Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In this world there are Heros and Villians, but there are also those in between. For decades both sides of fought again and again, and those who can't choose become menaces in the dark wanted by both. People are born with powers, some are mutants, some are just regular folks. No matter what or who they are, some just have a need for destruction or for being a savior. Today we meet our heros, the very top few.

In first place we have Father Crow, our very special Philza Craft.

In second we have The Blood God, our intimidating and morally grey Technoblade Craft.

And in third place we have Hypnosis, the enchanting Wilbur Soot-Craft.

It seems that heroism runs in the family huh! A father and his two sons. What a tragic story their legacy holds. Let's hear it again for those new watchers!

A father of three, who at the time was the fifth ranking hero, wakes up beside his wife one night to find his youngest son, Thomas Craft, missing from his bed. There has been no trace of the boy in 8 years, just a few weeks ago the family celebrated his 16th birthday without a mom or son there. After the boy's disappearance Father Crow's wife passed on in a terrible suicide.

Boy is this family a mess, but yet they carry on. They become fighters who, despite there being not a single clue, still search for their golden boy.

Well, that's enough on the Crafts. Let's meet the leading Villians of the month, who by default, are the direct enemies of the Crafts.

These three men are the most wanted in the country.

The terrifying Dream.
The firey Sapnap.
And the quiet NotFound.

If you have any information of these men please go straight to SBI headquarters and leave a tip. If you happen to see them, run and don't look back. Don't engage!

Anyway, The Hero council is still in pursuit of the Vigilante; Theseus. He is a very dangerous man, please bring forth any information you may have. That's all for Hero-Villian news! Back to Gerald for todays forecast!

-

"Ugh, stupid news channel." Tommy sighs, shutting off the television. The woman's voice was so cheery. And "side pickers"? What the fuck?!

Chapter Text

“Get back here you damn criminal!” Hypnosis shouts, running across the top of a random building. His hero suit entailed a trench coat, boots, and fit pants. He wore a voice modulator. Theseus was on the other end of the building in his classic black pants, black boots with red details, a black undershirt with some odd grayish-red jacket. His face was entirely covered by a mask and red night vision goggles and his hair covered by a hood connected to his jacket.

Theseus was the most wanted vigilante in the city. Every Villain wanted him dead and every Hero wanted him in jail. It was hard work avoiding everyone's desperation. He had red wings that sprouted from his back and allowed him to fly, he was especially nimble.

“Boo hoo, little Hypnosis can't hypnotize meee~” Theseus sings, flying around the man. He had a voice changer that made his voice sound deeper and older, he couldn't have people knowing he was 16 now could he?

Why can't he be hypnotized? He doesn't know, but he assumes it's some type of avian thing. He’s heard on the news that Father Crow can't even be hypnotized by his son.

“I’m going lock you away for good, hypnotism or no hypnotism!” Hypnosis screams. He just needed to distract the man long enough for his brother and father to arrive. Technoblade was brutal, he’d be able to get the birdie. Phil had the flight advantage.

“Goodluck.” Theseus chuckles, flapping around the hero. “Y’know, we both could be saving people right now. Instead we’re fighting each other instead of the Villains.”

“How about you turn yourself in then?! A lot easier for both of us and all the heros can go back to saving people.”

Theseus rolls his eyes behind his goggles, crossing his arms in midair. This was so damn annoying, fighting these pesky heros every other night. He was beat up enough from other things, he doesn't need these guys to lay punches either.

“Blah Blah Blah. Can't hear you.” Theseus teases, twisting his head to the sound of flapping in the distance. Father Crow.

Here are a few facts about Avains.

They ARE interested in shiny things, don't tell the masses
They have very keen hearing
Their wings are sensitive
They are flock people, they love being around those they trust and only have relaxed wings when they are.
They need to be nurtured by another Avain when their wings sprout or they're bodies don't develop as well.

That's all for now. Theseus turns back to his opponent. “Cheater. You called for reinforcements. Can't handle me alone I guess, coward.”

“If I could fly you'd already be arrested!”

“You can't.” Theseus scoffs, looking back to the mass growing closer in the sky. Father Crow wore a long rode looking ass thing that had black and green details. Probably one of the worst hero costumes Theseus has ever seen, and he has seen some pretty bad ones. While he could totally take on both Father Crow and Hypnosis, he has an inkling Blood God is approaching. He hates Blood God, the scariest person he’s ever met. Tops even the Villains.

Blood God always wore a red fur cape and carried an ax. He inherited his great great great grandfather’s piglin genes from his mother's side, even if his mother looked nothing like a pig. It was a dormant gene reopened by Blood God. He had advanced speed, strength, and healing. Blood God was the type of hero that racked up a body count but was too popular and high ranked to reprimand. The Hero Council turned a blind eye to the bodies upon bodies of Villains each year.

Theseus wasn't afraid of the man himself persay, he was more terrified of having his spine cracked or wings ripped out like roots from a garden. And because of that, he will not be staying much long.

“I think that's my cue, Hyo-dude!” Theseus salutes; his wings flap with sudden pressure which sends him flying miles away. He flies until he can't hear the sound of wings behind him or footsteps running below him.

It was 11 pm when he left his room, after lots of saving and joking with heros the clock chimes 3 am. He always makes sure to be back into his cozy bedroom by 5 am or sooner. He doesn't want Clay to catch him away or in the act of climbing through his window in vigilante gear.

Clay is his dad. He loves his dad, but he’s also terrified of him. Clay can either be the most compassionate and loving person in the world or an angry wild beast. It depends on his mood. As Theseus, better known as Tommy, grew older Clay's latter moods became more frequent. Tommy has learned to hate his dad's powers.

Clay had the ability to turn anyone into a puppet. Nothing more is needed to be said about that, I think you understand well enough for now.

Tommy climbs into his window at 3:56, he makes sure to jump down as silently as possible despite how much pain he was in from the night and events prior to his excursion.

Just from the feel of it Tommy had a bruised rib cage, pulled tendon in his left calf, a burn on his left arm, and a small bullet graze on his right thigh. Not too bad.

He strips himself of his vigilante gear (he doesn't like calling it costume, but it practically is one) and buries it deep inside his closet in a bin labeled ‘Stained Sweatshirts’. He throws on his daytime outfit, khaki pants and a red sweater.

Clay hates Tommy's wings, ever since they began growing from his back when Tommy was 11 he hated them. Tommy doesn't know why, but he knows to hide them now. He uses binding cloth and a tang top to fold them painfully down flat on his back. As long as he doesn't wear anything too tight it's fine.

Plus, it'd be better for Tommy not to have his wings out. Theseus has those wings, Tommy can't. His wings sprouted as white, but over the years they've turned red. He hated them when they were at their pink stage, it looked so awkward. That's probably the only reason Clay hasn't recognized him from the news by the wings. He remembers white.

During the day Theseus isn't Tommy. During the day he is Thomas. He got a job at a random bank firm assisting higher ups. He was home-schooled by dream and finished high school early, he was remarkably smart and had a lot of time locked up inside. When he did ‘graduate’ Clay immediately forced him to go get a job and help the family. He made a fake id and boom! Got a job.

Thomas K. D. Watson, 19 with a bachelor's degree in business. He tells people he graduated highschool at sixteen (which isn't true it was 15) and went to a foreign university. It's impressive enough to get him a pretty decent job, but not obnoxious. His shift starts at 7, but he usually leaves the house at 6 to walk there. Despite his age he isn't allowed to get a driver's license, Clay won't let him. Well, he turned sixteen a few weeks ago.

-

“Ugh! I can't believe you let him go!” Wilbur groans on the couch. They just finished their portal and arrived home for the night. Wilbur was 13 when his little brother went missing. He had always wanted to be a musician up until that point, Thomas was the only one to listen to him when he played his guitar, he was too embarrassed to play for anyone else. He’s written hundreds of unheard songs since then, half of them were about Tommy. He’s 21 now, he keeps a photo of his little brother in his hero costume pocket and wears the guitar pick Thomas gifted him on a necklace around his neck.

“I didn't just let him go, Wil. He out flew me, I lost track of him in the night sky after a while.” Phil sighs, sliding down onto the couch beside Wilbur. Technoblade was at a Hero Council meeting. Why it was held at 5 am, no one knows. “He’s annoying as hell, but he had a point. We spend so much time chasing him rather than defeating Villains.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Wil-” Phil takes a deep breath. Ever since the incident Wilbur has been so… angry. He fought Villains like crazy and fought with anyone he could. Technoblade had a different reaction, he was 15 when Thomas disappeared. He became closed off and isolated. Kristen definitely didn't help. “We should talk about something else. How about that new assistant we need? The other one kind of… let's just say he got spooked and a 15th floor window was shattered, then… he was shattered.”

“Yeah. That was pretty fucked up.” Wilbur nods. “I’ll put out an offer, I doubt I’ll like any of them. I fucking hated Jared and Kacey and Minx and Helen and GoGo and whatever the big nosed guy’s name was.”

“Jake?”

“Yeah, Big nose.”

“I give up. Just try, Wil, we need someone to do our paperwork and check in with missions and send repair forms for our suits.” Phil rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Whatever.” Wilbur storms off to his bedroom. Sometimes he was just like himself as a teenager.

Wilbur had a bad streak after Thomas. He did drugs, drank, smoked, fucked himself up. It took a long time to get him sobered up, it took even longer to make sure it wasn't leaked to the public. Phil always worries about his sons, but he can't help but never fully think of either of them without thinking about Thomas.

Technoblade looks like neither his parents. Phil has dirty blonde hair and gray eyes. Kristen had black hair and brown eyes. Wilbur took after Kristen with his brown hair and brown eyes. But Thomas? Thomas took after Phil, but brighter. What was gray was beaming blue, what was dirty was golden. He was a ray of sunshine for their family, and once he was put out, their family was full of darkness.

Phil would do anything to get his son and wife back, but Kristen couldn't be brought back. Thomas? Thomas there was still a bit of hope.

“Welp, looks like I’m alone to put out a job request.”

-

Tommy didn't see Clay that morning, but he assumed his dad went out to see his friends Nick and George. He didn't like those two, always sneaky and looking at him like a trophy. Kinda gross.

His walk to work is peaceful. Well… it would've been peaceful if it weren't for the ache in his bones. Tommy, from what he read online, was an improperly developed baby bird. When his wings came he didn't have an Avian father to nurture him and take care of him. He had Clay, and Clay wasn't helpful at all. So, now, he is 5’5, has sensitive skin, bad bones, stomach issues, and gets headaches often. Woohoo!

He works at Grapevine Co. It's a random banking and insurance agency, pretty boring if he’s honest.

“Morning KeeKee!” Tommy, known here as Thomas, nods to the front desk lady as he strides in. His calf still hurts so he has a bit of a limp. The messenger bag he carries bangs against his leg.

“Go get to work, Thomas.” KeeKee rolls her eyes. Not many people at the office liked the boy. They think he’s a stuck up smarty pants. “By the way, Boss wants to see you in his office at eleven.”

