?” He scowled and held his face tenderly.

Techno just grinned. “You weren’t acting like yourself. Too dark and brooding. Something happened while you were away, and you have yet to tell us.”

“Maybe it’s not your place to know.” 

“Maybe. Guess you’ll enjoy your mental unwellness in the meantime.”

“That’s- is that even a word?”

“It is now.”

Tommy failed to hide a grin. “You suck.”

“I’m just making sure you’re okay.” He smiled back, a flicker in his eye, similar to Wilbur’s, back on the ship. “You deserve that much.”

“I do?” He blinked, and the look of hurt on Techno’s face sent him into a panic. “Wait- I didn’t-“

“Of course you do.” The piglin said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if Tommy asked if the sky was blue. 

Tommy shut his mouth and returned to messing with his talons as Techno gripped his arms.

“Tommy. I- whoever taught you otherwise was wrong. You know that,” he leaned forward to try and catch Tommy’s covered gaze, “right?”

His chest tightened, his nose stuffed up, and his eyes stung. Oh, great. He was going to cry again.

“You deserve happiness. And peace. And… all the good things in the world. I don’t know if anyone can give it to you, but I can try.” He fixed the teen’s hood. “I’m not good with words. That’s Phil’s thing.”

Tommy let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, you’re shit at this.”

“You’re crying, so I count that as a win.” 

The necromancer elbowed his friend, his other talon wiping away his tears. “No I’m not. Shut up.” 

“Uh huh. And pigs can fly.”

“Didn’t you come in on a blimp?”

They glared at each other, challenge sizzled in the air. A silent conversation occurred—Tommy could see the fondness in his eyes, in his firm grasp, in how he wasn’t that stern with his frown. Technoblade eventually sighed and tousled his hair, the teen smacked away his hand to no avail.

“You win that one. Ready?”

“For- oh, oh yeah.” His smirk fell. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

A pause, then Techno nodded and stood.

Tommy’s confidence was thrown out the window the second he saw him.

In a different room, the dim light of a soon to rise sun made the room gray. He couldn’t tell what color it actually was, but it made everything look frozen in time. Stone. 

Including Philza.

A statue, left falsely untouched, placid and pale. Dead for months now, he’s been told. Tommy got a whiff of that familiar rotting stench, and by the looks of it, the man was in a similar state Wilbur once was. The difference was… Wilbur was left in an undisclosed location for a while before he was moved to a coffin. Phil was preserved like an artifact.

Even his green cloak and hat seemed dull. Under the hat laid the wound that ended his immortal life, probably bubbling with diseases and stray bugs. Tommy tried to take a step back, a gentle hand guiding him forward.

“You got this.” Tubbo whispered. 

“What- what if it doesn’t work?”

The king gave him an odd look through his goggles. “Is there a chance it won’t?”

“No- but what if he doesn’t want to come back…”

“You had no problem with that when it was me.” Wilbur crossed his arms, the whole group effectively blocking the now closed and locked doorway.

“What if he hates me?” Tommy mumbled the truth. A genuine fear, a possible one. Techno laughed.

“Philza? Hate you? You’re joking.”

“Yeah…” Ranboo’s tail flicked against Tommy’s leg, but the necromancer didn’t look away from the statue. “You’re his favorite, I think.”

“That’s a big deal.” Schlatt spoke as if to a toddler, sharing a look with Quackity.

“You got this Tommy.” 

His chest hurt with how hard he held back everything. Tommy just needed to wait a few more minutes, needed to get this over with, so he can let all—or at least most—of his pain out. He took a step forward, then two, three, and wrung his hands together. He stepped to the other side of the body- of Phil and got a full picture of the man. Ghostly, content, the smell of death thick in his sinuses. 

Tommy swallowed his anxiety and sat down on the chair beside it, setting the hat to the side. Dried, rotted blood stained his clothes, and he was right about the bugs part. Tommy wondered if he looked hard enough, if he’d see the bed under him.

Somehow, he was in his element. Thousands of animals came to mind as he awkwardly rested his hand on the angel’s chest. He also recalled the pain he felt when reviving the two sentient creatures. A cycle of uncertainty brewed within him, and until he could spiral, he exhaled and closed his eyes.

Wilbur’s resurrection was an impulsive decision. He wasn’t prepared, he had no idea what he was doing, and he did it because of his own selfish wants. Back then, it didn’t hurt—it just felt like an irritation along the ends of his fingers, a buzz that amplified when he activated his magic, and a throbbing headache and choking sensation.

Michael’s resurrection was not as impulsive, more like a last second decision after a proper interrogation. That time hurt more than it should’ve—like his hand was being pulled apart and pressed together all at once. The buzzing had turned into electrical shocks that gave him a migraine and shot his energy. His skin burned then, and he could feel the tendrils of darkness circling his arm.

This time was much worse.

The world’s magic—all that unseen potential he recently found—poured into his body. Candles blew out, leaves decayed, the ocean’s steady rhythm stuttered. He did this unintentionally, a way to keep himself alive as he gave a dead man his last breath back.

Visually, it was a light show.

The cracks in his hands and arms—and now along his shoulders and across his chest—set ablaze with white light, glowing rough through the fabric of his cloak. Runes circled his body in a spiral, though gleamed dim compared to the tips of his fingers. George took his glasses off to get a better look.

The magic that entered Philza spilled in like an overfilled cup, white filling his veins and glowing underneath his skin. Reconstructing dead cells and rebooting his organs one by one. Replacing what was lost—except for the stab wound. That would remain for a while… if not forever.

Tommy’s insides were being torn apart, he decided. He could feel the corruption grow further, down his chest and threatening to wrap around his throat. It seared his flesh, turning soft skin into hardened chunks as white magic filled his veins.

His heart beat a thousand miles a minute, loud in his ears and each pump sending another world of agony across his body. A skull-splitting headache almost knocked him unconscious, seeing stars behind his eyelids as he fought on to revive Phil.

The glyphs around his body spun faster as time went on, the phrase twinkling with its mystery code. This time his hands weren’t the only thing shaking—his entire body quivered with effort and agony. The stab in his side felt fresh.

He felt like he was dying.

Under his tense touch, something sputtered to life. A hand flew to his and squeezed, soft from months of treatment, and was gentle even as he abruptly sat up. As the ringing in Tommy’s head faded, someone coughed and wheezed.

And just like that, he had nothing to pour his magic into. 

He fluttered open his eyes to see the sun had moved, illuminating a room in gold. A man in green caught his vision, a bluish hue on his hand. Nails painted. Moving far too fast for his poor brain to process.

His vision faded to black.

Chapter Text

Death.

Children fear it. They have not experienced enough life, their primal instincts force them to keep going. To view the afterlife as something to avoid at all costs. Children like the idea of immortality, of never greeting the void, if it meant they got to share another moment in the living world.

Adults, not so much. They’ve seen the good, the bad and the worst the world could offer, even royalty who grew up with rose-tinted spectacles knew that the world was an evil place. They saw Death as a milestone, an accomplishment. Adults fear death, especially if it was taken from them too soon, but under the right circumstances, they’d welcome it.

Elders saw it as a new destination, a retirement home, an escape from the peril. Where their friends and family would wait with open arms and joyous grins. Elders do not fear Death, they welcome it.

Phil did not fear death.

He lived thousands of years, and had seen everything from the depths of the ocean to the top of clouds. Withered homeless men and crowned queens, outcasted heroes and loved villains. He knew his fair share of pain and love, back when he was considered mortal. 

When he was truly alive, he lived in a poor village at the other end of the world. Time has taken his crisp memories of childhood from him, but he remembered how he died. Captured and tortured and thrown in a pit when the ritual failed—when magicless men tried to round up enough to do horrible things to a neighboring town. Philza remembered fighting with whatever strength he could muster until his back popped, and he laid motionless at the bottom of the pit.

He remembered an Angel sitting by him, scarily similar to a maiden he fancied within the scattered village. Offering him a life with her at the cost of his soul—an eternal life restoring balance at the small price of a wife. “I may have lost a bet with a friend of mine…”

Philza quickly realized he had proposed to the goddess of Life, dressed in a colorful dress and sporting a wide brimmed hat dripping with candles. He was sucked into a false world, a plane of existence far away from his own, coated in silver and constantly cool.

There, he learned so much. Too much. His teacher was life, his boss was Death. For what felt like centuries he lived with the siblings, and fell in love with life herself.

However, she wanted a ceremony on earth, so they sent him out for his first job: to prove his worth as an Angel. 

He preferred this little pocket world over the real one. Everything was white, sharp shadows aiding in depth and texture. Like an unfinished sketch, hastily cleaned up by a lackluster artist. The sky was a rich purple that stretched across, twinkling stars mimicking the overworld just enough to make it look real. No clouds, no daylight, but the silver grasses were bright.

Philza leaned against the tree, at the edge of an endless expanse of white, his green hat rolled forward over his brow. Lack of life made the place dead quiet, just the hush and hum of his breath filled his ears. 

This was her home, her house. He was a rare visitor—but despite the odd tranquility of the dimension he’d grown used to, he knew something was off. There was an urgency in the air, a tightly-gripped terror that overtook the fake trees and grass. Still, silent. Maybe was losing his mind.

Someone sighed between the trees, a flash of black at the edge of his vision. He glanced up, he pushed his hat to meet her soft brown eyes.

“There you are.” She smiled softly, the color in her features and along her black dress clashed with the world so incredibly; it was hard not to look at her. 

“Here I am.” He pushed himself to his feet and stretched, though felt disappointed when his limbs didn’t pop or muscles stretch. Fake.

She nodded and continued down the endless plains, dress swirling around her. “I need to rant.” 

“Oh?” A flash of worry struck him as he rushed to catch up, greens billowing around him. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose as they re-entered the forest. 

“Elaborate.” 

He followed under her shadow, smiling like an idiot. Kristin was a gorgeous goddess, and despite her title, she wore darker shades. In contrast to her brother, who wore whites and glittered like starlight. Opposites, yin and yang, life and death. Literally.  

“The balance is upset. The gods are terrified. They’re watching your kid, and they’re not happy.”

Phil opened his mouth, lips quirked up in a smirk, but his question failed to arrive in time. Kristin continued:

“Nowhere is safe. Here, there—everyone’s scattered and I… don’t know what to do.”

A different question came forth. “They’re mad at you, aren’t they?”

She stopped and turned on him, exasperated. “Yes! Of course, they are- but they aren’t, all at once. No one can decide-“

“Honey,” Phil smiled, calm and patient as he took her hands in his, “relax. What do you mean my kid?”

She blinked at him. “You… asked me to keep him alive, and you’re both blonde, so…”

“What-“

“Not to mention how soft you are around him.” She nudged him, that affectionate grin returned to her face. “And those other mortals you love so much. What were their names?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Techno isn’t mortal.”

“Answer the question.”

“Should I ask next time I get attached?”

“Yes.”

They giggled, and he held her hands comfortably, messily lacing their fingers together. “Okay, so… Tommy and Wilbur-“

“A grown man and Tommy?” She tilted her brow.

“They remind me of me.”

“You say that with everyone you meet.”

“No, Tubbo and Ranboo are nothing like me.”

She chuckled and let her shoulders drop, resting against him. He didn’t question it, he just held her and put his lips to her jet black hair, drinking in the thick scent of marigold.

“I can’t wait to meet them.” Kristin sighed, a sadness in her tone. 

He hummed. “One day.”

“Tommy especially. You can’t blame me for assuming he was yours.”

“He isn’t. But I wish he was.”

“We all do.”