“Thanks!” Thomas waves, walking up the stairs. The place was too cheap to afford an elevator, not that Tommy would ride it anyway. He doesn't like the idea of an elevator. Too… out of control? Unpredictable? Eh. Whatever it is, he hates them.

Here's a little thing about Tommy. He had a massive scar on his forehead that goes up into his scalp and to right above his eyebrow. He doesn't know how he got it, Clay refuses to answer. He tells people he was in a bad car crash, easy enough to believe. He also tells people he has stunted growth because of said car crash, so by that logic he was tall.

-

By 10:50 Tommy starts to get a little nervous. Mr. Johnson usually doesn't call mid-level assistants to his office, actually he never has. He needs this job. Clay needs him to have this job. The building he works in has 5 floors. Tommy stays mostly on the 3rd floor, the big man’s office is on the 5th. He leaves early to trek up the stairs with his bad leg and makes it outside the door by 11:01.

“Knock Knock.” Thomas says as he slowly opens the door. The boss was a big burly man with lots of hair and a large stomach. His office smelt of cigarettes and sweat.

“Mr. Watson. Please, have a seat.” Mr. Johnson coughs, putting out his cigarette on a filthy ashtray. Tommy hated smokers, always so gross and inconsiderate of others.

“Yes, sir.” Thomas sighs, taking a seat on the worn leather chair across from Mr. Johnson.

“Thomas. You're a great employee, really we are happy to have you here. Such an exotic experience.” Mr. Johnson smiles sarcastically. “But… we believe it'd be best if you didn't work here anymore. You're not a good look for our customers. I mean you look like you're 13 and that… that uhm scar is a bit of an eyesore. I hope you find solace in our decision, we’ll put a good recommendation to whoever you apply with next.”

“I’m fired?”

“Yes. You're fired. Shoo.” Mr. Johnson smiles briefly before turning back to a sheet in front of as if nothing had happened.

“Fuck you.” Tommy flips him off, standing up so aggressively the chair tumbles across the room. “I look bad for the company? How about you wash your hair for once in your life and maybe you’ll look good enough for the company to actually succeed. I hope you go into debt motherfucker.”

Tommy storms off, ignoring the shouting from the office behind him. The fucker deserved it, he lost him his job. A job Clay asked and helped him to get. Tommy needed a new one, fast

Chapter Text

“Techno! How was the meeting?” Phil smiles as his piglin son walks through the door. Technoblade was born with red eyes and soft pink hair, he was an adorable baby that grew into a terrifying man.

“It was fine.” Technoblade shrugs, rolling an ache out of his shoulders. He over stretched his arms holding his ax. The Council almost decided to make him stop using the ax, but he was able to convince them otherwise.

“Go get a shower and meet Wilbur and I in the office. We are holding interviews for a new assistant later.”

The Craft’s lived in the SBI agency, a hero agency designed by them with living quarters on the top floor. There were a couple heros living and working in SBI. Some include The King or Awesome. They live in different sections of the tower. There are 30 floors, each one includes something different. The SBI team office is on the 24th floor, their living quarters are in a cozy condo on the 30th. There's even a basement where their support engineer hides out. So technically there are 30 floors.

“Already?”

“Yeah. We wouldn't even have to be doing this if you didn't scare the crap out of Jared.”

“It wasn't my fault he ran at the sight of blood!”

“He ran through a window!”

“Again, not my fault.”

Phil scoffs, sending his son off to shower. He checked the applicant list. 256 in an hour, wow. The arrivals will close at noon, then they’ll start the two day interview cycle.

-

Was going to the SBI tower a bad idea? Yes, yes it was. But when Tommy saw that notification pop up that they were hiring he couldn't help himself. He was a vigilante, working the same building and for the three heros most adamant at his capture was stupid. He could easily get caught. On the other hand, it paid really well. He probably won't get the job anyway, but it was the first thing open for hiring he saw.

He arrived at the tower at 11:57, three minutes before they closed the doors for interviewees. That means he’s last in line, and boy was the line long. In the front lobby he saw hundreds of people, who by a landslide looked a lot older and professional than he did. Every man was in a suit, every woman in suit dresses or elegant outfits, and anyone in between was dressed to the nine. He felt very underdressed in his khaki's, sneakers, and sweater.

Not only did he look sloppy, but he also got a lot of eyes for his age, well his looks age. His “legal age” was still oddly young compared to the other applicants. Fucking hell.

Tommy puts in his name and application at the front desk, it was too late to back out now. Everyone waits in the cramped lobby for half an hour, checking watches and nervously chugging water from the fountain. Some lower ranked heros come through the lobby a few times, coming in or out from patrol. The other people hold back asking for autographs, Tommy sits with his head down. There was no way he’d be recognized, but it's still a paranoid worry of his for some reason.

After what feels like forever a woman exits the elevator with a clipboard thick with paper.

“Welcome interviewees to SBI headquarters!” The woman shouts over the chatter, everyone quiets quickly. “My name is Jessy, today is day one of the two step interview process. You will be sent to a personal interview with someone in the building. That person has the power to cut you from the running or allow you to move to the next interview with the team themselves. When I call your name please come grab a slip of paper with your room and floor number on it. Timothy Grass! Helena-”

Jessy continues calling names as the lobby slowly empties, the last name she calls is Tommy's.

“Thomas Watson?”

“Here!” Tommy sighs, standing up from the chair. Jessy looks at him weirdly. “How old are you?”

“19.”

“Sure, okay.” Jessy shakes her head, handing Tommy the final slip of paper. “You look a lot like Father Crow’s missing son y’know. Same name and everything.”

“What a coincidence.” Tommy shrugs, unbothered. He looks down at the sheet, hoping it isn't too far upstairs.

Basement.

Just… Basement? How ominous.

“Thanks.” Tommy smiles at the lady. He kinda felt bad for her, having to deal with all these people and call so many names. Her voice must be sore.

“No problem.” She checks the name of the very back page of her clipboard.

Tommy walks to a door labeled ‘staircase’ at the back of the lobby and enters. He looked up and saw the stairs twist so high he can't even see the top. Now he really hopes he doesn't get this job. There was only one flight heading down, short enough for him. He slowly climbs down, careful on his sore calf. When he gets to the bottom he sees a single set of heavy duty doors and a sign that says “be careful of chemicals.”

Where the fuck is he being sent to?

Tommy slowly pushes open the right door, bright fluorescent lights pierce his eyes from inside. The room was very wide, countertops and scraps of metal litter the room. In the front is a big screen with Hypnosis’ hero costume in 3D on it, a few odd comments made to various sections of it.

The place smelt of smoke and chlorine, the white tile floor stained with neon green mystery liquid and black smoldering ash in some spots. No one was in sight, by the looks of it. It was dead quiet, Tommy's wings twitched in their binding.

He didn’t like silence like this. Clay has snuck up on his one time too many for him NOT to feel anxious in an empty room like this. Who was lurking around every counter? Who knows?

“Gah!” A voice shouts from the other side of the room from the vents. “Be right there!”

Tommy's brows furrow as he looks up, a sudden orange mass falling from the ceiling with a thump.

“What the fuck…?”

“My bad! Hello there!” A fox hybrid with a high voice cheers as he jumps to his feet, his eyes looking over the young blonde for a minute. “How old are you?”

“Fucking hell! This again? I’m 19. 19.” Even if it was false he expected at least some people to think he was 19 from the start. How annoying.

“Oh, you look younger than you are. I’m Fundy, I’m the support engineer for the SBI team. You are?”

“Thomas, Thomas Watson. I’m one of the applicants?” Tommy crosses his arms, looking Fundy up and down. His fur was covered in dust and smoke.

“Oh yeah! That's today, I forgot.” Fundy chuckles, hopping into his wheeled spinny chair and gliding across the room.

“So Th-”

“Just call me Tommy, it's easier.” Tommy sighs. At his old job people still called him Thomas even after he recommended Tommy. It was his “legal” name but he really preferred Tommy. He only used Thomas because it sounded smarter than Tommy did.

“So, Tommy, welcome to my humble lab, or I like to call me Fox Den. Anyway, have a seat somewhere without any mystery substances on it and let's get this show on the roll!

Tommy grits his teeth and finds a decently clean stool beside a countertop, Fundy follows him and sits across from him with a half burnt coffee stained notepad.

“Why do you want this job?”

“Wow, jumping straight in with the big question.” Tommy rolls his eyes. “It pays well and I just lost my other one this morning.”

“Huh?”

“I saw the ad and came here on a limb, I need a job and this one has awesome pay.”

“New answer. I like it. How'd you lose your job?”

“I got fired, apparently I’m not a good look for Grapevine Co.” Tommy scoffs, pulling the hair away from his forehead. The more upfront he was about his looks and personality here the least likely he was to be hired. Why did he choose to come here of all places?

“That’s stupid. How'd you get it?” Wow, this fox had zero shame in asking the awkward questions.

“Car crash?”

“How unfortunate. What are your credentials?”

“bachelor's in business.”

“Hm. How are you with paperwork and emails?”

“Great. It's fucking boring but paperwork and emails are easy.” Tommy sighs. “Really just firing these questions out, Fundy. Not so fun, which is ironic because of your name.”

“Do you want to be here longer than you have to?” Fundy chuckles, writing something on his notepad.

“Not really, but you could at least make this not boring as hell.”

“Alright. How about we put your hands to work and see how helpful you can be?” Fundy slyly grins, his pointy teeth showing. “Follow me.”

Tommy sighs a breath of relief, finally something not boring. Though he was hoping the fox would just kick him out after being so rude. He slides out of his stool and follows Fundy, finally someone that was a similar height as him. He is led to a table in the back corner with Hypnosis’ jacket laid upon it. Okay, so maybe this will be more helpful than he thought. Is he wanting the job a bit more now? Yes. It has its upsides. Information on that piece of shit.

“The reckless guy had an encounter with that vigilante on the news last night and asked me to add some stuff to his suit that'll help him knock the guy out of the sky.” Fundy explains, lifting the arm of the sleeve. “I’m going to add small darts shooters in his sleeves that he activates by pressing a wire on his finger to shoot at the vigilante. Once it hits the dart will send a sleeping potion into the victim's blood stream. It’ll help with regular criminals too.”

“Wow.” Tommy grins, locking the information into his mind. This will be helpful to know during their next battle.

“Hand me those vials over there.” Fundy points to the miniature vials on the counter behind him. Tommy grabs them and hands them to the engineer. “Hold the sleeve open while I install them.”

Tommy does as he asks, using the tip of his fingers to carefully hold the right sleeve open as his eyes trail the rest of the jacket for hidden compartments or weak spots. Maybe Tommy should buy a flamethrower and just burn it.

“There we go.” Fundy claps his hands, looking into the sleeve. “All installed. How about you put it on a test for me?”

“Test it? What if it fucking blows up or some shit?” Tommy lets go of the sleeve.