Maybe he’d be safe in a house, unburdened by gods, magic, and guilt. The frightening grip of trauma never properly holding him, maybe he wouldn’t even know how to hold a sword. Safe. Cared for. Loved. Human. 

“But there are some things gods can’t see. And sadly, the end times was one of them.” She pulled away and smiled again, giving his hands a squeeze. “You’ll keep him safe.”

“I’m going back?” His eyes widened, and he wondered if Kristin was going against her brother—using an Angel that wasn’t yours wasn’t unheard of, but she was already on thin ice with her pantheon. She snickered.

“You really thought Tommy would let you rot away in a room? Of course not. He’s just like you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I’m not wrong, Phil. But please, heed my warnings.” Her joking mannerisms vanished in the blink of an eye. “The mortal world is on their own. The only god in contact with anyone is… that thing. I…” she clenched her jaw and let go of his hands. “I want to meet him, I do. Just… not soon. In a few decades, maybe. Please.”

“I can’t control him.” Phil brushed her hair out of her face. “But I’d be a fool to defy the will of my goddess.”

“And your god. He’s not going to be happy if his prized Angel fails the most crucial job of his career.”

They spent the rest of their time sitting, making up lost time, joking about and telling stories. As they usually did whenever he visited, which was a rare occurrence. He rested against her and closed his eyes.

A tug. A beckoning hand. Kristin weaved their fingers together. 

“Please don’t fuck this up.”

He held back a fit of laughter as his unfortunate passing was ripped out from under him. As the tranquil heavens his wife made for him shattered into a billion leaves, and he was alive again.

Philza was never properly revived. 

Being sent from the heavens to heal the scarred earth was one thing. Like he had been summoned—one moment he was among gods, the next with spiders and rodents in the sick forests of a dying country. It was easy, effortless, painless. 

Necromancy was wrong for many reasons, but he never expected to suffer from it.

He choked on the sensation of his muscles tensing, drowning in the sudden intake of oxygen. As if he sunk to the bottom of a pond and suffocated. The pain in his chest flashed, but left a dull throb as the light danced from his vision and he was greeted with the first sights of a dawn-filled room of yellow and white.

Too much, he thought. He understood the panic that Wilbur and Michael had felt—he was everywhere and nowhere all at once. The rotting stench and dust in the air brought tears to his eyes, along with the tightness of his clothes and pain in his wings. Too much.

It took him a few seconds to realize he sat up, and the thing his hand was squeezing was not a blanket or pillow. A black, clawed hand flashed with white, runes flickered out of sight as the last bit of magic spilled into Phil. He followed the arm to-

Tommy.

Tommy.

The teen immediately collapsed onto his lap, every ounce of energy drained. Pale, tired, sick-looking. Philza smelled the stench of iron and copper. His wings felt sore—probably because they laid him over them, making them numb and stiff with lack of blood flow—and they tingled back to life. He itched to stretch them, focused on his- 

Oh, who was he kidding. Tommy was the only son he ever had, and probably ever will. He was the sun, the centerpiece of this whole operation. The gods themselves were nervous of him, and though he didn’t see what the kid could do, he heard about it. He saw the damage the magic did to his hands.

Philza stretched his wings and savored the feeling of greasy blonde hair, his other arm around his torso as he coughed a few more times.

A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye, and he snapped his head to the side. A group of awe struck people watched. Royals, kings, tired teens and exhausted mages alike. All stood, jaws dropped, glasses and masks temporarily forgotten to get a better look at a once in a lifetime extravaganza. To some of them, this “one time” occurrence happened far too frequently for their liking. But by the grins and wary eyes, they didn’t seem to care.

“Phil!” Techno was the first to walk up, genuinely startling Phil, but glad to see his old friend nonetheless. Arms outstretched, he enveloped the Angel in a loose embrace. 

“Hey- hey mate.” Phil grinned, sinking into warm arms. Techno smelled odd. Smoke, mostly, but also iron. Maybe that was just what clouded his mind at the moment. His death felt like eons ago, because to him, it was.

“So he… It’s true.” George shifted to his group. 

Wilbur and the teens were next up, greeting the Angel with wet grins and wagging tails. Michael was ecstatic, hands out to the Angel as he rested on the edge of the bed. Philza patted his head with his free hand, noticing the blue tint to his skin. 

“What did I miss?” He grinned and winced at the odd feeling in his chest, like something was missing, something wasn’t right. His arm tightened around himself.

“A lot.” Techno relaxed, stood by the bed with his hands on his belt.

Wilbur nodded and moved to Tommy’s side, adjusting the unconscious teen to be more comfortable. Face in his arms, talons lightly clutching his sleeves. The man paused, noticing something dark around his neck. Something next to terror struck him, but the others were quick to continue filling Phil in.

His death. Tommy’s kidnapping. When their magical bonds snapped. The plan. The royals circled him as well, adding details and pulling up chairs. 

They spoke of the arena like some epic battle. Tubbo and Ranboo were humbler than the others, something caught by Sapnap and Dream. They tried to boost the husband’s egos, but in the end Tubbo shrugged and rested Michael on his chest. 

“Then Tommy and Wil came in.” Techno continued, he gestured to the two. “And Tommy fought with magic. Not necromancy. Elemental magic.” 

Phil’s face said it all. He paled. “What?”

“He tore the earth apart.” Karl’s eyes glittered in the sunlight. 

Sapnap, arms crossed, nodded. “Especially since he had no idea what he was doing, I could tell.” His glowing fingertips tapped lightly, and his gaze fell to Tommy with a concealed look in his eye.

They continued with him taking down a hydra and… becoming possessed. Mind controlled into killing them, stopped by Techno. You know the story.

“How did you stop him?”

Technoblade shuffled and glanced away. Luckily for him, he was in a room filled with people who didn’t mind answering.

“The Blade almost killed him with a blow to his ribs.” Dream supplied, mask on his hip, an impressed grin across his freckled face. 

“It was the only way.” Techno set his jaw and avoided Phil’s wide stare.

“When was that?”

“A few weeks ago.” Schlatt shrugged, scratching at his odd beard. “I don’t think he’s gotten patched up yet. Crazy fucker wanted to heal you first.”

“What.” Phil glared around at the people who should know better. The teens held onto each other and their son, Wilbur was too preoccupied with Tommy, and guilt washed over every crevasse on Techno’s muzzle.

“You let him, with an open wound, resurrect someone.”

Quackity's brows knitted together. “Doesn’t magic heal you?” They glanced at Sapnap, who’s lips flattened, and he bounced his head between his shoulders. Unsure.

“He was urgent.” Quackity snickered anyway. “Is that bad?”

Wilbur finally leaned up and adjusted his glasses, turning on Sapnap with a dark glare. The gold that splashed the room, that made everything so bright and detailed, was concealed by a cloud for a moment, the yellow-tinted colors returning to their former glory. “What do you know about corruption?”

“What?”

“How does that pertain to-“

“Answer the question.”

Sapnap’s frown lowered. He shrugged. “Well… it happens when someone uses too much magic. You either die or turn into a monster. It’s kind of a gamble to be honest. No one’s died of it in centuries, I thought?” He glanced to Techno and Phil, who nodded with tight faces. “Yeah. It’s easy to avoid if you’re not stupid.” 

Wilbur muttered something and pulled away Tommy’s cloak. The bandages they got on the boat were tight around his chest, and from Wilbers point of view, he could see red blooming where the strike was. Others leaned over to get a look as to what he was doing, Techno about ready to run away. He tugged on the bindings.

The black corruption surrounded the wound, even if Wilbur kept the stab covered, they could see. Underneath a red stained-shirt, black cracks formed. It grew since the last time anyone checked. Of course it did.

“So it’s past his shoulders. He’s not dead.” Dream gestured vaguely.

“When I was alive it was barely to his elbow.” Phil deadpanned, glaring up at the monarchs. They stared back. 

“We… don’t know what happened when he got kidnapped.” Tubbo admitted, ears low. 

Techno scanned the room. “This isn’t just our issue now, it’s everyone’s.”

“What?” Quackity snapped. 

“Like Sapnap said, there hasn’t been a full corruption in a hundred years, never mind a necromancer. Or a necromancer that can control other elements. Or a necromancer that has revived sentient people.

“Like it or not, you’re living in history right now, and if you decide to ignore the weight of the situation: The fact a child who was trained to be a weapon of mass destruction, is one slip up away from- from a fate worse than death… then you won’t be written in.”

He exhaled and rubbed at his snout as he turned, and Techno barked out his last piece of advice. “History isn’t written by useless kings that sit on the sidelines.”

Silence filled the room as the cloud passed over, allowing gold to settle into the room once again. Tommy’s hair was alight, his pale features swathed in color. He slept peacefully for the first time in… well, he didn’t know for sure. A while. Everyone glanced away and savored the quiet, hidden in their own thoughts.

Shit’s fucked. 

What was supposed to be a quiet life in a cottage out in the woods turned into a catastrophe. The teen was supposed to be alone out there, maybe for the rest of his life, tending to decayed animals and growing a little farm. Making jam. Kneading bread. Visiting town, where he’d be dragged into the bakery and asked to taste a new chocolate cupcake or something. He’d pass the town-hero’s statue and not feel eyes on the back of his head. His friends, happily married down south, would live in comfort with their son.

Tommy just had to revive Wilbur.

He didn’t blame that action for causing all of this. No, of course not. He didn’t hate Wilbur for indirectly bringing his downfall. No. Tommy recalled the guards in the church, how one of them wore a mask and the other had fire-tipped fingers. They were suspicious of him from the start. 

Everything culminated to what happened today. The trio that ran around as kids, played in the mud and warmed the hearts of travelers and locals alike. Then, facing off in an underground arena, blood slick on their hands and chains keeping them from leaving. The magical blockade within the mountain that kept Tommy’s magic from combusting early on. Who was behind the glass panels far above, watching the fights with a large smile.

Their escape. Schlatt, Philza. Phil arrived one day out of the blue, failing to convince a young mage to not resurrect a dead puppy. The Angel of Death being a guide to an ignorant teen, and despite how short their conversations were, grew to appreciate the teen’s witty behavior and sharp remarks.

Wilbur Soot, the weird man he found dead in a box. Who was one of the first people (other than Phil) to consider Tommy family. Technoblade, who only recently came around, and realized just how much some little gremlin child meant to him. Who was meant to be a guest in the cottage.

Ranboo and Tubbo, who loved him, who grew up together, who locked arms as they entered the arena. Who saved each other: time and time again, and hugged one last time before Tommy had to leave.

All of it, every action, every word mumbled, led to this moment. Led to Tommy passed out on the bed, his time short and fragile mind ready to snap. Surrounded by family and knights, the cool hand of a dead man running through his hair. 

And even if this was an ending of sorts—if he somehow never woke up, if the goddess came back with an army and eradicated everything—if this was the moment where he was loved and cherished like a son, a brother, a god. 

Even if he was content with it.

He’d go back, he’d change everything. 

Tommy would stand in the rain, the world dull around him, and watch a kid his age melt in the rain. He wouldn’t drag him into a dryer alley and scream out into the storm for someone to help. And he’d definitely never sign that stupid contract.

He wouldn’t trust strangers, wouldn’t be so outgoing. Though his chest would hurt with tears, he’d push a shivering but stubborn goat hybrid away. He’d grow up alone, so he wouldn’t be grabbed by shrouded figures in the street and thrown in a cage. Tommy wouldn’t spend the rest of his childhood fighting for his life. He’d kill himself first.

And he wouldn’t run away from the promise of eternal safety. He wouldn’t spend precious magic on stupid animals. He wouldn’t resurrect dead people. Or have any lasting connections with gods of any type—Angel or not. No kings, no gods, no presidents, no friends or family. 

He wondered what could’ve been, if he did something differently. Surely his life would be so much better than this shit show. He wouldn’t be dying from some incurable disease. 

Tommy would change everything if it meant getting his life back.

It’s the bitter truth.

But so is the knowledge that he just- he can’t. 

He was stuck. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, honestly. Good that at least he had friends to comfort him, or bad because, well, he’ll never get his childhood back. He’ll have to carry the mountains of grief he was shoved into… forever.

Philza took his hand off his chest, and cringed at the bright blue that coated his fingers. He found where the copper smell came from. The Angel looked up to show the royals, maybe to freak them out or teach them something cool about his son’s dwindling magic.

But he stopped himself. They were in a daze, lost in thought like everyone else. Questioning life choices for sure. Troubled. Phil let his shoulders drop, and his hand smeared the blue on his green over shirt. Tommy sighed in his sleep.

“You all look exhausted. Can someone fetch me bandages? Just so I don’t bleed all over the bed.” He smiled kindly, and their attention was brought back to reality.

“Of course.” Karl grabbed Sapnap and Quackity, and the three left hand in hand. Before the door closed, Dream and George started forward, and left with a click.

“Should we move him somewhere?” Schlatt tipped his head to the teen, bejeweled horns glinting.

“No, mate. He can stay.”

“Besides, there’s this weird bond thing that keeps them close.” Wilbur muttered, crouched beside Tommy still. “They’ll be attached at the hip for a while.”

“I’m going to research whatever the fuck corruption is.” Schlatt decided as he turned to leave, his authoritative stance returning. A habit. 

“Really?” Tubbo looked up, eyes wide.

“Maybe there’s a secret cure.” He shrugged and grabbed the door handle. “Or maybe I just want to keep him alive for his eighteenth birthday.”

The husbands smiled, and curtly nodded their thanks as the President left. Ranboo’s tail coiled around their son, who sat still and watched.

“I’m really sorry.” 

Phil glanced up to Techno, brow tilted. “I know you are. But you saved him. So…”

“I still can’t feel the bond.” Wilbur realized, finally standing up, hands in his pockets.

“I can.” Phil grinned evilly. “Guess you have to work on your attachment now.”

Wilbur frowned, eyes narrowed at the old man. “That’s bullshit. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with this unhinged kid.”

That was a flat lie. Even Techno gave him a “you’re kidding, right?” look. Phil’s grin widened.

“Uh huh. Sure, Wilby.”

Wilbur’s face darkened a few shades. The memory of a very ill Tommy returned to him, curled up on the couch, comforting him through admitting his more sinister plans of self-destruction. It brought tears to his eyes then. It would now, if he heard Tommy groggily repeat those words.

The man pushed his glasses up and turned on his heels. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.” 

Once he was bandaged and alone, Phil managed to pull Tommy up with him, determined to give him comfort. He shuffled, and knocked over a few vases as he flared his wings, but eventually he made them both comfortable and sank into the plush cushions. Being dead was exhausting, he found.

The warmth of the sun seeped into the room, warming his cold soul. The teen beside him shuffled closer to hold something. Phil smiled and wrapped a wing around him. As sleep took hold, he murmured his thanks.

Fire was the most common type of magic. Of course, it was—untamed, alive, everywhere all at once. It was the easiest to learn and hardest to control. From lighting a candle to using it as a shield.

Flickers of red came into his vision. No- he was on a tall building, looking down at nothing but fire. Cities and towns, forests and mountains—all of it—ablaze with hot embers. He felt a tug of wind in his hair, sweat dripped down his forehead.

Something was gripped in his hand. Oranges and yellows surged for miles around, even the heavy smoke in the air couldn’t stifle its glow. He swallowed something bitter in his throat.

As soon as the vision appeared, it was gone.

Tommy opened his eyes, a face staring right back. Calm, a smile. Blue-tinted hands ran through his locks. His heart skipped a beat.

“Dad?” Tommy regretted the word the second it came out, clamping his mouth shut as panic overtook him. Instead, Philza grinned, that same glint in his eye—the same one Wilbur and Techno had at once point—and cupped his face. 

“Morning, Tommy.”

Tommy never felt so relieved to hear someone’s voice. That was an exaggeration—he recalled a time, back in the depths of a prison, a limp child cradled in his bruised and bandaged arms. When he rocked them back and forth and glanced over to a curled-up mound on the ground, sleeping less than peacefully. He remembered the pain with each movement, the sting on the tips of his fingers as he tried to activate unused magic—magic that was forcefully dampened. Tommy remembered him putting his lips to his friend’s charred body and whispering, begging, pleading to him and any god that could hear him from so far underground, to wake up. To say something.

Tommy wished he couldn’t remember that. Or any of what happened back then. He wished his mind wasn’t torn apart, that a goddess didn’t leave it open for him to access such horrible moments.

Alas, she was a bitch. And he remembered it all anyway. Phil’s soft thumb rubbed under his eye.

“Tommy?”

“Sorry.” He pulled away and struggled to sit up. “Just spacing out.”

“Cuddles help with that, right?” Phil smirked, almost mischievously. A wing spread, tips almost reaching the high ceiling.

Tommy bit on a frown. “No- well, yeah. But I’m fine. I’m just… tired is all.” Pain raced across his side, and he let out a keen.

“No shit.” The Angel sat up and helped Tommy as he grabbed onto his side. “They didn’t do anything to fix that?”

“I just- I wanted you back.”

Philza’s worried expression melted away, softly combing through golden hair. “Mate. I think it’s time you start caring for yourself.”

“Why?” He spat out, though the heat in his tone went unnoticed.

“Because you are loved, and we can’t guess your thoughts, that’s for you to share. For anything else, like your wound, we can help. But… no one knows what you went through, Tommy.” He held Tommy’s shoulders so they were forced to stare at each other. “Your pain is worth my attention.”

The necromancer immediately sank into him, on the verge of tears once again. Phil gladly enveloped him in feathers and waited patiently.

Tommy opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to scream and shout and go on and on about how shitty his life was. The temptation coated his tongue like sugar. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. What words could he use that could describe how he felt? What happened to him? Would Philza look at him the same way, or would they finally give up and leave him to rot in a cell? Would they treat him the same way she treated him?

His paranoia got the best of him, and he ended up sniffling in Phil’s arms instead.

“It’s okay.” Phil murmured, rubbing circles into his back. It felt… nice actually. Sore bones and tense muscles were eased. “You don’t have to say anything now. Healing takes time, as do all things.”

He snickered and glared up at the man. “Did dear ol’ Mumza teach you that?”

“Yes, she did. She also said that she can’t wait to meet you. Properly.”

A pause. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Tommy nodded and leaned his head against his chest. His eyes fluttered closed, listening to a steady heartbeat that wasn’t there hours prior. He sighs, knowing that in a few moments, they’ll have to move somewhere else and bring up topics he’d rather dance around. So he enjoyed the moment while it lasted.

“Thanks dad.” 

Phil’s heart melted.

Chapter Text

The table was covered in steaming cups of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. Soft conversation passed across the table as weary travelers settled back in. The President had his legs resting against the table, a book in his lap and an apple in hand. In the dim evening life, everything felt warm and relaxed.

Michael sprung from the doorway, skidding on his hooves as he turned and ran towards the royals. Behind him, Ranboo huffed and leaned against the wall, grinning even as his tail flicked irritably. Karl grinned and lifted the toddler up as he tried to sprint past, receiving squeals and weak kicks.

“Someone’s gotten used to this place.” Dream snickered and gave the kid his finger, little hands wrapped around it.

“I’m really sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude-“

“It’s okay.” George gestured to the other side of the table. “Sit?”

He nodded, but plucked Michael from the wizard’s grip before he settled. The toddler glared at his dad, ears pulled back.

“We’re waiting for everyone else to wake up. I think Wilbur and Technoblade left to check up on Philza.” Sapnap stared at the door, past the arch and into the hallway. “Then we can talk.”

“About…?” Ranboo shrunk in his seat.

“Our next course of action.”

He set his jaw and nodded, lightly removing Michael’s hands from the table before he could hop on. The others seemed calm, or as much as they could consider the circumstances—Sapnap’s arms crossed on the table, Schlatt was too busy with his book, George’s hands neatly wrapped around a mug, Dream leaned back far too casually, and Karl was—well, Karl was Karl—There was a stillness to them, and he felt a few pairs of eyes stare at him as he kept himself busy. He wished he could read minds sometimes. Life would be so much easier.

“It hurts.” 

“I hope it would.” Philza scoffed, despite the other’s skyward glances. “Just hold the ice-“

“Where’d you even find this? Is there an icebox in the room?”

“I brought it from the kitchen.” Wilbur piped up, messing with something in his pocket.

“It stings d-“ He cut himself off. It’s one thing to show familial affection in private, it’s another to do it in front of a convent of the blood god and some dude he resurrected a few months ago.

Phil rolled his eyes and let go once Tommy finally held the cloth bag of ice to his side. “You’re being dramatic, now. See! You’re patched up.”

No needles were involved, no medics. Just a roll of bandages, a towel, and a bag of ice. His frantic whispers—plea’s, really—when Phil offered to take him to the doctors in the castle did not go unnoticed by the two. They forgot that the teens, more so Tubbo, were not fond of sharp objects.

Tommy looked miserable. Maybe that was just his face; the dark circles under his eyes and general mess he was. Hair frayed and greasy, posture absolute shit, his clothes too large and hiding his frame—dark, melting with the shadows. Wilbur grinned.

“He’s emo. Look at him-“

“Shut up.”

“At least the old Tommy is back. He’s said more in the past hour than he did during the journey home.” Techno drawled, arms crossed as he considered the teen.

Tommy rolled his eyes, the icy sting in his clawed hand slowly ebbing away. He stood up from the bed and winced. The pain in his side was gone, but that didn’t account for the bruises and scrapes all over the rest of his body. Techno was also bandaged, but of course, he’d walk it off. He was immortal, after all. Probably been through much worse.

“Anyway, supper should be soon. I think the snobs want to talk beforehand.” Wilbur opened the door with a charming grin.

“Of course they do.” Tommy muttered, walking forward. “Bet they have loads of questions.”

“It’s not every day that someone can see necromancy in action, especially kings.” Phil warned, at the teen’s side as they started down the hall. 

“I have questions too, but I don’t think they can answer them.”

“Why not?” They eyed him curiously. He shuffled under their looks, but kept his focus on walking forward.

Baby steps.

“It’s Uh… you know. Things on my mind.”

“…like?”

He snapped his mouth shut and shrugged, adjusting his grip on the ice pack. The others shared a look, but didn’t press any further. A mutual understanding. Tommy had to get used to this all over again.

The door to the meeting room opened, and immediately his senses were attacked by sweet drinks and a warm room. Tubbo and Ranboo grinned at them. Schlatt glanced up briefly from his book. 

“There they are!” George grinned and gestured dramatically. “Sit, sit. Let's talk.”

Wilbur kicked his legs up on the table as they settled in. Tommy felt small, seated at the other end of the oval-shaped table. He studied engravings in the wood—spirals of petals, delicate roses, thin and dark along the smooth wood. He brought his hand out from the cloak, wicked talons slow as they whisked the grain. 

“How are you feeling? What was it like??” Karl sat up and beamed at the Angel, who chuckled and adjusted his wings, letting them stretch behind the other’s chairs. 

“Good. Tired, but good. And it’s not as peaceful and nice as it looks.”

“It was pretty ugly.” Techno’s lips quirked up.

“It’s because everything comes back all at once. When you wake up, it's bit by bit. First your eyes open, then you take a deep breath, then you hear things. Revival makes all that happen at the same time.” Wilbur explained.