“It’s fine! Only half my inventions blow up.”

“Only HALF?!”

“Go on!” Fundy insists, lifting the jacket out to the boy. Tommy groans, grabbing it and slipping it on. It was massive on him, but his hand slid into the dart shooter well and his finger grabbed the wire with ease. He points his hands towards the wall with a dart board and shuts his eyes tight. One. Two. Three. He fires! Nothing blows up, but he does feel air pass by his arm as a dart shoots up and lands dead center on the board.

“Woo..” Tommy sighs, dropping his arm.

“Yes! It works!” Fundy jumps, making a hand into a happy fist. “Good aim.”

“Thanks. Can I take this smelly thing off now?” The jacket smells as if it hadn't been washed in months, sweat and dirt wafted into Tommy's nostrils.

“Yeah. It's funny, most people would be jumping at the opportunity to wear Hypnosis’ jacket. You should see the Reddit servers, filled with fans selling strands of Wilbur's hair and making copy jackets.”

“I hate the guy, he seems so stuck up. And those people should know that it smells foul.” Tommy scoffs, ripping the trench coat off and tossing it back onto the table. “What are you even doing on those fan pages anyway?”

“Don’t ask.” Fundy glares at him, stretching his arms. “Well, thanks for the help, kid. I didn’t want to be blown up again.”

“So you'd blow me up?”

“Yup!”

“Asshole.”

Fundy laughs, checking the clock on the wall above the screen. “It seems that our time together is up. I hope I’ll be seeing you around, Tommy.”

“We’ll see Fun-Man.” Tommy sighs, waving to Fundy as he leaves. He doubts he’ll even be moved to the next level of the interview.

Tommy makes the walk up the staircase again, passing a hero on his way up. Halo? Tommy doesn't really care, his calf was killing him!

-

“Hey.” Technoblade greets as he enters the office at 3 pm. Phil and Wil were sitting on the couch with a laptop in front of them. “How many applicants this time?”

“260.” Phil sighs. “But only 18 made it past the first interview. Our people are getting more picky. Last time there were 27.”

“Huh. Do any stand out yet?”

“Well, I saw that Fundy actually passed one. He’s never passed an applicant before.” Phil laughs, scrolling down to the bottom to see who it is.

“Wow. Must be a good one then.”

“Techno… Come look at this.” Phil breaths, Wilbur had his mouth open. Technoblade walks over, peering down at the laptop screen. It was a photo of a young looking boy with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. “Thomas Watson, 19 years old with a degree in business.”

“Is this a fucking joke? Is Fundy messing with us?” Wilbur shouts, shaking his head away from the laptop.

“Maybe it's just a coincidence, Fundy wouldn't do that.”

“What are the chances that he finally passes someone and it's a man who has the same name and looks just like Tommy!”

“Fundy wouldn't do that, plus this guy is older than Tommy would be right now. It's just a coincidence, Wil. It has to be.” Phil reassures, but Wilbur still storms off to his office.

“I’ll go talk to him, Dad.” Technoblade sighs, following his brother.

Technoblade loves his family, even if he doesn't show a lot. He protects his Dad when he can, he doesn't want to lose him. But, he protects his little brother the most. He already lost one, he doesn't want to lose another. Wilbur already got close enough.

“Wil?” Technoblade knocks. They all had their own office as well as an extra for an assistant. Outside the offices is a nice lounge room with a coffee/tea station, a table, kitchen, and living space with a television.

Wilbur doesn't answer so Technoblade just enters. His brother is at his desk chair holding his photo of Tommy when he was seven and an ultrasound beside it.

“Wil…”

“Why does life have to be so cruel? I just want my brother back. I want my child to meet his Uncle.” Wilbur's eyes tear up.

“Child…? Wil what's going on?” Technoblade whispers, closing the door.

“Remember when I told you about my girlfriend, the one Dad doesn't know about?”

“Sally?”

“Yeah… Well she's uh-” Wilbur chokes up. “She’s three months pregnant.”

“Holy Shit.”

-

Tommy takes the subway home, well a few blocks away from home at least. The city was divided in three sections based on income. The first section is called the Arctic. The name has nothing to do with the weather. It’s where the tower is, it's also where the wealthy live. Heroes, high income people, doctors and lawyers and agency's. The second section is called Kinoko, it's a happy mild crime part of the city. Most people with money, but not a ton of it, live there. A lot of nice schools and kids and cheesy bakeries. The final section is called L’manburg. It's a crime ridden, forgotten part of the city. Only the poors, criminals, and unlucky people live there. It isn't often that a good hero passes through so crime stays the way it is. That's why Tommy became a vigilante, he wanted to stop seeing old ladies mugged and kids killed.

Clay's house is between two apartment complexes with small alleys on both sides. It's a shabby house, but better than what most people have here. Tommy limps up the steps, pulling his house key out of his back pocket. Clay's car was on the street so he was probably home. Tommy was nervous to tell him about getting fired, but he believed his father would understand. He himself was fired often for stupjd reasons.

Before Tommy could put the key into the slot he heard it click from inside and open. Clay stood there with his light blonde hair and green eyes. Tommy definitely got his looks from his dad.

“Hey, Dad.” Tommy smiles at the man standing in the doorway. Clay towered over him.

“This isn't the usual time you'd get home. It's five, your shift ends at 4 and it's a half an hour walk. Where were you?” Clay was very particular about when Tommy left and when he arrived. He noticed every change, like how his eyes went to Tommy's leg and how he leaned on one more than the other.

“Funny story…” Tommy rubs the back of his neck. Clay steps aside and lets Tommy inside, looking around the street before shutting the door and locking it.

“Tell it then.”

“I got fired.”

Clay froze, turning to face his ‘son’. “What?”

“Yeah. Mr. Johnson said I wasn't a good look for the company, the scar and how young I look compared to my fake age. I spent the rest of the day in line for a job interview somewhere else. I’m sorry Dad, I should've texted you I was going to be-” Tommy rambles before Clay interrupts him.

“Were you hired at this new job?”

“Not that I know of. It's a two day interview process. I don't even know if I made the first one yet, I have to check my email.”

“What kind of place is that picky?”

“SBI headquarters I guess.” Tommy shrugs. His eyes traveled the walls of his home. He couldn't help but stare at all the porcelain masks Clay has collected over the years. So creepy.

“SBI?!” Clay shouts, grabbing his son's jaw. “What were you thinking? Do you know how untrustworthy those guys are?”

“I’m sorry! It was the first thing I saw hiring! Plus with the pay you wouldn't even have to work Dad! 50 an hour, 9-10 hour days. That's at least 450 dollars a day, over 3k a week, 13k a month!” Tommy tries to reason.

Clay stays silent for a few moments, still holding Tommy's face. After what feels like forever he lets go gently, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath.

“Fine. I want 95% of your pay, you can keep the other 5% for whatever you want to do with it.”

“That’s fine.” Tommy sighs a breath of relief.

“Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.” Clay grins, walking off to the kitchen. The house was dark, the only light came from the kitchen light.

“Are we preserving power again?” Tommy looks around.

“Yes. They upped the power price again in this sector. But with my baby's new job, we won't have to preserve power again.” Clay smiles, drinking water. All their life they haven't been all that rich, oftentimes their power or water was shut off. They even ernt hungry some nights. Clay would randomly come home some days and pay every single bill and buy a bunch of groceries, but other days he came home with nothing. Tommy doesn't know where the money would come from, but maybe he doesn't want to know.

“I’ll support us, Dad.” Tommy sighs. Why'd he have to fuck up his interview like that? Now he really hopes he gets the job.

-

Dear Mr. Watson,

Thank you for your interview today! We’d just like to congratulate you on being one of the 18 that will be joining us again tomorrow for a second interview. Think of it as a callback for the lead in a play! Please be at the front desk by 10:15 for further instructions.

Goodluck,
-SBI agency

-

Tommy's eyes scanned the email over and over again in disbelief and relief. He has a chance. He actually has a chance.

Chapter Text

“Hey Fundy.” Phil greets as he opens the door to the fox’s laboratory. He needed to know more about this Thomas guy.

“Phil! My man, what's up? Do you need new soft landing shoes? A new addition to the suit?” Fundy asks quickly, he seems to be trying to quickly hide the smoke admitting from one of his failing experiments.

“Actually, I came to ask about the applicant you passed. The one eerily similar looking to my missing son.”

“Oh, Tommy? Yeah, sorry dude. Me passing him had NOTHING to do with his name or looks. He was genuinely a chill guy. Super different from the others.” Fundy apologizes. “He came in more casual wear, wanted the job just for the money, and was brutally honest. He even helped me out with Wilbur's jacket. By the way, he recommends Wilbur to wash it. He said it's stinky~”

Phil stands there for a moment in disbelief. Fundy rambled a lot, he changed topic mid-sentence a lot as well. But this whole thing about the guy being ‘different’ shocked Phil. Fundy never liked any of the applicants. They were either too standoffish, rude, or massive fans.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Though, he was a little weird. Had this massive scar on his forehead from a car crash.”

“He told you that or did you ask about it?”

“I asked.”

“Fundy! I thought we already discussed being insensitive.”

“Oopsy.”

-

“Holy Shit.”

“Oh don't give me that look, Techno!” Wilbur shouts, wiping his tears off his cheeks. “We weren't trying but we aren't mad about it.”

“Ew. I don't want to hear about your sex life.”

“I love Sally.”

Technoblade freezes. Wilbur is a bit of a… playboy for honest words. Ever since he was 15 he has dated and dumped girls and guys like it was nothing. Now 8 months he comes to Technoblade about a girlfriend and now he’s professing actual love for her. It was a good thing, don't get him wrong, but it shocked the living hell out of Technoblade.

“I’m happy for you.” Technoblade sighs.

“I am too. I’m kinda excited to be a Dad, I just hope I’m a good one.” Wilbur smiles, handing the photo over to Technoblade. “You can't see too much yet, but so far it's a healthy growing baby.”

“I’m going to be an Uncle.” Technoblade scoffs, handing the photo back. “When are you going to tell Dad? I mean… he doesn't even know about Sally yet.”

“I’ll tell him in due time.”

“Wil…”

“I will! I swear, I just need some time to figure this out.”

“Sure.”

-

“Tommy!” Clay called from downstairs. Tommy could smell lasagna from his bedroom. Clay didn’t cook often, in fact he never cooked. Everything Tommy ate was either with his own money during lunch at work or some random microwave meal from the fridge.

“Coming!” Tommy responds, closing the email on his laptop and bounding down the stairs. He changed immediately when he got home. Baggy green sweater and shorts. Thankfully the shorts were long enough to hide the bullet graze on his thigh. “Mm! This smells delicious.”

“I thought a home cooked meal would do my boy some good.” Clay smiles, placing the lasagna on the rickety table in a white pan. “My late sister’s recipe.”

“You had a sister?”

“Yes, Tommy. I did. She passed away right before you were 8.”

“How… how did she pass?” Tommy was nervous to ask the question, he was unsure of what the reaction would be.