Tommy scraped his claw down and felt the sharp tip get caught on the engravings. A dull line followed its path. His brow furrowed. He didn’t expect it to be that sharp—he barely put any weight on it. He wondered what would happen if he used them to fight, if he learned how to rake them across flesh, like Ranboo once did. 

Wilbur nudged him, and Tommy blinked. There was an ounce of concern behind those round glasses, but he was smiling. “They asked if you were doing alright.”

“Oh,” Tommy turned his attention to the royals, voice quieter than he wanted, “yeah. I’m fine.”

“So, Phil…” Dream continued without missing a beat. “Have you spoken to your god?”

He hesitated. “Not exactly.” 

“I haven’t.” Techno cut in with a shrug. “Haven’t heard a word from them.” The voices resumed their usual loud mockery, but the loudest among them had been missing for a while now.

“Yeah… I know they’re worried, and waiting, but I haven’t spoken to Death directly.”

Life, on the other hand… but he wouldn’t expose the fact his wife is a goddess. Even Tommy didn’t know that- Tommy just thought “Mumza” was a ghost or spirit he fell in love with ages ago.

He tapped his claw on the word, the sound as if he poked a knife against it. More of a heavy thunk than a tap. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“Worried? Waiting for what?” 

“The very queen that kidnapped Tommy.” Phil pointed to the teen, who became lost in his own mind. “They fear her.”

Quackity leaned back and threw his hands out. “Great! Even the gods themselves are fucking terrified. We’re fucked!”

“I think it’s best if the revolution dies before we all do.” Schlatt sighed, finally setting his book down. The cover was dark with gold lacing, an elegant font depicting the title. Which was something corny about magic. “Which means you get the land back, the stocks, the trades—the people, unless they run. I’ll need to take a trip down to gather the troops, but… there’s no way we stand a chance against her if we’re separated into two separate governments.”

Tubbo stared at him like he grew a second head. “But- dad? They won’t like this.”

“If we don’t tell them that the fate of the world is at stake, maybe.”

“And… the other reason you- why you spent months trying to dig up issues with this kingdom…?” Ranboo tried, shuffling nervously. Tommy glanced up from his claws.

“The only word I got of that was from your public declaration. Something about hunting regulations?” Dream tilted his mask towards Schlatt, who clenched his fists.

“I stand by all that. If you fucks have any brain cells left, you’d rewrite those laws, enforce actual consequences.”

Quackity glanced away, leaning back. His scarred eye still glazed over. “For once, I agree with this jackass.”

“And that place .” He resumed his presidential stance, back straight, hands clasped in front of him, on the table. Yellow eyes peeking from dark eyebrows. Ears raised. “I don’t care if they’re doing shit out of your control. If… if this whole thing blows over, we need to destroy that fucking academy.”

Phil glanced over at the nodding teens. They didn’t tell him about an academy. Tommy returned to tapping his claws along the rim, satisfied at the sound and sensation. It was weird to watch, but cool nonetheless. 

“… why not do that first?” Ranboo suggested.

“Let’s focus on defending the kingdom.” George sighed, fixing the obsidian crown. 

“Did you magically forget what they told us?” Quackity mused. His jaw clenched as he glared at the king.

Oh boy.

Here we go .

Tommy knew what they were talking about and slipped off into another bout of daydreaming. It felt as if he was there and not all at once, no longer having sensation in his body. A ghost looking down at himself. Still, his claws tapped on the wood with that satisfying sound.

“… no. But-“

“If I disband my nation and rally my guards to our aid, we need to take that place down as soon as possible.”

“We don’t know what we’re getting into.”

Techno nodded thoughtfully. “And, besides. I don’t think those of us that know the place can handle that…”

Tubbo frowned. “We’re capable, because we know the place inside and out.”

“Uh, huh. No . We’re not dragging you three with us, if we go.”

“ When we go.” He insisted, ears drawn back. “I want to- want to watch that place burn.” 

Sapnap snickered. “We all do.”

“ No you don’t .”

They remained quiet after that, looking into cold mugs and avoiding eye contact. Ranboo watched Tommy’s claws with round eyes. The sound filled the room, but no one had the guts to tell him to stop. Pussies .

“So.” Dream cleared his throat. “Tommy.”

The teen tilted his chin up, blinking away his disassociation the best he could.

“How big is her army, again?”

He adjusted the ice pack, no longer feeling the chill sting. “Big.”

“And you mentioned dragons?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t another hydra?” 

Tommy shook his head, acutely aware that all eyes were on him. He swallowed.

“How?”

Another pause. Ranboo shuffled closer to Tubbo, no longer fascinated with Tommy’s hands. “Uh. The academy… had one, once.”

“What?” Phil laughed. “That’s impossible. Dragons don’t exist anymore.”

“I’m with Phil on this one. We were around right after dragons went extinct.” The piglin scoffed.

“You missed a few.” Tubbo muttered. “That, or somehow they’re back.”

“So you- you fought a dragon?” Karl looked ready to faint.

The husbands stared at Tommy, who shrunk back and messed with the edge of his cloak. His smile was shaky. “Once.”

Suddenly, his victory against a five headed beast made sense.

“And you’re sure-“

“I was literally told that it was a dragon. Coughed up smoke’ n’ everything. I don’t know what you want from me.” 

“Answers.” Dream stated flatly.

George pressed his lips together. “What else does she have, specifically?”

“I don’t know.” He hated that castle. The sand under his feet. The guards. He hated it here too—cornered under his dad’s wing, side by side with his saviors. Tommy wished he could run away. But he knew this was good, that in the long run, this would help solve everything.

That didn’t stop his claws from digging into skin, enough to draw blood. His eye twitched, but otherwise he didn’t show it.

“Okay, what can she do?”

There it is.

“Her guards are actually pretty nice, Sam and, uh, Puffy, I think? They were both really cool. I don’t know where they went… I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up here.”

“Every Soldier has a life.” Philza shrugged.

“And what can she do, magically? What happened when you got mind controlled?”

He just- he had to spit it out. He sucked in a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves and buckled up for a long night. His eyes never left the scratch he left on the table.

“She can control anyone, and at an endless amount. She calls it Fear magic.” He held back a chuckle. “She can, uh… she can get in your head. Pick it apart bit by bit. Find your worst memories and make you relive them. Sometimes she even makes some up with all your worst fears and experiences. Um, it's more than a memory, sometimes. You can feel the moment… if that makes sense. And…” he slowed his breathing before he had a panic attack, hair over his darkened eyes. The room grew quiet again, and from all his gesturing, his hand was out again, the scars replaced with crevasses and plates on his wrist, somehow twisted to mimic and follow old wounds, a detail he forced himself not to pay any attention to. He could feel it, still, the metal cutting him, the smoke, the blood—his memory was supposed to be foggy, he should forget with time, thanks to his brain’s wonderful defense mechanism. She fucked up all that progress.

“Why did you help her?” Flat, to the point, no emotion showing if he was hurt or not. He glanced up briefly, and found George shrunk back in his chair, mushroom gown draped around him elegantly. 

“Bad worked for her for a bit, to save his friend and stay in the mortal world. It was only a matter of time for her to message that a… that you were in our borders-“

“Why did you change sides?”

“A part of it was because of the academy.” Schlatt murmured, his voice loud in the quiet dining room. Tommy glanced between the mournful President and his old friends. He missed that part of the discussion while spacing out. 

But he was hurt. That was a secret known only among the three, and maybe Schlatt—what happened in the academy stayed in the academy. Too much untouched trauma there. And yet- and yet they shared such a valuable thing—the thing that tore away their childhood and caused all their pain—with complete strangers.

The silence dragged on for too long.

Sapnap cleared his throat. “How’s the corruption?”

“Huh?”

“Your hands.” He pointed vaguely. 

Tommy blinked and glanced down at his hand. Oh, yeah . He tapped the claw a few times on the wood to remind him.

“I… they’re good?”

“Any weird sensation? Do you know how far it spread?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Don’t keep track of that…”

“You know what’s happening, right?” Phil leaned over and studied him. Tommy blinked.

“Corruption, it happens to all sorts of magic. Goes away with time.”

Mine didn’t.

The realization made him hesitate as he continued. “It doesn’t bother me. It’ll go away.”

George shook his head. “Governments around the world have put restrictions on magic usage. Laws and schools and public information regarding this. You’ve been on your own your entire life, practicing Necromancy, the most dangerous type of magic-“

“ One of the most dangerous types-“ Tommy murmured.

“-does it matter? You’re a once in a lifetime- once in millennia, you’re… unique. The situation is unique only to you. We don’t know how to deal with it, or help you, especially if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”

“I don’t know what’s going on.” It felt good to snap back, return to his old argumentative self. He leaned back and curled his talons on the table. “It should’ve gone away while I was there. But it didn’t. And now it’s worse because I saved your sorry ass-“

“It didn’t go away?” Schlatt’s eyes narrowed. “Kid, that’s not normal.”

His heart picked up Its pace. “I don’t feel any different.”

“You look like a dragon.” Ranboo decided, face in his hands. Tubbo pursed his lips.

“It looks cool.” 

“No,” Phil chuckled and shook his head, “do not make this a good thing. This can kill you if it gets worse.”

“So I just won’t use any more magic.”

“That’s a lie.” Quackity cackled. 

“Yeah, it’s kinda your thing?”

“Besides, we want to know what that elemental stuff was about.”

“That was an accident.” He admitted, his grip on the ice pack tightening. “I don’t know what that was.”

“It was monumental.” Techno smiled. 

“No one’s ever been able to do that. Two kinds of magic? That’s something only wizards do, if even.”

He paused again, tilting his head in consideration. Blonde hair fell over his eyes. “I think it’s over two…”

“Really?” Ranboo sat up, tail brushing the ground. Michael patted his hands on the table with a similar level of excitement.

Tommy nodded and took the ice pack off his side to show them. His entire arm was coated in frost and ice, spread from the cloth bag. It dripped off in icicles and stuck between the cracks. He let them ogle with dropped jaws and eyes the size of planets. The necroma- actually? What is he? He didn’t know.

The… Magician rotated his wrist and tried to shake the bag off him. “It’s stuck.”

“Holy fucking shit .”

“Ice? Is that even a magic type?”

“Water.” Phil corrected, grabbing Tommy’s arm and inspecting it further, moving it around and taking in the painful cold.

Tubbo sputtered. “How the fuck?”

“I can’t even feel it.” He couldn’t hold back a massive grin. Tommy watched as blue strips of magic shot through the space between the plates. Phil helped pry the bag off. The ice melted, slowly, starting the second he did.

“We need to defend the kingdom. The castle—they have to cross the gulf or the mountains, either way we’re pretty well defended.” Dream finally spoke up after the shock left his system. “We need to get working on dragon-killing weapons and evacuation points.”

“I can do that.” Sapnap clenched his fiery hands. 

“I can help!” Karl grinned.

“Dragons are hard to kill. Their underbelly is the weakest spot, and fire doesn’t do shit to them.” Tubbo shared a look with his husband. “Giant harpoons should do the trick. Make sure the evacuation point is somewhere they can’t reach.”

George tried to speak, but was interrupted.

“I’ll go down south and gather things.” Schlatt wrung his hands together. “Alone. I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

Quackity grinned. “We need people on the inside. Find weak links. Steal her subjects from her.”

“Train your troops.” Techno tilted his head. “Prepare them for everything. If they can’t fight, then they can help in other ways.”

“… I can plan something for the academy, then.” Ranboo hissed, ears pulled back.

“What do you plan on doing?” George gestured to Phil, Wilbur, Tubbo and Tommy. His cup was the only empty one.

“I was thinking…” Wilbur smiled, a soft look in his eye as he glanced at Tommy. “Do you guys remember when we first met Techno?”

“Worst day of my life.” Tubbo deadpanned, pushed by the cackling enderman. Technoblade only looked slightly offended.

“Remember what he talked about? To run away into the Arctic?”

Lightbulbs went off.

“I think we should go. See what’s up there, explore and settle in. Take a damn break from gods.”

That sounded nice. A peaceful life in the cold, surrounded by friends. Too good to be true, outlandish. Compared to everything else he’d been through, a day of calm seemed impossible. 

Tommy felt an ache in his bones. Bruises, the stab wound now covered in ice, mental exhaustion weighed on his shoulders. He leaned into the chair and bundled himself up in his cloak. 

“Later.”

Techno scoffed, a similar level of surprise on everyone’s faces as they, once again, stared at the blonde. “What?”

Tommy tucked his chin under the cloth. He felt warm, but not quite safe. Not yet . Maybe never. Maybe he’d always be hunted, or hurt, maybe the people he considered friends would too. He was terrified, but his energy drained drop by drop and he just needed a nap, or something, so he didn’t have time to have another panic attack. Though he doubted he could go to sleep.

“I just… I wanna go home.” 

He hated how he sounded like a kid. 

Pity hung over the room, and a pang of regret made Dream sit back. 

Dinner was actually quite nice. The entire table was full of food—baked hams and grilled steaks covered in butter. Bread spread with garlic and vinaigrette. Roasted and arguably poorly seasoned vegetables: of which they argued over, and complained about the lack of flavor. The grins and lighthearted chuckles did not go unnoticed. 

Tommy wasn’t hungry, but he forgot the last time he had a full meal. A good meal. One that wasn’t under the careful eyes of his tormentor, one that he wouldn’t have to give up later on when he writhed on the ground.

It was hard holding a fork with claws. He suppressed the urge to give into his childish instincts and shovel food into his gullet as he watched them argue over spices.

He could finally sit back and watch them.

Wilbur ditched the bandages, no longer a walking corpse. His glasses were newer too, with a shiny metal rim and a charm that made him look even cooler. Ranboo’s clothes were looser, he realized—a white button up under a familiar sweater. Still hiding his scars while staying comfortable. Tommy smiled. His friend looked good.

He should make a coat for Ranboo, he decided. He’d formally apologize for him being a bitch when the potions took their toll on him. Maybe he’d get back into his old habits. Of baking, cooking, and stitching. 

Oh, gods.

He never considered that. Tommy might be able to go back and- and enjoy the simple things. And this time he’d sit on that worn down couch, legs kicked up on Tubbo’s lap, a red sweater half-made in his hands. This time he’d have company when he was alone, safe, comfortable, in his little cottage. 

He doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

A hand spread over his back and he met Wilbur’s golden stare and bright smile, brows upturned in worry. Tommy blinked his thoughts away.

“Sorry. Spaced out.”

A mischievous grin replaced his old one. “Do you know what helps with that?”

Tommy’s eyes sharpened, nostalgia driving his attitude. “If you fucking dare- “

“Aw, come on! Not in front of the kings?” He cooed.

“I will kill you.” He whisper-yelled, glancing over to the burst of laughter at the other side. Ranboo beamed as they broke down from his joke. Tubbo shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Michael didn’t seem to pay attention, hands in his peas and carrots.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll leave you alone.” He returned his hand to his pocket and bit down on a spoonful of loaded baked potato. Tommy just felt cold where his hand used to be, and quickly dazed off again.

Who was he kidding?

She’d find him. And kidnap him again, or worse—make his life a living hell, torture his friends. A part of him wanted to flee the country and never return for their safety. So they wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. But… he didn’t think he could go another day being alone. Another hour, even. He’d-

He needed help more than he realized.

Wilbur’s hand found one of his, and they wrapped their fingers together almost unconsciously. Tommy returned to the real world, and finally continued to eat his small plate, thankful for the heat on his palm to keep him in the present.

They’d have to stay at the castle for a few days while Schlatt left. Fuck .

Why, you ask? They wanted to make sure Tommy didn’t go off and do something stupid. Why he’d do that, no one knew. He figured the king and his company just wanted to test on him or something.

He should be more upset, more panicked at how he wasn’t home yet, but he… Okay .

First, fuck you.

Second, the beds were made from heaven. The food was excellent—he got three meals a day, and then some—and Quackity had grown fond of him the same way Techno and Wilbur did.

Third, the soreness of travel made him more tired than expected, but with nightmares terrorizing his sleep, he couldn’t. Luckily for him, he was rarely alone. Wilbur, Philza, Technoblade, Ranboo, Tubbo, Quackity, even Michael—one of them was always there to give small talk. Though, Michael couldn’t really speak…

Michael tried his best.

Sleepless nights were no longer so horrible. 

Not that he spoke much, either.

Tommy laid in bed, Philza on the other across the room, sleeping soundly with his wings draped over him. Tommy stared at the moon lit ceiling until he grew bored. 

From what he could hear and sense, no one else was awake. He didn’t wake up in a fit of panic like he usually did, (yesterday one of his br- Wilbur or Technoblade came in and held him gently, or the day before when Phil drowned him in feathers, or right after that dinner, on his first official day back, Ranboo and Tubbo sat with him and walked him through old exercises they taught each other.)

He was glad he didn’t actually wake up at all—just stayed alert, staring, following the moon's rise. Tommy stepped off the bed and grabbed his cloak. 

When was the last time he had a bath? Or cleaned his clothes? Or got new clothes? Fuck, he did not know. The kingsmen gave him some, in a chest at the end of his bed, but he didn’t have the energy to change. The idea of fancy suits—like the ones he wore back in the desert—freaked him out, anyway.

Step by step, he strolled. His muscles complained, and his hands itched, but he was fine.

The teen wished every shadow was just a shadow, that the sound of wind hitting frosted windows was just that. But to him, it brought terror. He kept to the walls and felt the paint under his pads, each step making him more and more weary. 

Maybe he was just freaking out. Panicked—his lack of sleep got to him. The distant metal on metal clank of guards made him physically freeze. 

Blood stained his arm, lines of red from the wounds on his hands. Nervous pickings and slashes, poorly bandaged with dirtied cloth. Something heavy weighed on his wrists, but the pain was constant, and numb to him. The coolness rivaled a fever that started a few weeks ago. Or months? Time didn’t exist down there.

Panic. Fear. Someone laughed heartily down the stone corridor.

His heart skipped a beat, and he set his jaw. Surely they wouldn’t see him? Maybe they’d turn down a different way. Tubbo- Tubbo needed clean bandages, or just anything to sooth his burns.

His fists clenched as he continued onward, bare feet quiet against the chill rock.

One step at a time, until he made it to a little poorly categorized storage room, filled with cleaning supplies. He snuck here often, seeing as… Well, they were accident-prone. Let's say that. 

His back still hurt, his arms shook weakly. Every movement made his head spin. His tongue ran across tender gaps in his mouth. It was two weeks (again, he didn’t know if “weeks” counted anymore) since they saved Tubbo from the bombs, and only a few days after Ranboo’s attempted execution. Tommy stood up for their safety. Argued back. Because he never learned. He was an ember that was quick to light, and even quicker to rage. 

The academy—if they could even call it that—tempted more than ever to remove a few fingers. Next time, he thought bitterly.

He didn’t stop scavenging until he heard more metal.

Tommy forgot about that. 

The times when he was dragged down that fucking blood-stained hallway, where he’d be- and thrown into a room with tools made to- and next thing he knew he was thrown right into his friend’s arm, his mouth draining blood or his black-dusted fingers missing- or- fuck. His head hurt. 

When did he fall down?

The world spun around him as he regained focus. A pair of feet sprinted over frame by frame. He blinked a few more times and winced at a pain in his head.

“Tommy!” Someone’s voice etched out the fog. “Ohhhh no- are you okay?” 

The last person he expected to see was Karl. Yet, here he was, dressed in his oddly bright coat and a book bag on his hip. Up close, Tommy could see magical swirls in his light eyes, though he thought it was a trick of the light or his tired mind making things up.

“What… happened?” He bit out past his migraine.

“You fell! I saw you fall but… I don’t know what tripped you. Are you okay?”

“No.” He snarled honestly. “I think I hit my head.” 

He didn’t, but he felt like he did. Pain smashed across him, fake but real all at once. The throb of something missing in his mouth, the cool burn-like sensation of missing his claws. Oh.

His throat tightened up.

“Let's get you to bed, yeah? I’ll call over the nurses if that doesn’t help.”

Tommy glanced around with round eyes. There wasn’t any red magic causing him that pain, but there might as well have. 

“Come on-“ Karl wrapped his arm around Tommy and lifted the staggering teen. “-lets go-“

He couldn’t breathe. This was too much, almost two decade’s worth of trauma piled up on one another. From being dragged into torture rooms or being suffocated in his own house, then to being forced to endure all of it again by some deranged woman with godly magic. Memories, new and old, choked him.

“I c- I can’t-“

The thing with Bonds.

They’re superficial. Familiars. Mainly between animals and wizards, able to feel each other’s life energy and guess how the other was doing. 

When they’re broken, they rarely repair themselves. Mainly because one died. The trio of teens were examples of such things enduring anything. 

But it takes time and upkeep. Even when they broke those thin golden threads in the past, they had years until it would break again, and even longer until they separated. 

When Wilbur woke up feeling like something was just wrong in the universe, he figured it was just paranoia that crept on him. 

The only time he ever caught a glimpse at that connection was when Tommy broke it. It melded in with Phil’s death. He tried many times, but alas, he wasn’t magical enough to feel the gentle tethers that wrapped itself around his friends. Not like the blood god or a fucking enderman hybrid.

He couldn’t go back to sleep. Wilbur dragged himself out of bed with a dramatic groan and fixed up his soft white night shirt. He felt spoiled by the royals. Oh, well. Their kindness was payment for what they did.

He had stayed at the castle for a while before they left to save Tommy. In that time, he knew the place pretty well—the kitchen, the pantries, the wine cellar he frequented. Hallways in between the spires—he knew all the important places. Alcohol was a great way to calm your nerves and go to sleep.

His plan was going swimmingly, until he heard quieted, frantic voices down the hall, near large frosted windows that overlooked the darkened city.

All Wilbur needed was the sight of blonde hair, and his disinterest flipped on its head. He shot forward and practically slid to his knees to comfort him.

“What happened?”

“I- I don’t know??” Karl raised his hands and shuffled back, their eyes meeting. “He fell, and he was fine for a little, then he just… this happened.”

The ex-corpse barely had time to react when the teen plunged into his arms. Wilbur remembered back in the desert, in an alley, sharing a calm moment together after being separated for so long. Back then, Tommy forced himself to stay in the moment, to survive and get out. Here, there was no holding back. 

“Can you go get some water, maybe? We’ll help him go to bed once he calms down.” 

Karl’s usually cheery face darkened, and though pure worry laced every bit of him, he nodded and raced off.

Claws dug into his nightshirt, and he relaxed against the wall and held his brother.

“Breathe. Deep breaths, Tommy. Tommy?” He brushed pale hair out of his face, reddened eyes peering past his disassociation. “Can you hear me?”

Tommy just sobbed and planted his face in Wilbur’s chest. Some weird sense of pain hit him, hands combed through greasy hair. He mumbled something between sucked breaths.

“Just focus on breathing, Tommy.”

So they sat there, in the dim light of a hallway. His breathing grew slower and deeper, forced, rough, and unnatural, but at least he could breathe again. He coughed and Wilbur patted his back and murmured comforting things. Thoughts tumbled out of his mouth, quiet as to not let it echo around the castle. 