“A fire. Some heroes were fighting a villain and a fire was started. Instead of saving the people in the building they chased after the villain. Drista was one of the many that died that day.” Clay sighs, taking a seat. Tommy takes the one across from him. “Anyway, enough of the sad stuff. Let's eat!”

Clay gave him a scoop of lasagna, it looked amazing.

“I uh… I got the second interview?” Tommy announces after a few minutes of eating. He wanted to put enough space between the good news and the sad story of his Aunt.

“That’s amazing! I can't wait for you to have this amazing job.” Clay grins. He was in one of his good moods. In a really good mood. Tommy smiles back, he tries to cherish the moment. He doesn't know when the mood will switch or how long it will be until another. “What happened to your leg, Tommy?”

“My leg?” Tommy thinks for a minute, then remembers his limp from his pulled tendon in his calf. “Oh yeah… There were a lot of steps to climb at work and the interview. I think I probably pulled something.”

“You gotta be more careful. You can't work if you legs don't work.”

“I will, Dad.” Tommy smiles, he takes a large bite of the delicious lasagna. Clay never took his underdevelopment seriously because he didn’t want to recognize the fact that his son was an avian. Tommy stopped reminding him years ago, he’s learnt to just go along with whatever Clay said.

“Nick and George invited me out later, by the way. Are you alright with me leaving you home alone for the night?” Clay asks. He usually didn’t ask, he just left without saying anything most of the time.

“Go ahead Dad, have fun. Tell Nick I said hi.” Tommy nods, this was a good opportunity to go on a patrol without Clay knowing. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“I’ll be sure to get home before morning to send you off to your interview.” Clay pats Tommy's hand across the table and stands up, placing their plates in the sink. Tommy wasn't even halfway done with his plate, but he didn’t say anything. Clay was a bit crazy sometimes.

“Thanks for dinner.” Tommy breaths. “I love you Dad.”

“Oh kiddo, I love you too.” Clay smiles. He plants a small kiss on Tommy's scar and walks off. A fes minutes later Tommy hears the front door close and lock. He was free for the night.

-

Theseus became Theseus for many reasons. Many may think it's just because crime is too much in the L’manburg sector, that's the noble reason. But for Tommy? He mainly did it because he wanted to fly. He was tired of being cooped up at home with his wings bound. He wanted to stretch them, to fly through the night sky. He also wanted to escape the way he lived. He didn’t want to be just a kid with a fake id and crazy dad. He wanted to be someone without anyone knowing who he was. Weird, right?

Theseus flies through the night sky, the wind in his face and his wings stretched as far as they reached. When he first started this night time hobby he could barely fly for more than a minute. His wings were in such bad condition from years of binding. He was 14 then, now he’s sixteen and his wings are so much better. He loses less feathers every year and he can fly for hours on end. They're nowhere near as healthy as they should be, he’s seen proper avian wings online, but they're better than some normally developed avians.

Here's yet another fact about avians. The color of their wings depend on their healthiness. Most avians have wings the color of Black, Blue, Purple, or White. White is rare, white is the color of wings when they first sprout. Some people stay white, but most turn one of those other colors. Red is also rare, he read online that only 1 out of 7000 avains have red wings. Red wings are caused by improper development, another reason why Tommy prefers to hide them. Most people he saves don't think about his wing color and rather about his whole color scheme. It makes him recognizable. Theseus is a famous and happy name around L’manburg.

Almost all regular civilians in L’manburg love the vigilante, they call him a hero around these parts. About half of Kinoko like Theseus as well, the other half don't care so much. It's Arctic that hates the vigilante, or they like to anti-hero or criminal. How different things are when the income line is crosses. In L’manburg people gift him cash (whatever little they have) or small trinkets which he always keeps in his room. Whenever he travels to Arctic in his Theseus get up he gets rocks thrown at him and the police called.

“Help!!!” Tommy snaps out of his peaceful mind as he hears a scream from a nearby alleyway. He dives, gliding down to where he hears more screams. The alleyway was pitch dark, as it usually is. The City Council (which half the members are part of the Hero Council) keep refusing requests to put in street lamps down in L’manburg. How rude.

Inside the alleyway (which he can only see with his night vision goggles) is a tiger hybrid standing over a shorter boy. The tight hybrid had a tail and fur around his forearms. He was mugging the younger boy who looked to be around Tommy's age.

“My, My, what do we have here?” Theseus asks, crossing his arms. He was always more confident in his costume, in his persona.

The tiger turns to look at Tommy, his claws are up against the boy's throat. “Aw. Isn't it the little bird? Come to save the day, false hero?”

“Yeah. I am. Now let go of the kid.” Theseus demands, he made sure his voice changer was activated.

“Nah, I’m good. This little guy had a lot of cash on him, I’ll split it with you 90-10?” Tiger-Boy offers, pulling a couple hundreds out of his back pocket. Holy hell was that a lot of money for a L’manburg kid.

“Look man, everyone's struggling now-a-days, but you don't see everyone mugging kids. Go get a job and give the kid his money back.” Theseus slowly takes a few steps closer, his eyes dart between the brown haired boy and the tiger.

“Nuh uh. Finders Keepers false hero.” The tiger goes to pounce, but before he can Theseus whips to the side and grabs the back of his neck. To get a height advantage Theseus flaps into the air. Once he has a solid grip on Tiger-Boy he begins to fly higher and higher.

“Let go of me!” The man shouts, his claws right a small hole in Theseus’ jacket and create a long scratch down his forearm. Theseus grits his teeth to keep from shouting. As soon as he is about 15 feet in the air Tommy drops the Tiger and he goes falling with a scream. Right before he hits the ground Tommy scoops him up and rams his head into the wall. 15 feet was deadly, a head bang in a wall wasn't. The Tiger is out and Tommy tosses him to the ground in the alley, striding over to the boy.

“He'll be out for a while. Grab your money from his pocket and get out of here, kid.” Theseus looks at the boy's neck and concludes he isn't injured. The rundown L’manburg hospital may like Theseus, but Theseus hates it. He hates the smell of septic and dirt, too many infections sprout from the seriously out of code hospital.

“Oh my fucking hell! You're The Theseus!!” The boy shouts. A fan? Gross.

“Yes. I’m an illegal vigilante that nearly just killed a man. Get out of here.”

“Thank you so much! I’m Toby, but my friends call me Tubbo.” The boy reaches a hand out to shake as he flashes a toothy grin. Why don't people listen when he tells them to get home? You'd think they'd know not to be wandering these streets at night.

“Alright, Turbo, go get your money.” Theseus repeats, he chooses not to shake that hand. He’s heard of enough diseases to know better. He had a terrible immune system.

“It’s Tubbo.” Tubbo reiterates, walking over to the Tiger and pulling his cash out of the pocket.

“How’d you get that much cash?” Theseus asks suspiciously. He didn’t really care if people stole from big chain corporations, but if this kid robbed someone else or stole from a small business Theseus would drag his ass back to wherever he stole from and physically force him to return it.

“I’ve been saving up from work. I was just bringing it to my friend's new spot.” Tubbo shrugs, pocketing the cash in his dirty jeans. “Oo. That cut looks bad.”

“It’s no big deal.” Theseus sighs, he’s glad he chose a black and red color scheme. Blood is so much easier to wash out that way.

“Yeah no, that needs stitches. I’ve got a med-kit at that spot I was talking about? I could patch you up and send you back to your savings?” Tubbo offers. Theseus considers the offer for a moment before rolling his eyes behind his goggles.

“Fine, why not? Where is it?”

-

Tommy follows Tubbo to a creepy ass abandoned building and into the basement. He was surprised to see fairy lights decorating the space, piles of food, a bunk bed, and a table full of metal scraps. Surprisingly nice for a homeless (by the looks of it) kid. “Nice spot.”

“Thanks. Me and my best friend, he calls himself Ranboo I don't know what his real name is, set it up. We move around often enough so people don't find us.” Tubbo smiles. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Very humble.” Theseus nods. He slips his nighvisiom goggles to sit on top of his hood. The only thing Tubbo will have to see are his eyes, eyebrows, and a tiny bit of his forehead. Not enough to identify him.

Tubbo digs around the mess of food and other supplies and pulls out a newer looking first aid bag.

“Take a seat.” Tubbo points to a tire in the middle of the floor. Theseus doesn't mind the way the boy stares into his eyes for multiple moments as he sits down. He rolls up his sleeve and holds his arm out on his knee. Tubbo kneels before him and uses a few disinfectant wipes to clean the blood up.

“Numbing cream or no numbing cream?” He asks, holding a tube of cheap cream.

“No numbing, I need to be able to feel my arm to save people.” Theseus points out.

“Your decision, this will hurt like a bitch.” Tubbo scoffs. He pulls out a needle and some stitching string. He pours some cheap medical alcohol on his hands and the needle before turning back to the wound. After a deep breath he stabs through Theseus’ skin.

Tommy hisses through his teeth, his face scrunches up in pain. “Fuck.”

“Sorry man.” Tubbo winces as he stitches the wound. When he’s finished he wraps Theseus’ forearm with a white bandage and washed his bloodied hands.

“All fixed up!” Tubbo cheers.

“Thanks.” Tommy smiles beneath his mask. He hasn't met many people around his age. “How old are you, kid?”

It felt awkward saying kid, but in the eyes of Tubbo he was a kid compared to Tommy.

“17. How about you, Theseus? Is that even your real name? Probably not.”

Tommy sighs. He knew a question like that would arise. Everyone always wants to know who he really is.

“Oh… sorry that was rude.” Tubbo rubs the back of his neck.

“No… it was predictable. I’m not going to tell you my age.” Theseus stands from the tire, flexing his wings.

“Thanks for saving me, I owe you. If you ever need anything patched up again you know where to find me. And if I’m not here I’ll leave a note inside that tirr where you can find me.” Tubbo offers. He seemed like such a bright person despite the situation he was in. He literally was living in a creepy basement in L’manburg, how could he look so content with that?

“Thanks man, I’ll keep that in mind.” Tommy pushes his goggles back on and flies out (more like up the stairs so he doesn't have to walk) and back out into the night sky. If he actually considered pulling off his mask and telling the boy his age, no one has to know. He didn’t know why he even wanted a friend that badly, he’s never needed one before.

-

Theseus saved about 8 other people from muggings, helped two kids find their way home, and gave some cash that was gifted to him to a homeless dude with a dog. He got home around five am, right after he changed back into his pajamas and rewrapped his wings he heard Clay pull in front of the house. After he assessed his wounds (a few more rib bruises and that bandaged cut) he heard Clay climbing the stairs. He threw himself into bed and pretended to be asleep right as he heard his door creaking open.

“Tommy~ Tommy wake up!” Clay sings from the doorway. Tommy pretends to just be waking up, he doesn't even need to fake a yawn. Second night in a row without any sleep.

“Morning, Dad. Just get back home?” Tommy asks as he sits up in the covers.