Being dragged. Something about being dragged. And broken wrists. And wishing they’d grab a sword to stop everything. Wilbur only caught fragments of incomplete thoughts but tossed them around his head.

“Don’t let them get me.”

He realized, with a bit of horror, that this was something Tommy had told no one yet. 

Destroying the place was already on the list, but the order it came in would… need to be discussed. Three traumatized teens and an ex-dead musician wouldn’t be able to tear the place down… if what Schlatt said was true.

Wilbur would burn it himself if he could. His grip on his little brother tightened.

“You’re safe now.” It was true, even if it was muffled against the blonde’s hair. “We won’t let them.”

“It hurts.” He hissed, even quieter. Loopy and slurring his words, even the ones Wilbur caught sounded like a unique language. 

“Did you break something?”

A deep breath. Tommy ran his tongue over his sensitive teeth, maybe double checking if any others got- “My mouth hurts.”

The man blinked. What? That was oddly specific, and worrying. Tommy mumbled something, partly still in his grieving state, but also a bit… pissed off, in classic Tommyinnit fashion. The cool hallway didn’t bother Wilbur anymore.

“Uh, I’m sure they have some pain medication… but you need sleep. You look like shit.” Wilbur swiped a finger across his cheek, fractured with black veins from the wither poisoning. It felt like decades since that happened.

Tommy finally met his gaze, a moment of clarity pooling in his eyes. That didn’t stop the tears from rolling down, or his unsteady breathing. “She- I don’t… I remember everything.” He sighed and rested his face against Wilbur’s chest again, and the man held him as if he’d fly away. “I don’t want to remember it.”

He sounded like a toddler after a massive fit in the candy shop. Or after a nightmare, or emotional tantrum. 

“It’s bad?”

“It’s bad.”

Wilbur nodded and bit his lip. “Well… that’s what this is about, then?”

“I can feel it.” He whispered in a daze, and sniffled. “Pain, and a lot. I just… g- get it to stop. Please.”

He wasn’t stupid. They bounced ideas, Phil and him, after Tommy grew ill. Where he got a wither rose and why he’d eat something known to kill everything it touched. Their suspicions were amplified after that night on the couch, when he held his brother and felt an immense amount of guilt tighten around his lungs. 

He could either let the silence pass, or make up for everything he did—everything he thought about doing to him.

Wilbur grabbed Tommy’s face in his hands and pried him off, just far enough so they could stare at each other. Pale blue eyes that danced with magic and pain, and golden eyes that rivaled the rage of the distant volcano: they met and remained still, shattering whatever state Tommy was in for just a moment. Tommy physically shrunk away, but didn’t get far in Wil’s grip.

“You realize that I’m stuck with you, forever and ever. That no matter what happens, you’ll get through this, right?” He smiled and blinked rapidly. “I thought the same thing when- before I died. Hated living, surviving, and it- I died at age twenty-two. I’m glad that I’m out of that situation, and that I had you… Tommy, I’d rather spend the rest of my life with you than not live at all. We’re brothers, after all.”

Tommy’s face twisted, and he pondered those words with a faded look. He eventually whispered something:

“I don’t think I can do it, Wilby.”

Wilbur almost missed the nickname, on top of what that meant, and the implications and the rage, but when his mind caught up to it, two sets of shoes clicked against the stone floors, and he glanced up just in time to see a burly hybrid and the wizard stroll in. Techno’s brows were already furrowed, and he looked smaller than usual without his signature cloak and fancy jewelry. The only golden thing he refused to take off under any circumstances was the emerald earring.

Karl put his hands in his pockets. “He was awake, so.”

“What happened?” Techno scoffed, expression flat as he knelt down and patted Tommy’s back. 

“A nightmare? Or something.” Wilbur shrugged. “He’s being vague.”

“I can hear you.”

Techno and Wilbur lifted him up and helped him stagger his way towards his room, Karl in front of them. He set a brisk pace that was barely met.

Past the door, and after Techno sat down and made sure Tommy was comfortable on the bed, Karl grabbed Wilbur’s arm. He hurriedly spoke.

“I found something that could help you guys… but since he’s not… you know, we can just discuss it in the morning.”

“That works. What is it?”  

Karl just grinned ear to ear and sprang away, door lightly shutting behind him.

By the time Tommy sat on the bed, knees to his chest and talons picking at every crease in his hands, his weird state of hysterics washed away—almost. The two stood at the foot of the bed, whispering tiredly and glancing over to Philza occasionally. 

Their attention finally drifted to Tommy, who ran a finger across his teeth. Honestly, it was no wonder he needed braces. Missing a few crucial molars would fuck that up, he figured. Tommy wondered why his younger self never thought about it, how he’d brush over the gaps when he ate a full course meal, not traumatized. Having a natural defense against trauma was something he definitely took for granted now that it was stripped away and all that pent-up angst was pushed to the surface.

He eventually caught their gaze, and a three-way staring contest began.

And it got Tommy thinking…

They were right. Phil and Wilbur—Tommy deserved better. He could push through this… whatever this time was in his life. Tommy could take small steps, and then take a few back, back and back as he just waited to feel better. Or maybe he’d become Schlatt and adopt an unhealthy coping mechanism. Or maybe become an expressionless juggernaut like Technoblade. 

Or…

Or.

And hear me out.

He convinced himself that instead of waiting for the good to come, instead of becoming a heartless killer or drunk, he’d let some things off his chest that he needed to tell someone. 

“Do you uh…” Techno cleared his throat and glanced at the door. “Need us?”

Childishly, Tommy nodded and curled into an even tighter ball. Slowly, they approached and sat down. One on either side. Three brothers.

Tommy slowly realized how much they meant to him, too. The same way he called Philza “dad” and Wilbur “Wilby”. He turned that thought over in his head, and a flicker of excitement raced across his chest.

He imagined a peaceful life in the cottage again. It calmed him, just the mental picture of mossy doorways and golden rays of sun. Of fresh baked pie on the windowsill and thrown playing cards. How the dancing candlelight didn’t fill him with fear—not when his dad was on the floor, laughing with his wings pushed up towards the ceiling. Or when Techno casually sipped his tea and rolled his eyes, when Ranboo and Tubbo prodded at him curiously. Or Wilbur, his glasses discarded, the last signs of decay gone, his face red with embarrassment.

That’s what he wanted. 

But he’d never get that wallowing in his own self-pity and waiting for the next panic attack to hit him—no. 

“Phil says I should talk about shit…”

He picked at his hands, nervously wringing them and clicking the talons together. This was dumb. They didn’t really care about his entire life story, even if they tried. But that image—that scene played out in his head again and again, muting the feeling of chains on his wrists and hot coals on his back.

Technoblade sighed. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Tommy shuffled his weight and stared at wicked claws. He felt sick. The fake memory wobbled in his head. This was a bad idea-

“Um. Everything.”

“Take your time.” Wilbur smiled, though his eyes were closed, and he slouched against the headboard. “We have all night.”

“All week, really.”

Tommy felt shoulders drop with a steady exhale, and he sat stiffly on the bed.

“We need to destroy that Academy.”

Wilbur remained silent.

“It’s on the to-do list, Tommy.”

“No.” Hot sand, roars, metal on metal—the odd sensation of your friend melting in a pool of water, or the unusual chills a burned body had under his touch. Being chained to walls and posts and sometimes each other, wrists forever scarred from their struggles. “No, it needs to go now.”

“Tubbo and Ranboo told us that they trained you three. They put children up against themselves, but-“

Something pushed against his throat, and the words came out faster than he found the process. “I- we were tortured, Techno.” He finally brought the courage to stare at the hybrid, who had turned his head to give him a questioning glare. The adults shared a look.

“What?” Wilbur sputtered and sat up.

Tommy glared back down at his knees. “Besides the obvious. Other than fighting each other and almost dying several times over. We… tried to escape a few times, before Schlatt came. And…”

Nothing compared to the day Ranboo was executed. 

After they almost blew Tubbo to smithereens. When Ranboo teleported in and grabbed his friend’s unconscious body. They only had a few days (or something like that, maybe a week of fitful sleep and supply runs) to process what happened.

Then they came, dressed head to toe in armor and wearing face-covering helmets. They grabbed the chain that hung off one of Ranboo’s arm’s and forced him to his feet. Any attempt at struggling was useless. They knew that already, but that didn’t stop the guards from pressing spears and swords against his back.

Tommy watched from the gate. It was a place where all champions were allowed, a rusted gate that never opened. A watching space to see the fights, or prepare for the next. It was just him.

The arena changed daily, and though the floors were mostly sand, something was always different. Sometimes it’s hidden, like traps, secret doors, or elevated platforms to climb onto. That day, however, half the arena was pooled with water.

How they even got the water in there, or spent the time digging out a fifteen-foot divot, was beyond Tommy. His attention was on a raised platform.

Ranboo didn’t like struggle. Since day one, he was a pacifist, never going against orders. Their time in the academy reinforced that…. Sort of. 

But he was frantic, tugging at the weighted cuffed to his legs and arms, the sound of metal scraping against metal like alarms in the air. He hissed, pleaded, and glanced around to find a better way to get out. 

The crowd cheered. The announcer was on and on about something… about hybrids. Tommy wasn’t listening.

His vision clouded red. A surge of energy, an energy that he never felt before, coursed through him. His fingers twitched. Tommy grabbed the metal gate and pulled.

Through his strain, he watched the platform. A now screaming Ranboo was lifted by the chains like they were nothing. But to a half-starved teenage enderman hybrid… well. Tommy’s heart picked up the slack.

Another one grabbed Ranboo, and he roared and kicked back, even as the chains tightened and kept him from achieving anything. As a unit, they moved to the very edge, overlooking the pool, unfazed by the throat-ripping scream Ranboo let out.

The gate clicked the second they let go of Ranboo.

And when the water splashed, it muffled the sounds of the rusted gate finally opening in clicks and mechanical whirs. Tommy pushed it up and spent no time to waste.

But there was something he didn’t notice. Employees were everywhere, guarding every exit in case the hybrid teleported. Fully armored and brandishing weapons sharp enough to pierce through dragon hide. 

His gate only had one guard—a precaution. A silly mistake.

He had never killed someone so fast.

One second, they were turned, alarmed. The next, they gurgled on their own blood and lay shaking on the warm sands. 

All heads swiveled. Ironed feet stamped the earth. Tommy grabbed the dead guy’s sword. A mental timer popped into his head. From twenty.

They were fully competent, don’t get him wrong. But faced with a deranged mage intending to kill and save his friend… with nothing much to lose… well.

Tommy remembered feeling gratified as his sword cut past the weak spots in the armor. Euphoric, high on adrenaline and the way it pressed into flesh, spilled the same reddish liquid. He danced, feet gliding across the sand, as he smashed, slashed, hit and blocked. Swords swung towards him, and all he did was step aside and bring his blade down on their arm. Spears were thrown, one of which he ran up and plunged the sword into the man’s face, through one slot in the mask.

Ten, nine, eight. Seven. Six. Five-

When he was disarmed, he balled his fists and kicked someone’s knee—and it popped, and the person yelped in agony and fell. He would strangle someone, but he didn’t have that kind of time. He used the chain attached to his arm, though—smashed it across some heads and tripped some people, even twisted someone’s arm out of its socket using it.

He began his trek towards the pool, though a knife found its mark on his back. Tommy grunted and staggered, but kept going.

He dove.