“Yeah, when is your interview?”

“10:15, I should leave around 9.” Tommy replies, running a hand through his greasy hair. It's time for a shower.

“Okay. I love you kiddo.” Clay smiles before he closes the door. Tommy ignored the red on the man’s palms and the heavy duffle bag on his shoulder. Tommy ignored a lot of things about his Dad, things he didn’t want to know or think about.

Tommy gets out of bed and grabs an outfit. This time he was going to dress proper for the interview, no slobbyness this time. He doesn't have much for fancy clothing, again he’s been poor his entire life, but he does have some decent stuff for things like this. He pulls out his black business slacks, a white dress shirt, and his red knitted sweater over top. He would've gone with a jacket, but if his cut bled through it'd be really noticeable. After his shower he dresses quickly and grabs his favorite necklace.

On his 15th birthday Clay bought him this beautiful silver chain with a smiley face charm. He found it creepy, but it reminds him of the good moments with his Dad so he wears it whenever his Dad is happy.

Tommy is ready by 8:45. He goes downstairs with his hair almost completely dry and his nice boots on, his messenger bag swings at his side. Clay is in the kitchen on his phone.

“I’m heading out now Dad!” Tommy calls by the front door.

“Then fucking go!” Clay shouts back, he was typing angrily. Well, that was good while it lasted.

Tommy stays quiet as he leaves and shuts the door gently behind him. On the subway a few blocks down he slips the necklace off and tucks it into his pocket, he dreads what would happen if he didn’t get the job.

Tommy makes it to the tower at 10 o’clock and checks in with the lady at the front desk. Apparently he’s the last interviewee, but somehow the luckiest. The first guy had his interview at 1 am. What the fuck is wrong with these guys? Each interview lasted about half an hour before the next one. He was last on the list so he had the latest time. Woohoo him!

“Okay, I just got word that that interview before you is complete. Please head to the 24th floor, the fifth room.” The front desk lady intructs. “Here is a temporary key-card.”

24? God that's a lot of stairs, he’ll never make it up there within the hour. His calf was still bad. Tommy huffs and grabs the card before limping over to the elevator and presses the button. It opens up to him in a few minutes and a guy he briefly recognized from yesterday steps out in a super expensive suit. Tommy nearly punches him and steals his suit, but decides against doing that in a towerful of heros.

Tommy takes an unsteady step inside the elevator. It didn’t feel terrible on ground level, but still a little shaky. There was a key card reader beside the pad of buttons. Tommy scans his card and the 24 button lights up. He presses it and the elevator jolts.

“Holy shit!” Tommy shouts, his arms grab the bar behind him as the elevator begins to slowly rise. His mind imagined the empty space growing beneath him and the ground. He wasn't afraid of heights, he was afraid of falling without his wings to catch him. His wings were very much out of commission at the moment.

The screen above the door ticks as each floor is passed. As it goes to 22 it stops.

“22? I put in 24?” Tommy breaths shakily, trying to slow his heart down as it jolts again. The door chimes and opens. Standing outside it is none other than retired hero- The Captain. She enters the elevator and stares at the young looking boy crouched against the corner with wide eyes, scar, and heavy breathing.

“Why the fuck are you getting on?” Tommy whines, slamming his eyes shut as the retired woman scans her card and presses the 29th button, she’s visiting a hero friend in their condo.

“Because I ain't walking up all those darn stairs.” The Captain crosses her arms in the middle of the elevator. She was a sheep hybrid with puffy hair and a sheep's nose. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Elovators are fucking terrifying!” Tommy shouts as the machine jolts again as it begins to go up.

The Captain blinks a few times, staring at the kid. To her he seemed like a highschooler. She briefly saw her godson in him. Oh boy does she miss Tommy today. Puffy and Phil were good friends, they worked together as heros back in the day. Phil made Puffy the godmother of all his son's.

“This is your stop. Are you one of the applicants for the assistant position?” Puffy has seen people coming up and down on the SBI team office floor since one am.

“Yeah.” Tommy whispers. He follows the bar and as soon as he is close enough he jumps across the crack to the hallway, he lets out a breath once he’s on solid ground.

“Goodluck kid!”

“Thanks ma’am.” Tommy calls back as the doors slide shut. He takes a few moments to catch his breath before going inside. Once he’s calm he finds the fifth door and twists the handle. It allows him inside easily. What opened to him was a large couch and television on the left, a miniature kitchen on his right, and a small hallway with four doors straight ahead of him. In the kitchen is what he recognizes from the news as Hypnosis without a costume. Ew, the prick. He hopes to XD he isn't being interviewed by him. He’ll seriously fuck it up if he was.

Wilbur turns from his phone to the final applicant entering, and boy did he have to hold back two extreme reactions. He felt like either balling and hugging that young man until he passed out or to punch the guy into the ground. “Hey, T-Thomas, right?”

“Yeah.” Hypnosis was surprisingly not that rude, but what could Tommy expect? He wasn't in vigilante gear, right now he was a normal totally not criminal man. He still hated the guy though. “Where should I go?”

“Is your hair dyed?” Wilbur blurts out. He needed to know of this guy was purposefully fucking with them by dying his hair, wearing contacts, and changing his name. Not that his Tommy’s eyes could be replicated though, they had an unique glow.

“No?” Tommy scoffs, shaking his head. “Can you answer my question, pri- sir?”

“Oh uh… first door on the right.” Wilbur blinks. Was this guy about to call him a prick?

“Cool.” Tommy rolls his eyes. He heads straight down the hallway. The first door on the right had a small plaque on it saying ‘Phil’. The door on the same side further down said ‘Wilbur. The first door on the left said ‘Technoblade’ and the one further down had no name, but there were marks on the door as if plaques have been removed and replaced repeatedly.

Tommy turns back to Phil’s door and knocks gently.

“Come in!” He hears Father Crow yell from inside. Tommy takes a deep breath and enters the room. It was a cozy office, bookshelves and a big desk and warm lamp lighting. Father Crow sat in a big leather chair with his wings relaxed behind him, when Tommy entered they tense slightly. Tommy's own wings twitch uncontrollably on their binding, which was painful. On the other side of the desk was a small armchair. “Thomas, correct?”

“Yes, but please, call me Tommy.” He nods, shutting the door behind him. There was a weird watery gleam in Father Crow’s eyes when he loomed at Tommy.

“Hi, Tommy.” Phil sighs. He was trying very hard to control himself. However, he did notice some things Fundy said to him. First, he saw how casually the very young looking man was dressed. Secondly, his eyes traveled to the poorly hidden scar on Tommy's forehead. Lastly, he saw how short and skinny the boy looked. Oh, and the way he leaned on a particular leg. Car crash, huh? “Please, have a seat.”

Tommy nods. He carefully sits down, his back never touches the back of the chair.

“I’m going to ask you some questions to get to know you, some of them may sound unnecessary or repetitive, but trust that it is a very important part of the process.” Phil smiles.

“Okay.” Tommy nods.

“You are 19, correct?”

“Yes”

“What are some hobbies of yours?”

Tommy holds back asking why he was asked that question, but based on what he said before he’s guessing a lot of applicants ask that. “Uhm… I guess I enjoy reading?”

“I can tell. Graduated at 16?”

“Yes, my father home-schooled me, I did school work throughout the summer and finished early.” That wasn't a lie, he did do work in the summer. He just didn't mention the fact his father didn't let him go outside at all until he was 13 and he had a lot of time on his hands home alone.

“Impressive. Your father sounds like a smart man.”

“He is.” Tommy pats his pocket unconsciously.

“Do you speak any other languages? I saw on your file that you went to a foreign university.”

“Just English and a little French and Spanish. It was an English speaking country.” Sometimes Tommy scares himself with how fast he can lie.

“How do you feel you get along with others?”

“It depends on the person. If it's a complete asshole I won't be able to get along well with them. People with common sense and thought for those around them I can get along with with ease.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Phil laughs. “Have you ever gotten in trouble with the law?”

“No.” Tommy replies point blank. Maybe he answered a little too fast? Should he elaborate? Oh god what if he knows he is lying?

“Good! We are heros afterall, plus that would be on your file. Just seeing if you slip up.” Phil grins. “How about family? Any siblings, partners?”

“No, it's just me and my dad. I still live with him.”

“Nothing wrong with that, both my kids still live with me and they're older than you.” Phil smiles. “Why do you want to work here?”

“The honest answer or the sucking up answer?”

“Honest, please.” Phil leans his arms on his desk. He appreciated how truthful and… normal these guys sounded. Most of everyone else suck up and talk about their accomplishments and credentials the entire time. That or how cool the heros were.

“I need the money. It probably isn't the best thing to hear when looking for a loyal employee, but it's the truth. I don't want my dad to have to work three jobs anymore, I want to pay the bills for him so he can enjoy himself.” Tommy smiles. It is the truth. He wants Clay not to have to be out of the house most hours of the day at whatever jobs he says he is at. He wants him to have more time at home and with his friends.

“That’s so sweet.” Phil’s wings relax. “I appreciate the truth, Tommy. Most people would've said something along the lines of being close to heros or lightening our load so we help others or loving working as an assistant. It gets boring after so long of hearing it.”

“Assholes.” Tommy points out. “Would never get along with them.”

“Neither did we, that's why we’re here today.” Phil sighs. Boy was it a court mess when Jared jumped out the window and died on impact. “Anyway, next question. Where do you see yourself ten years from now?”

“As a 29 year-old.” To be honest, Tommy didn't see himself alive in ten years. Either Clay would kill him, a villian, or a collapsing building, or he’d be in jail. If he was free and alive in ten years what would he even do with his life?

“Ha ha. Seriously. Where do you want to be by then?”

Tommy thinks for a moment. “Somewhere happy. I can't control the future, I can't predict it either, but if I had any sway I would be happy in ten years time.”

“I think we all would like to be happy.” Phil smiles. “Do you have any special powers or mutations?”

Tommy pauses. “Not really. I have decent hearing, but other than that I’m a pretty under average person.”

“Allergies? Disabilities?”

“No allergies, not disabilities.”

“What about that limp?”

“Oh, the limp? I have weak muscles.I pulled something while walking the other day.” Tommy waves off the questions. Really it was overstretching his calf while chasing a villian, but what's the difference?

“Thankfully we have that elevator, imagine if you had to walk up 24 flights of stairs!” Phil jokes. “How do you feel about blood?”

Phil added that question to the list after the Jared incident.

“I’m chill with it. I mean, I don't like seeing it, but I won't faint if I do.”

“Good.” Phil nods. This was his favorite choice so far. If it was just up to him he’d hire Tommy on the spot, but he still has to do their little tradition test with his two son's. “Thank you, Tommy, let me take you to the lounge.”

Phil felt weird saying that name, it felt wrong in his mouth towards someone that wasn't his son.

He guides Tommy back to the living-kitchen space. Wilbur was still at the table where he was supposed to be, Technoblade would walk in any minute now.