Blood washed away in bubbles of red, like thinly stretched clouds that circled him. Ranboo was fighting, still, movements slow, a weird dust coming off his form. He melted away as if he was made of sand, surprisingly no blood. It looked weird, his pained face and muted screams giving Tommy that much-needed boost to swim, to stop his friend’s torment. 

His hands phased through his skin, but eventually Tommy found something to grab. 

Four.

Ranboo wasn’t moving as much, his eyes shut tight and his ears relaxed. Tommy pulled himself to the floor, feeling many pressures weighing him down. He pulled at the weights; he tried to pry the cuffs off… but…

Three.

He needed to save Ranboo. Under any circumstances. His mind raced a billion miles a second when he felt a sting in his back. Oh, right.

He reached behind him and tore the knife out, not giving a shit if it hurt or not. The young teen then fiddled with the lock, using the knife, and easily found just how useless their locksmiths were. 

He popped off the two on his feet and the two on his wrists before he could reach one. Tommy grabbed his now unconscious, phasing in and out of reality, friend and swam. 

He pulled Ranboo onto the arena floor and coughed, but shoved away his worry of sickness and focused everything on Ranboo. His skin was badly burned, like he literally melted (maybe because he did). Blueish purples spilled out from the worst of the worst—from old scars and tear-tracks. 

That was the night he was dragged away, when he came back to his unconscious friends the next morning, shaking, spitting blood, pushing aside all his needs as he finally tended to their wounds and ran off to get supplies. 

“-saving each other wasn’t seen as a good thing… so. Ya know.”

The weirdest thing happened, then.

As if the molten lava from the distant volcano had surfaced beneath the two, he felt heat build on both sides. A fire so hot, he was scared to open his eyes in case of flickering light. The second he felt that anger, it was gone, and Techno grit his teeth.

“All three of you?”

“Mainly me, but I don’t know why.” Of course he did. It was because he killed the staff that worked there in order to save his friends. To this day he hadn’t felt such primal rage, the lack of hesitance behind every slice, stab, punch.

“That’s what happened in the hallway.” Wilbur realized, voice soft. “You remembered all that.”

“Yeah…” 

“And it’s still in business?”

“I think so?”

Techno nodded to himself. “And you weren’t the last three kids in there.” 

“Nope.”

“That changes things, kid.”

“Should it?” Tommy scoffed and returned to messing with his claws. “I mean, I thought it was bad enough without the worst.”

The silence urged him on. 

“I think Tubbo and Ranboo told you their near-death experiences, and how the academy is a fraud. How kids go there to die. But… we were kidnapped from the streets and thrown in there. And forced to fight for our lives. They might’ve gotten a chance at childhood, with Schlatt, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I was alone until Phil showed up, and he didn’t count until I brought you back.”

Wilbur’s lips twitched. “You just can’t get a break, can you?”

“No.” He chuckled. “So I just… my mind blocked out all the awful shit when I lived alone. I forgot what happened, what it felt like… then she- she just… came along and fucked it all up.”

“Of course she did.”

“I was almost executed, too.” Techno mused, staring off at the wall in front of them. Tommy and Wilbur looked up to him, quiet but sharing their surprise. 

“It was… a long time ago. Cultists thought it was a good idea to offer a sacrifice. So they hunted for hybrids and humanoids and whatnot. Eventually, through the rubble of my town, they found me.”

A twenty-two-year-old piglin, curled up in a pile of ashes, shaking and scrambling away from deranged men.

“Well, great. They had their sacrifice. We traveled to the altar, which took months back then, and they did some weird ritual. Called for the blood god and whatnot. Their plan backfired.”

“Good.” Tommy spat. 

“The point is, soon after I had Phil, and we never really talked about it but… we found comfort in similar things. We had centuries to heal. You don’t. So just… don’t let it get to you. There are better things to do.”

Tommy rested his head in his arms and yawned.

“But, you know. Thanks for telling us. We’ll discuss things in the morning, about what happens next.”

“I can destroy that fuckin’ place.” Tommy grumbled. “I have the magic to-“

They were quick to speak over him.

“No you don’t.”

“You’re on strike, right now. Boycotting magic.”

“Just one little earthquake. Please, Techie?” He grinned and tilted his head to Technoblade.

The Piglin just stared at him, eyes gradually widening. He swore he saw stars in those darkened eyes, usually filled with malice or boredom. Tommy’s grin faltered.

“What?”

Wilbur covered his mouth to hide his soundless chuckles, giving Techno a mischievous look. He mouthed the word “Techie”. The blade’s face turned a darker shade of pink.

“N-no.” He eventually scoffed, arms crossed as he glanced away. “No magic. We’ll burn it with Molotov cocktails and indulge in violence. Nothing else.”

“Fine.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Then sleep, stupid.”

“I can’t. Keep thinking about shit.”

“You don’t need to anymore. You’re never going to go through that again. No more executions, no more mind controlled bullshit, no more arenas.”

He wished he believed that, but it helped him sink further into his head and close his eyes.

“And when you wake up, we’ll be here.” 

Now that pulled him to sleep.

Chapter Text

A map laid on the table. It was small, creased with folds and lightly charred on the edge. Rings from coffee mugs stained the paper, smudging the ink details and light blue paint that lined the triangle-like symbols. Phil’s hands brushed against it, feeling the fibers of the sheet, old and frayed. If he had to guess, this map was older than him.

There were no words, but it was clear where the place was. A map of the continent—a horseshoe-like shape with a V-shaped mountain range splitting it in thirds. The biggest being between the delicately drawn mountains, the second with small cacti, and the third with trees. Though there were some inaccuracies—some islands missing, a few too many rivers, and the void between the mountains went up to the edge of the paper and probably beyond.

Between the mountains laid a symbol. A worm, a snake-like crescent with paws and wings. Shaped into a symbol, but the only reason it was so odd was… well, it was the only embellishment on the page, other than the map itself.

No words, no other badges, no arrows, or fancy details in the ocean. 

Philza and Technoblade shared a glance.

“That’s a coincidence. Must’ve been a rumor, before we came along.”

“Lightning doesn’t strike twice.” Phil muttered, leaning over the table with furrowed brows.

“Even if they’re all gone, which I guess they aren’t- it’s impossible, for them all to be in one spot.”

“Is it?”

Karl, who shuffled with poorly concealed excitement, spoke up. “That’s where you guys want to go, right? That’s what Wilbur said.”

“It’s up to Tommy.” Techno ignored the weird looks he got from the Angel and Wizard. “If the blood god is done with me, I’ll just follow him around for a while. Make sure he doesn’t… you know.”

Philza’s face lightened with a smile. “I agree. I’ve been tasked to protect him, and I don’t see that ending any time soon.”

“That’s-“ Karl stopped himself before someone threw a chair at him, or something. He cleared his throat and tucked his hands behind his back. “Well, I just wanted to show you guys this. Maybe it could help, or unlock something.”

“Like a treasure map?” Techno grimaced.

“I’ll bring it, but I doubt we’ll find anything. If we go.” 

“Bold of you to assume we aren’t.” Techno nudged his old friend as he gently rolled up the map. “He just needs some time to get used to being smothered.”

“Ah ha! So you admit-“

“I’m not the one—”

Phil cackled as they left, Karl trailing behind with a curious look in his dark eyes.

“Sure, mate. Sure .”

“It’s true, though. He needs time.” A pause as their boots hit the stone floors, and they passed down windows. The ocean was dark, the sky gray, everything edged in the yellow-orange of the sun. “He told us some very worrying things.”

“He- actually?” Phil’s eyes widened, his pace slowed.

Technoblade nodded and stared ahead. “We need to get enough soldiers to destroy the academy as soon as possible. Schlatt knows where it is, we just need him to come back…”

“Or meet him there. I’m sure one of them knows the way.”

“I don’t want them involved.”

Phil grinned again. Techno glared and took a few steps to the side to get away from the madman. “What?”

“You’ve grown soft.”

Karl bit back a snicker, but that didn’t stop Techno from wheeling around and giving him a hard stare. His gaze flickered back to Philza, then to his feet. “ No .”

“I agree, though! Anything to avoid more pain for those three.”

A statement declared. Written eloquently by a president, half drunk even when he stood on a pedestal. Each word; perfectly executed. News spread of a declaration: of a denouncement of the queen in the desert, and a call to action to defend their homeland from the forces of evil. Somehow, it worked, and it reached the king’s ears before Schlatt even arrived.

But his return was not celebrated, his people were not mixing with the others. It was time to prepare for anything. For dragons or war, whichever came first. The mansion was given to the hands of its builder, who was an odd man—but waved the President off. 

They sat and stood at that table, three teens on one end, and the rest of the party—of knights, kings, and angels alike—watched them with sympathetic looks that made Tubbo’s skin itch.

A ploy to destroy a creation of the goddess’, a place for her to seek the weak and select the strongest to manipulate. Tubbo’s ears flicked at the sound of Ranboo’s tail hitting the legs of his chair.

“We’re coming with you.” Tommy stated through clenched teeth, the darkness over his eyes amplified by his long, unbrushed hair. He reminded Tubbo of a raccoon with how it masked his sharp eyes. The personality would fit if he was his six-year-old self again.

Schlatt, who had been a driving force with all this, shook his head, jewelry clattering as he did. “No. And that's final.”

It wasn’t, by the way a usually calm teen seethed, or how stripes of white coursed through the cracks in Tommy’s skin. Tubbo’s ears fell, fists tight on his fluffy coat.

“You need us. We know the place forward and backward.”

“We’re not stealing anything, we’re destroying it.” Techno tilted his head. “We don’t need help with that.”

It wasn’t fair.

“Magic doesn’t work there.” Tommy tried again, voice uncharacteristically flat.

Sapnap shrugged. “We got bombs.”

Tubbo’s heart stopped for a moment. He hated those. Ghostly stings of pain raced across his face and side, burns that forever haunted him and stunted his already funky vision. Of the three of them, Tubbo had the most physical signs of whatever happened there—on Ranboo and Tubbo’s minds, it was all foggy still. As foggy as it could get.

They were out of ideas already, of comebacks and arguments. Tubbo clenched his jaw.

“That’s not fair.”

Schlatt’s poker face slipped, the corner of his mouth twitched down. 

“It’s for the best.” Wilbur reasoned, gesturing wildly. “We can’t have you three getting into trouble. Or captured, or worse. Please, just-“

“It’s not fair, though.” Tubbo stood up, chair pushed back with a squeak. He huffed. “We deserve to have that justice, not you.”

The silence settled on them like a smog. Heads turned away, hands scraped across faces. Philza sat down and stared at the ceiling.

Because Tubbo was right. They knew he was. It wasn’t fair of them to take this away. Even with the scraps Tommy accidentally spilled, they did not know what horrors they witnessed or endured.

Schlatt hasn’t said a word about what he saw, not that it compared to what they went through. But… the quiet dragged on enough, and everyone returned to their seats and glared, so-

“When I went there, I expected a place to get warriors and revenue. A facility at most, not… a giant death pit. Another reason they wanted me to work with them was for new clients. You three were the only ones there.” He pointed, hands clasped in front of his mouth, yellow eyes scanning each of the teen’s faces, and they stared back. “Every other prisoner was dead. I asked, why all the empty cages? And… they said it was because you killed them all.”

Tommy was the first to glance away, Ranboo’s ears pinned to his head, a sudden stillness falling over the three. Tubbo met his dad’s eyes, even as he sighed and continued, a voice much softer than before. 

“I know that it’s not fair, but that place is covered head to toe in untapped trauma. It’s not going to be a trip down memory lane, it’s going to be a place full of pain and suffering, and we can’t let you guys come knowing that it’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care.” Tubbo spat back, voice shaking. “I want to destroy it myself.”

“Tubbo-“

“What if we compromise?” Quackity smiled, even with the gap in his mouth.

Wilbur nodded. “Yeah. You can come along, but you can’t go inside.”

“Good idea.” Techno kept his attention on the three, anyway. 

“It’s for your safety.”

“We know that.” Tommy muttered, talons tapping against his elbow. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“What if something happens?” Ranboo glanced up. 

“Then I’m sure you three can handle yourselves.” 

“So we’re allowed to sit there and watch it burn, and will be left to our own devices doing it, but we can’t go inside?”

“It’s a bad idea.” Philza considered with a frown.

George, finally speaking up from his choking silence, sighed. “We understand-“

“ No .” Tubbo almost laughed. “No, you don’t.”

Schlatt scoffed. “Let him finish.”

“You have no fuckin’ idea what happened there.” Tommy leaned forward, arms on the table. “You don’t know what it’s like wanting to bend metal gates under your hands, or wishing your sword could cut the place into pieces, or wishing the walls weren’t so goddamn sturdy. You’ve never wished to see stars so hard that you think the blood on the ceiling are planets. You can’t . So, either you let us go with you, and keep an eye on us in case we lose our shit or something, or we’ll go by ourselves.”

That was quite the bargain. To their dismay, Ranboo and Tubbo nodded in agreement, and Tommy barely hid a smug smirk.

“You don’t know where it is.” Schlatt pointed out.

“It’s South East from the- from my c- old place.” Tommy huffed at his struggle and leaned back again. “Go straight and you’ll find it.”

“If you come with us, you’re staying outside. We’re not letting you get ambushed and captured.”

“The risks are worth it.” Ranboo whispered. 

Wilbur ran his fingers through his white strand. “What if she’s there?” 

Tommy’s mouth hung open. “Pardon?”

“Calypso, what if she’s there? She owns the place, which would make sense. It’s the perfect ambush.”

Ohhhh fuck.

Tommy swallowed and slouched in the chair. “She would- she wouldn’t.”

“She could.”

“Fuck off.” Tubbo snarled. “You can’t just- no. We’re going. End of story.”

George shook his head. “You’re not leaving this castle without us, I’ll make sure of it.”

It’s for your own good . They said, again and again, and Tubbo knew it was true. But… 

“We practically grew up there. You’d want to visit your childhood home before it was destroyed, right?”

“This isn’t like some house on the prairie, it’s-“

“I know what the fuck it is, dickhead.”

This was getting nowhere. 

Ranboo glanced among the cabinet. “Can we, uh, talk? Outside. Leave you guys to plan… whatever?”

Tubbo and Tommy glared at their freakishly talk friend as he received nods and bitter mutters.

“Of course mate, come in when you’ve reached a compromise.”

Begrudgingly, they tore themselves from their chairs and practically slammed the door shut. The cool hallway was empty. Sunlight filtered in through the windows and the darker corners of the castle were alight with lanterns. They moved away from the meeting room, away from any listening guards.

“I have an idea.” Ranboo eventually muttered between the two. 

Tommy snorted. “Is it to sit back and let them do all the heavy lifting?”

“No. We’re going in through the back.”

“Let them fight the front of the place, and we’ll-“ Tubbo broke into a grin, his husband giving him a small smile. “Dude, you are a genius.”

“We can help, cause damage, but not get caught… smart.”

“Thank you. I mean, it has flaws that I can… you know…“

Of course, the place was filled with their worst nightmares. Even if Tubbo couldn’t remember every detail, he knew that the academy made him antsy. He knew why he spaced out whenever he saw a knife or felt something metal on his hands. Obviously. But they knew their limits, and they were prepared this time.

“We’ll be by my old house.” Tommy realized, their steps slowing as they reached the front gate. They wouldn’t be in the castle for very long if they went with the new plan.

“Aren’t you going to live there again?” Tubbo smiled, giving his old friend a soft look. 

Tommy shrugged. “I’ve been thinking. A lot. I don’t- there’s a lot going on, I think.”

They stepped down towards the smoke-filled city. People dusted their rugs and ran around doing chores. A group of school kids were being taught about the castle’s history. A pang of jealousy hit Tubbo, but he pressed on.

“I want to settle again, but not there, not in a place where I can be found.” He glanced around, maybe to prove his point, maybe out of habit. He stuck close to Ranboo, who offered him his arm to hold. With a pained grimace, Tommy latched on. “Like um, the Arctic would be cool.”

“You want to run away again?” Tubbo couldn’t hide his disappointment. They just got Tommy back.

“No.” He gave them a grin, and for a moment, Tubbo forgot about the dark veins that stained the circles under his eyes, the corruption that took over most of his body and coiled around his throat. “I want you guys to come with me. And Wilbur and Techno and d- and Phil. We can scout out the area, and set up a little community and… be free. For real this time:”

“Is this before or after the war?” Ranboo’s ears flicked back.

He snapped his mouth closed and stared ahead at the road. A thief chased into an alley, cackling about bread or something. 

Tubbo realized the weight of the situation. War was coming, but when they did not know. Maybe demolishing the academy would put another wrench in the Queen’s plans, but…

A sinking feeling settled in his chest, and for once, he felt like running away, too.

“If we’re quick enough, maybe we’ll be back in time.” Tubbo and Ranboo stared at each other. He didn’t believe his own words. “Michael can stay with them. They like him, and he’ll be safe here. And Schlatt will probably stay too…”

“Is that what you want?” Ranboo stopped and rested his hands on their shoulders, both brits pivoted to form a huddle. 

Tommy glanced at Tubbo and grinned. “I mean, it’s worth it. We can create our own nation up there. Away from fuckin… hunters and gods and everything bad in the world. It’ll just be us and the snow.”

We’ll be a family again. He didn’t say it, but Tubbo knew what he meant. 

He nodded vigorously. “Just a month or two away from Michael, traveling the world, possibly discovering new territory?”

“No one knows what’s up there.” Ranboo’s brow fell. 

“So no one’s going to follow us.” He whispered, ears rising to listen for anyone coming over. “After we fuck up that academy, surely there’ll be assassins after us, right?”

Tommy pursed his lips and nodded. “True.”

“We have to run this by them, first.”

“It’ll be okay.” Tubbo held Ranboo’s face in his hands, and the stress visibly melted off his shoulders. “A cool little trip.”

“After the academy, we’ll go to my- the cabin and grab something, then we’ll go. Make it as quick as possible. We’ll be back with news and fresh minds.”

Ranboo gazed into the distance, though didn’t move from Tubbo’s grasp. “I know it’ll be fun and all. I’m just- one thing at a time, okay? Let's sneak our way into the academy first. Fool kings and angels, and all.”

It was a dream come true.

Exploring the unknown reaches of the world, a place ravaged by blizzards and earthquakes. No one could sail around it to map out the border—the North Pole was far, far too dangerous. Legends tell of massive waves and random walls of ice, of mythical creatures everyone thought didn’t exist. It was untouched for a reason—but worth every sore limb and snowy night.

The plan was given to Wilbur first, who had brought it up earlier. He put his hands to his chest and beamed at Tommy. “Are you sure? We can wait a few weeks, let you settle in your little house and relax.”

The teen shrugged. His friends stared at the back of his head as they waited. “Won’t be safe there, I think. It’s… better if we plan.”

They ignored how his face turned red after Wilbur hugged him.

Philza and Techno were in the garden out back, discussing something quiet. Ranboo nearly tripped as they grew near.

Tommy scoffed. “Fucks sake-“

“Sorry! Sorry!”

“Your legs are too long boss man.”

“Really selling it.” Wilbur judged the enderman. 

“I’m being bullied. This is rude. I feel offended.” He fixed his blue sweater. “Is the smoke better or worse down there?”

Tubbo’s jaw dropped, while the other two burst into a fit of laughter. “What. The fuck.”

Wilbur grabbed them, effectively stopping them from continuing. He nodded forward, smile wiped clean. They followed his gaze…

Technoblade, the blood god, fear monger, a piglin hybrid dressed like a monarch, axe at his hip and a gold crown adding to his jewels. And Philza Minecraft, Angel of death, reaper of souls and the coolest man in existence, dressed in his green robes adorned with red hearts and a white-green sun hat. They stared at the group with a mixture of amusement and fondness that made Tommy’s heart skip a beat. 

“What’s going on…?” The only man ever stepped forward. 

Tommy could already imagine it. A cute little town in the snow, a miniature nation. Potato farms and pastures of- of- uhhh… sheep? Goats? Whatever lived up there, they’d tame it. 

They found Schlatt and Michael next, right by the garden, actually. Sitting on a bench—or, Michael sat in the bend, his hands fast around the man’s horns. He was twisted awkwardly, letting the toddler pull him down despite his minuscule scowl. He glared at the group as they stared, surprised by the fact he didn’t throw the child out the window yet.

“Don’t. Say a word.”

Tubbo explained the plan and grabbed his son, then helped his dad to his feet. 

Tommy was ready to go there. He probably could, if he was alone. But he couldn’t. It was far too late to leave them. He did not know why he wanted to go, other than a promise of safety. 

On their way to the throne room, he felt a hand in his hair. He glanced to the side to see Schlatt, his expression tight, and for a moment Tommy felt like he fucked up.

“Uh-“

“Your hair’s long. And a mess. You could do with a fuckin’ brush.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Wilbur snickered. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

He swatted their hands away and tossed some over his shoulder. Wait- oh fuck. They’re right. When was the last time he got a haircut? Or brushed it? It was practically a nest, a wad of golden curls that hadn’t dealt with in probably over a year. It was once short, he knew, maybe when he first moved into the cottage. Tubbo bit back a laugh.

“Girlboss.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “You wish you were a girlboss.”

“Do you need help cutting it?” Philza considered the possibility that he was afraid of sharp things—which was true, but scissors are like the least threatening of blades.

To their surprise, he sighed out a “yeah”. “It would be nice to look less… like a fuckin’ homeless man.”

“Tommy-“

“What, Wilbur.”

“-we’re like brothers.” His lips curled up evilly, and Philza glanced back with wide eyes, but just for a moment. “Just two homeless bro-“

“I’ll cry.” Tommy threatened.

Schlatt cackled. “You fucked up.”

“Wait.” Ranboo’s ears widened. “Why is he your brother but we aren’t?”

Techno nodded thoughtfully. “That's a good point.”

“Ranboo, if the three of us are brothers, then you should divorce right now.”

Once Wilbur calmed down with his laughter, he sputtered out: “That’s also a good point.”

“Too-Shay.” Tubbo mumbled. “Plus Schlatt hates you, so-“

“I don’t-“

“Mate…” Phil grinned and petted Tommy’s shoulder. “It seems you have an army of brothers.”

“I hate every single one of you.” He deadpanned.

Techno coughed something out and Wilbur flushed. Schlatt, however, gave Philza an odd look.

“Is he your son?”

Phil tossed his hands up in defeat. “Why does everyone say that?”

“Have you looked at yourself? Blonde hair, blue eyes, magic…”

Tommy grinned. “ Dadza .”

“This is quite the family dynamic.” Tubbo muttered. And he was right, but. Hey.

Tommy didn’t care. Brothers and family surrounded him, no matter how distant or unrelated. Blood doesn't count for shit. Not when his chest is so warm he might combust, or his eyes sting with tears at the thought of this being the rest of his life. His grin was far too large as they entered the throne room.

No more war, no more gods. Peace. Up, in the mountains, or within whatever laid beyond. Life would be good. He’d be with friends and family, loved, never alone when he had a nightmare or lay awake at night. 

The king was on their side and granted them his blessing. He joked, arms outstretched. “I now announce Philza, god of death, as the new ruler of the…”