“Thanks for coming, Tommy. We’ll be sending out an email later tonight to tell you if you got the job or not.”

“Tonight? Wow it takes most employers like five to ten business days to make a decision.” Tommy laughs. He thought being in a room with one hero was bad, now there were two.

“I k-” Phil begins but hears Technoblade approaching the door outside and pauses. Tommy’s ears also seem to perk in that direction, he looks a little nervous. Technoblade walks inside. His hero costume always had a boar mask over the lower half of his face, and when he went in public he always wore a black mask. He had no mask on this time, his pointy teeth and pink nose were very obvious.

“Hello, Blood God.” Tommy nods to the man as he walks past to get coffee, he turns back to Phil. “What were you saying?”

Technoblade makes a humming sound behind him. They did this little extra test sometimes to see how people reacted to Technoblade’s teeth. A couple have freaked out or made a slight (no matter how much they tried to hide it) disgusted face. Afterwards they all sign a legal contract not to tell anyone about his face or they will be sued for ten million dollars. Tommy however, who for some reason feels like Technoblade’s teeth are familiar to some deep part of him, didn't have much of an reaction. In fact he barely even registered his face, he was too nervous. Technoblade had a keen sense of smell, Tommy was worried this is how he’d get caught as Theseus.

“Call me Technoblade.” He says, pouring himself a cup.

“Sorry, Technoblade.” Tommy nods. Wilbur, because of his power, was really good at reading how people felt. All he got off Tommy was more anxiety, which isn't a big deal since the boy came in with a lot anyway.

Phil looks between his son's, Wilbur smiles and Technoblade nods. They agree with this one.

“Tommy, we’d like you to start tomorrow. Your shift starts at 9 and ends at 5, regular 9 to 5. We can adjust hours however you’d like.” Phil smiles at the short man.

“Wait… what?”

“He means you're hired, kid.” Technoblade blurts out. His back leans against the counter as he sets the coffee down. He doesn't even like coffee, he just needed a purpose to walk in casually. Wilbur has drunk like 8 cups at this point.

“Why? I mean… you just said you’d send out emails tonight.”

“Well I liked you best and you passed the test. Hey that rhymed!” Phil laughs.

“What test?”

“The Techno Test.” Wilbur says as he walks up beside Phil. Why the fuck was all these guys so tall? He didn't really notice it while fighting them because he’s usually up in the air. “I can basically feel emotions because of my power, I was watching yours when Technoblade walked in without his mask on. Most of the time I feel disgusted, but you just got progressively anxious the longer you were here so it really wasn't much of a reaction.”

“Oh…” Tommy breathes, he couldn't believe it. “So I got the job?”

“Now you're relieved.” Wilbur smiles.

“Congrats!” Phil cheers, putting a hand out. Tommy hesitantly shakes it, a slight smile forms on his face.

“Am I good to go now?”

“Yup! See you tomorrow.” Phil moves out of the way so Tommy can leave. He nearly runs from the room and down the hallway. As soon as he is in front of the elevator waiting for it's arrival he pulls out his phone.

-

Tommy:
Dad!!! I got the job!

Clay:
Cool. 95% each week

Tommy:
I know

-

Tommy sighs. He wishes his dad was more happy, but it's just a bad mood. He’ll come around soon. All Tommy needs to do is go above and beyond to make him happy.

-

“He looks eerily similar.” Wilbur sighs, his hand in his pocket holding the childhood photo. They all carried a piece of their Tommy with them. Wilbur has the photo and guitar pick, Phil has a locket with Kristen's and Tommy's photo, Technoblade has a stuffed rabbit in his bedroom that had belonged to Tommy. They all needed their boy back.

“I know, I know.” Phil defeats, his hand holds the locket.

“No one get any ideas, Wil. It's impossible, he isn't him and we all need to remember that.” Technoblade grunts as he storms off.

“But we wish it was.”

Chapter Text

When Tommy arrives home from the interview Clay's car isn't on the street in front of their house. He wasn't surprised, his dad ran off a lot whenever he was in bad moods. The longest was a few years back, it lasted four weeks. Tommy nearly starved to death, but he still obeyed Clay's insistence that he not leave the house.

He never understood why he wasn't allowed to leave his home as a kid. He didn't know it was because he’d be recognized at that age, he didn't know he was the city's most looked for child. He just knew Clay didn't like letting him outdoors, which he was okay with now. It didn't matter, did it?

Tommy takes the opportunity to sleep a bit, something he hasn't gotten a lot of since he began vigilantism.

He fell asleep almost the very minute his head hit the pillow, and he fell harder than ever. It allowed his mind to dream. As he slipped deeper into his mind he might've broken a wall that has been sturdy for 8 years.

-

It was very bright outside, that's the first thing he noticed. It was sunny and hot, it was summer. He was looking through eyes that were lower to the ground than usual. Before he could take in his surroundings the feet were running, and they were running fast. The little sneakers that covered his feet made thumping noises on the sidewalk covered in smeared chalk.

He turns into a gate that surrounds a decent sized house with a big yard. In the big yard was a slide and swingset.

His hands, which were oddly small, twist the knob of the door open. He opens it to a cozy house. Toys littered the ground, hung photos with people blurred from his vision covered the walls. Despite the new surroundings, Tommy felt at peace. He feels happier than he ever has in his entire life in this small body and unrecognizable house. Was this where he and Clay lived before his memories were cut off?

As Tommy feels the feet that lead him run throughout the house he begins to realize no one was here, which for some reason felt out of the ordinary in his mind. That was a weird feeling. He was used to an empty house. Why was this one being empty such a shock to him?

Now he’s on the second story of the house. His eyes try to look at the names written on the doors, but they are blurred out. It was like someone wrote them in paint then smeared the paint.

He goes to a door at the end of the hall with his name on it, finally something he can read. When he reaches up to open the door and push it open the surroundings change. Instead of walking into what he predicted would be a kids bedroom he walks through and sees nothing but empty void. He turns to go back through the door, but it's already gone.

He could barely tell which way was up and which way was down, it was just empty nothingness. There is nothing to hear, to feel, to see, to smell.

Just as the silence becomes unbearable, he falls. He falls through the void for what feels like hours until he lands on concrete with a light crash. He was ever so grateful to feel something again.

As he pushes himself to his feet he sees he is at a train station. There were no doors to leave the train station, there was just the platform he was on and a track that goes on forever.

“Hello!” Tommy shouts down the track. It echoes forever. He climbs back onto the platform and takes a seat at the bench like he was waiting for a train. He felt like he was waiting for a train.

At some point a train does come. He couldn't hear it coming, it was a silent train. The doors part and someone steps off. Before Tommy could even stand up the train left again, he missed his chance. His eyes turn to who stepped off and he sees he can't make out their face. He knows it's a woman, he feels like it's someone's mother. Maybe his mother. Clay never told him about his Mom.

Seeing the lady is like trying to make out a face you haven't seen in decades. All he knew was it was a lady and that she was wearing a purple dress. Her face was blurry, her hair color was flickering as if it couldn't decide what should be there.

“Hello, Tommy.” The lady greets. He could hear her voice and know it was a good voice. He believes that it's a voice that brought him joy at some point in his life.

“Who… who are you?”

“Who am I? Who am I, Tommy?” The woman asks. “Remember me. You need to remember me! REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME
REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME R%MEMBE& M@
R%MEMBE& M@ R%^EMB#& M@ R%^EMB#& M@ -

The voice screams and screams in his own head now before it distorts and suddenly… there's silence. He heard that same woman singing in the distance, it was a lovely song but he couldn't make out the words. He was laying in a bed of daisies, when he turns his head he sees a giant tree with the blurry shape of that woman sitting on a blanket beneath it. A cow moos somewhere in the field. Tommy feels calm.

He’s happy.

He’s relaxed.

He’s warm.

He’s a-

-

“... Asleep!” Clay shouts. Tommy shoots up in his bed covered in sweat, the dream lingering in his mind before reality comes back to him. The clock on his bedside said 9:37 pm. “I said why are you asleep?! Hello! Are you fucking deaf now or just ignoring me?!”

“Wha… I uh… I got home from the interview and thought of taking a quick nap.” Tommy shakes his head, his ears feel clogged and there is a faint chant in the back of his head. Remember me? Remember who?

“Oh and just because you have a better job than me now you think you can take leisure naps and leave all the housework to me?” Clay crosses his arms. “It’s like I don't even matter to you!”

“No you do, Dad! You mean the world to me!” Tommy protests. He jumps out of his bed with sudden awareness and a pounding heart. “I fell asleep, that's all. I can clean the house now, it's okay.”

“Don’t tell me it's okay! I raised you better than a lazy useless nobody!” Clay reaches out and grabs a fistful of blonde hair, he drags Tommy closer to him. “It’s too late now to clean, I already did it because it was messy when I got home from a very long day!”

“Ow!” Tommy winces, he feels a few strands leave his head. “I’ll make it up to you I swear!”

Clay pants in his face. His lip twitches, hands tighten their tug. Without saying another word Clay tosses Tommy out the bedroom door, his body collides with the railing and he hears to creak. His wings were what hit first. The pain was like lightning if it never ended, the binding definitely didn't help.

As Tommy tries to stand, the wind knocked out of him, Clay storms out of Tommy's room and grabs Tommy's neck. He holds the boy's head over the railing and his body tight against it, small cracks and creaks sound from the poorly made railing.

“I… I’m sorry.” Tommy chokes, he couldn't breath. He couldn't fucking breath!!!

“Sorry is an overused word, Tommy.” Clay spits. His grip on Tommy's neck never loosens. As darkness clouds Tommy's vision Clay finally lets go and kicks the side of Tommy's shin. Tommy collapses onto the floor in front of the staircase gasping for breath. Before he can recover another kick is sent to his badly abused rib cage and he is sent flying down the staircase.

His body bangs on each step, his fingers try to slow his fall but only slide and bruise. When he makes it to the bottom he feels a small trickle of blood dripping from the top of his head and every joint feels ached. His throat burns, his neck stings, his body hurts, he is lacking oxygen.

“I can't deal with you, asshole!” Clay screams. Tommy hears him storm down the upstairs hallway and a door is slammed so hard it rattles throughout the house.

Tommy can't bring himself to move from where he lays at the foot of the stairs. He shouldn't even be surprised, Clay went through these very sudden moods often, it wasn't the first time he’s hurt Tommy. This wasn't even that bad compared to some incidents, but it still hurt. He can't help but miss the good Clay, the one that made him dinner and kissed his head.

After an hour Tommy finally stands up and climbs slowly up the stairs holding his side. He can hear Clay breathing a few room's down, it's the slower breathing heard during sleep.

Tommy goes back to his room, stopping first to look at the bent and cracked railings, and uses an old t-shirt to wipe the dried blood from his forehead. It doesn't look too bad, just a small bump and scab. You can't even see it beneath his hair. He felt exhausted, there was no way he could go out on patrol tonight. His wings were the worst of all his pain, but he knows they aren't broken. He’s had a broken wing before, he would be screaming if it was broken.

So, instead of flying in the sky, he goes back to sleep. This time a weird dream doesn't plague it, but he still wakes up the next morning with the sound of singing in the background of his slow awake.

-

His first day of work is going to suck, Tommy concludes. There is no way in hell going to work with a terribly bruised neck, rib cage, even worse calf, and painful wings bound tight behind him would equal a decent day. He had a piercing headache, he hopes he isn't concussed.

At least he can hide the bruises well enough. Tommy showers at 5 am and quickly dresses in a black turtleneck, a not so dirty pair of brown jeans, and a white button down shirt buttoned half of the way up. It hides the still healing stitches, bruised neck, and it's decently comfortable. It was beginning to get chilly outside, Avians didn't do well in the cold.

By 7 Tommy decides it'd be best to leave. Travel takes about 45 minutes (between the slow walk, subway, and walk to the tower it takes him a bit. It'd be shorter if L’manburg had better trains.) and he doesn't want to catch Clay awake. The walk is painful, his bag definitely was painful as the strap laid on his back, and the subway smells of puke more often than not nowadays. The walk to the tower is better, still painful but he wasn't afraid of being mugged the whole way there. He was dressed too nicely for work to be walking through L’manburg and riding the train.

Tommy arrives at the tower at 8:53, right before work starts. He walks up to the lady at the desk. “Goodmorning, I was h-”

“Yes! The lucky new employee. I guess I should actually introduce myself, the name Alyssa. Here’s your new keycard. It goes to every floor in the building except floors 25 and up, those are the residential floors and need a separate key card for access. Welcome to SBI agency, have a nice stay.” Alyssa throwd a lanyard with a keycard at him. It had his name and photograph on it along with a pin number. He tosses it around his neck, careful not to be too aggressive around the bruises. It hung comfortably, if anything it was only a tad itchy.

“Thanks Alyssa.” Tommy smiles. “I’m Tommy.”

“I know. Everyone here already knows you as the new assistant.” Alyssa waves him off as she goes back to typing loudly on her computer. Tommy stares a moment more before heading towards the elevator. The bright lights didn't do much good for his headache and all this movement doesn't do much for his ribs. At least he thinks the tendon he strained is feeling better, even if it felt like it was worsening last night.

Tommy waits for the elevator, he still felt nervous for the ride up but the pain overcame fear at the moment.

“Hello, again.” Puffy greets from behind him. She was on om advice business this time. A hero wanted some help with a court case they're dealing with and Puffy just so happened to have retired and become a part time lawyer. “Are you going to faint in the elevator again?”

“I did not faint!”

“You were close enough to fainting.” Puffy laughs, looking over the young boy. A part of her isn't surprised the Crafts decided to hire the boy that looked annoyingly similar to their missing boy. Those men would do anything to get the kid back, they would even pretend someone else was him just to feel better for a while.

“Well I’m a big man, I’m not afraid of a puny climbing machine that goes hundreds of feet up into the air supported by just a cable line and confusing engineering.” Tommy puts his fists on his hips, it almost looked like he was pouting. Puffy’s godson pouted like that whenever he was called a child, he didn't like being called a child. He was a b-

Puffy shakes her head. A lot of people say big man, a lot of people pout. A lot of people have blonde hair and blue eyes. Tommy isn't her Tommy, he can't be. “Well, when you put it like that an elevator is a terrifying concept.”

“Exactly!” Tommy huffs as the doors open. He steps inside, careful not to step on the crack between the square room and lobby. Puffy steps in behind him. He scans his card first, this time every button lights up except the 25th and ones above. He presses 24 and it flickers on the small screen. As the elevator jolts awake Puffy scans her own card, the same buttons light up and she presses 16. Did he and a famous retired hero really share the same access?

Their ride is silent until they stop on the 16th floor. “Goodluck, Tommy.”

Puffy smiles, waving to the young boy as she exits. She doesn't look him in the eye, it's then that the similarities no longer become just similarities and she starts to think it might really be her Tommy.

“You too!” Tommy cheers as the doors shut and he’s up. This time he doesn't crouch in the corner at least, this time he simply holds the bar so tightly his hands turn beet red.

The 24th floor does not come soon enough, but he makes it there eventually. Phil is waiting for him in the hallway in front of the fifth room. “Good Morning Tommy.”

“Morning, Phil.” Tommy walks towards him, he tries not to show a pained expression as his wings send a wave of fresh pain.

“C’mon, I’ve got lots of things to explain.” Phil guides Tommy back into the familiar lounge. “This is where we chill after patrols or when we don't want to work on paperwork, or if we’re waiting to start a patrol. You can use this space for your paid breaks and lunch.”

Phil points to the couch space and seating area.

“If you bring your own lunch instead of buying it you can put it in that fridge over there. That massive tea and coffee station is free and you can have as much as you like while you work.”

He points towards the mini kitchen with a microwave, fridge, and coffee machines. He begins going down the hallway.

“All our offices are labeled so just knock before entering whoever's you need to enter. Yours is right there.”

The door that was prior nameless now has a small plaque on the front with ‘Tommy’ written on it. Phil opens the door and leads Tommy inside. It was very basic to start. There was a large oak desk with a high quality laptop in the center, an empty red mug, small plant, and a folder. The room has a single bookshelf half filled with bins of folders with various topic labels and a few books. Here are some key titles he saw from a quick glance: Red is for anger (or so I thought), Hair dressing for Beginners, The Art of War.

In the corner is a large fake potted plant and on the wall is a small poster of the SBI team with Phil in the center. Self-centered much.

“Very uh… cozy.” Tommy doesn't like the lack of windows in the office, but it seems private enough for him.

“You can decorate it if you'd like, but we thought these were some basic things. The laptop is already signed into the SBI account, you can add your own email if you'd like. Your job will mostly entail replying to our emails, sending our reports, moderating our socials, conversing with sponsors, picking out missions we are suited for. You’ll also follow us whenever we have an out of city mission or meeting to book hotels, cars, have our suits delivered, all that stuff. We will also have you pick up our suits from Fundy and go to small meetings as our representative.” Phil lists off. “The start may be a little rocky since we haven't had an assistant for a week, we've been trying to keep up with some work but it's been stacking up.”

“Sounds fine, I’ll get started right away.” Tommy nods, tossing his bag onto the desk and hopping into the leather wheeled chair. It was pretty comfortable, but he can't lean back into it with his wings. “By the way, do you guys pay overtime?”

“We pay you for however long you're here working. If you arrive early it's paid, leave late it's paid.” Phil smiles, pulling a bank card out of his back pocket. “You have access to the SBI official bank account, don't use it for personal use. It's for hotels, repairs, cars, coffees, ect.”

“Gotcha.” Tommy grabs the card and slips it into his bag. This was a lot more work than he thought it would be, but if it pays for Clay's happiness then he’ll work as much as he can.

Phil leaves the office and shuts the door behind him leaving Tommy to the office. Tommy opens the laptop and enters the passcode taped to the side. It enters right away to the email.

“Four thousand one hundred and fifty-two unread emails… Fuck me.” Tommy groans, scrolling to the bottom and beginning at the very last one. This was going to be a long day.

-

Tommy only burnt through 100 emails by 11 before deciding to go grab coffee. He didn't like coffee, but he felt he was going to need it. During his time working each member of the top three knocked multiple times and dropped off reports, complaint forms, court orders, and Hero Council letters. He had a paper basket on his desk already overflowing.

“Hey.” Technoblade greets as Tommy passes by him and makes a beeline to the coffee pot with his red mug. He pours himself a hefty cup and chugs half of it, it was lukewarm from sitting out.

“Hi.” Tommy sighs after swallowing.

“How’s the workload?”

“Fucking insane. You guys get so many emails I haven't even touched the stuff you keep dropping off, and social? I haven't seen it yet.”

“Whew. I thought my work was terrible when we were out an assistant, I can't imagine all three of us.” Technoblade scoffs. “What type of emails have you seen so far?”

“Most of them were just questions from the marketing team or medical bills requesting information. A couple spam fan emails I had to rage email back and block.”

“Boring. Have fun being our assistant.”

“Assistant? I feel like your fucking manager.” Tommy huffs, stomping back to his office as Technoblade holds back a snicker.

Tommy takes a break from his hell that his gmail and checks out the stack on his desk. Phil left him a small note that said to sign things with both his name and SBI inc. If it was too personal to one of them bring it over for them to sign after filling out the information. Tommy started.

His hand hurt after an hour of signing and reading forms. Most of them were sign offs for lower levels that needed a form filled out for every small fucking descion. Near the bottom he came across a pick up order for a new support item for Wilbur down at the lab. Why the hero couldn't go pick it up himself was unknown to Tommy.

“Guess it's time to traverse the fucking elevator!” Tommy cheers in a sarcastic voice. He signs where he needs to sign (only one blank line for Fundy to sign on) and heads out. The entire team must've been off on a patrol because they weren't in the lounge. The elevator ride isn't as nerve-racking and ths stairs weren't hell to bounce down.

“Fun-Man?!” Tommy shouts into the laboratory with the slip in hand. The fox jumped up from behind a counter, he had a booming grin on his face.

“I knew they'd pick you! Is this your first day?” Fundy cheers, his tail sways as he walks over.

“Yup. It's so much fun catching up with constantly building up emails and paperwork.” Tommy blinks. He holds the paper out, Fundy grabs it and reads it over.

“Ah! This. I had to design Wilbur new boots. His old ones didn't give him enough, he wanted to try out jumping enhanced boots this time.” Fundy nods. He takes the sheet to a random wall and signs with a mini pencil. “There we go. I’ll grab it.”

The paper is tossed back to Tommy, he scrambles to pick it up. How rude. Fundy runs to the other side of the room and grabs a pair of brown boots. They looked normal, but Tommy is going to assume the soles were infused with a double jump potion. Fundy hands them over to Tommy.

“What the hell? These things are heavy as fuck.” Tommy groans.

“My bad, Tomzers. I can't make something high in tech and light.” Fundy chuckles, his hands rest on his hips. “When’d you take your lunch? I usually take mine around 12:30.”

Tommy looks up at the clock above the screen and sees it's noon.

“I haven't taken mine yet. Not hungry.” Tommy shrugs.

“Well you should join me sometime, it doesn't have to be today if you don't want to.” Fundy smiles, scratching the tip of his nose. “I eat down here, I keep lunch in the fridge.”

“I’ll consider it.” Tommy nods. “Bye!”

“Buhhh Bye Tomzers!” Fundy cheers as Tommy leaves. He trudges up the stairs, into the elevator, and back to the office. At least now he knows Wilbur will have accelerated jumping abilities now.

Inside the lounge he notices the team is back, they're all eating a take-out lunch at the table.

“Hypnosis! I’ve got your fucking boots!” Tommy shouts. He tosses the shoes onto the the kitchen floor (gently enough not to damage them) and stomps back to his office to continue work.

-

“Yeah and then this criminal just started pissing!” Wilbur laughs as he tells his patrol story, the sound of the door flying open turns their heads.

“Hypnosis! I've got your fucking boots!” He sees Tommy standing there irritated as he tosses Wilbur's brand new boots onto the floor and storms off. They hear his office door slam shut.

“Doesn’t seem like he’s having a good first day.” Technoblade comments as he shoves another bite of his sandwich into his mouth. He was very hungry after such an annoyingly short patrol.

“Maybe it's the fact we forgot to warn him that Jared was super lazy and had a lot of work piled up before he died.” Wilbur suggests.

“Don’t talk ill of the dead, Wil.” Phil huffs. “But yeah he was super backed up. I would've fired him sooner if not for the accident.”

“Yeah. Accident…” Technoblade tuts.

“TECHNO WHAT DID YOU DO?”

-

Tommy didn't leave his office for the rest of his work day. The only bonus of all the work was that it, at times, was more painful than his physical pain. By 5:15 he has no plans of going home anytime soon, maybe a part of him didn't want to go home to Clay. Was he afraid? He doesn't want to know if he was. All he wanted to do at this moment was finish these fucking emails.

“Hello?” A knock sounds upon his office door, he can hear Phil’s voice from outside.

“Come in.” Tommy sighs. He had his legs folded up on the chair and he had to quickly drop them to the floor.

Phil slowly opens the door and slides inside, his face cautious and soft. He liked this assistant, he didn't want this one to quit after one day like Uriel and Kaylub.

“Hi, Tommy, how are you?” Phil asks, the name still felt raw coming from his mouth.

“I’m alright. Sorry for throwing those boots earlier, I didn't have my fifth cup of coffee yet.” Tommy apologizes as he takes a sip from his sixth cup. He could feel his wings twitching from all the caffeine.

“Don’t make me put a limit over your head after just the first day, kid.” Phil huffs, crossing his arms. Tommy just cheers the mug to the air and glances back down at the laptop screen.

“Only 400 more emails to go through. Wait… 401. Someone just added one to the never ending list.” Tommy groans.

“You can go home for the evening y’know? You got more done in just today than some of our past assistants got done in a week.”

“I might soon. It’s getting hard to read the words on the screen.”

“Go home!”

“Fine.”

-

Tommy didn't go home right away, he replied to about fifty final emails and then he packed up and went home. He didn't really feel the pit in his stomach, he’s gone hungry enough times not to care about it, but his nose did perk up everytime he passed by a restaurant. It's not like he could afford to buy anything anyway. He had five dollars in his bag for emergencies, he never got a final paycheck from Grapevine and he won't get paid until the end of the week. Even so, 95% is going to Clay. Depending on how much he works he’ll only get like thirty bucks to himself. It's not that he’s complaining, he loves helping out his dad, but sometimes he wishes he could be selfish sometimes.

Clay’s car was outside along with a few others, he recognized Nick’s. Tommy unlocked the front door and silently slipped inside. He heard chatter from the kitchen. It sounded a bit like an argument, he caught a few words. They were speaking in very hushed tones.

“He’s bait!” An unknown voice shouted.

“Not yet! We need to wait longer.” He heard Clay reply. Tommy, depsite how curious he was, felt guilty using his keen hearing to eavesdrop on his dad. He subtly makes his presence known by coughing as he takes his boots off at the door. All conversation in tje kitchen suddenly goes quiet.

“Tommy? Is that you?” Clay shouts.

“Yeah. It's me.” Tommy replies as he walks in the direction of the kitchen. “Wh-”

“Go to your room!” Clay interrupted before Tommy could even make it halfway into the living room.

“Alright.”

Tommy sighs. He knows how Clay is when he has friends over. He locks Tommy away and Tommy doesn't see him until the next day. They go out somewhere as a group.

The only bonus was that this was a great opportunity for patrol

Chapter Text

Was Tommy incredibly unlucky? Yes, he was. Was he great at fucking around? Yes, he was. Was that a good combo? No, no it was not. He was reckless and unlucky, and now he’s been stabbed twice by petty criminals and just so happened to run straight into the patrol path of Father Crow.

Tommy liked Phil, he was nice so far and treated Tommy well. Did he like Father Crow by default then? No. They may be the same person, but one was extremely annoying and the other wasn't.

It was winged man versus winged boy. Phil was struggling to keep in line with the twisty bird. Phil was very much a fly straight avain. He flew with grace and speed, but not with flexibility. Tommy flew with flexibility rather than speed, he twisted and turned and did backflips. The two ‘heros’ were doing the dance above a roof. Tommy caught on quick that Phil was used to having the speed and altitude advantage. If he stayed in a small area Phil would have neither. Boohoo, this was payback for all that damn paperwork.

“Aren’t you bored yet, Crow-man!?” Theseus teases, he made sure to tighten his hood. Now that Phil knows Tommy, Theseus can't have the man recognising him via hair and unique scar.

“Not even close.” Father Crow grunts as Theseus literally slips from the tips of his fingers yet again. He wasn't with his sons on this patrol, they were at home sleeping. He didn't have back up, not that he needed it. This bird was incredibly annoying and nimble for a red wing, but the whole red wing thing made Phil’s heart ache. He hated when avain children go without parents, many live terrible and short lives. He’s surprised this man survived as long as he has.

“Are you sure? You look mighty annoyed~” Theseus laughs as he does a mid-air somersault under Phil. He always felt so much more confident and in control when he was Theseus. Sometimes he wishes he could be Theseus all the time and just leave Tommy and Thomas behind.

“How about you? I see that blood even through the clothes?” Father Crow huffs. He feels almost dizzy from spinning in circles around the vigilante.

“I’m perfectly fine!” Theseus protests as he barely dodges a punch poorly thrown by Father Crow. It was obvious he was getting tired and sloppy, Phil just had to wait for the right moment to strike. Theseus rolls on the ground of the roof and flaps back into the air. “Why do you even want me locked up so bad? I am literally dropping crime rates!!”

“Illegally! You don't have rules to follow, there's no consequences if you go too far or hurt a civilian.”

“Like there are with Blood God?” Theseus quips, he manages to land a quick punch to Father Crow’s gut in the moment of distraction. Phil winces and flies backwards for a moment of recovery. It was an unwritten rule between avains to never mess with another's wings. No matter how easy it would be for Phil or Tommy to grab the other's wing and snap it or pull it, neither do it. Plus, Phil had an odd feeling in his chest about the vigilante. A sense of need to protect. He assumes it's his fatherly crow instinct.

Phil never had an avian child. Yes, he was able to nest and nurture his regular children, but an avian child is different. It's a different type of nurturing and instinctual need. He’s always wanted a child of his kind, a part of him might see this parentless avian and want a chance to do something close enough to being a Father Crow. He also has a weird inkling that the vigilante isn't as old as people assume, he knows a voice changer when he hears one.

“Aw, did I hit a nerve?” Theseus whines, he was getting the upper hand momentarily.

“No, you hit my lungs.” Father Crow snaps out of his head as he searches for an opening. Theseus flies past him and Phil’s eyes focus. A chance!

Father Crow reached forward and grabbed the back of Tommy's neck. He didn't even need to touch his wings.

The minute Tommy felt that hand on the back of his neck he wasn't Theseus anymore, he was Tommy. He was a Tommy that didn't know the feeling of being a strong savior or a confident businessman.

-

Tommy was leaning against the counter as he ate a microwave dinner. Clay was in a medium mood, he wasn't happy but he wasn't throw-Tommy-down-the- stairs pissy.

Tommy was 14, he hadn't yet left his house for anything more than taking the trash to the street or letting Clay inside. He was allowed to leave now, but a part of him was afraid to leave. He didn't know what the world was like out there. He didn't have the best muscles from not having many places to go and his skin was terribly pale. The first time he left for a job interview Tommy got sunburn so bad he looked like a genuine tomato. Since then he’s adapted, but he’s still sun sensitive. That's why he only patrols at night.

Tommy didn't know Theseus existed yet, he didn't create Thomas yet either. He was just poor old Tommy, forever afraid and inside his house with his schoolwork.

Clay was walking down the stairs, he was upset from something going on at work Tommy assumed. As Clay walked into the kitchen his eyes landed on Tommy. To Tommy, what happened was just a sudden mood switch. To Clay? It was years of hatred for Phil that came to the surface when he saw how horridly similar Tommy looked to his real father. He couldn't help himself, he acted upon. every fantasy he has of Phil. Fantasy's where Phil is below him and Clay is the strong one. Clay is the one that can defeat him.

His hand shoots out and grabs the back of Tommy's neck. Tommy straightens, his breath hitches and teeth clamp down on his tongue.

“Dad?” Tommy whispers. He couldn't see behind him, he couldn't feel what was going on. But he did know he was afraid, just like how he always was. It wasn't until he became Theseus did he start to feel less afraid.

“I hate you…” Clay pants. His breath is wet on Tommy's ear. “I hate you so fucking much!”

Clay snaps. He drags Tommy by the neck onto the ground. Tommy's face is pressed into the dirty tile floor, his grip never loosens on the boy's neck. Clay’s hands grip onto the counter and his hands wrap around a fork. A smile creeps onto his face as he activates his power.

Green light emits from his hands and from the back of Tommy's neck it lights up Tommy's veins all down his body. Tommy couldn't move, he was paralyzed. Even if he could move, he’s unsure if he would. Could he? Would he have the strength to rip away from Clay?

“I don't know why I ever liked you in the first place. You're such a self-righteous inconsiderate prick!” Clay screams in Tommy's face, but to him it wasn't Tommy anymore. It was Phil, a younger Phil. Phil as in the boy Clay knew from his teenage years.

He grabs Tommy's forearm and holds it out. In a sudden thrust the fork is plunged into Phil’s arm and blood begins to pour, staining the tile. Phil couldn't scream, he couldn't move. His eyes could only stare at the fork. Clay drags it, scraping deep, gushing wounds into the man’s forearm. Tommy could see the way the skin flapped away, the raised layer. He could see the muscle and small amount of fat in his arm being mushed. The blood was insane, it spilt down his entire arm and across the floor.

Clay gets a hold of himself a few moments later as he turns back to look at the neck he holds. The scar on Tommy's forehead reminded him that he wasn't holding Phil down. He was holding Phil’s son, the same son he can't die just yet. He needs Tommy a while longer, he needs Phil to relish in the pain of losing someone close to him longer.

“Looks like papa went too far. I’m sorry, Tommy.” Clay sighs. He throws the fork to the side and lets go of the boy's neck.

Clay kept Tommy under his powers for a few more hours as he stitches the wounds up. He even called Nick over to bring a healing potion, it helped clear up the wound enough that the scar isn't too crazy now. It's definitely noticeable, but not terrible as it would've been. Clay had a nice streak for an entire week after that, he helped Tommy go to bed, shower, and eat. It was a bittersweet week for the teen.

-

Phil grabs the back of the vigilante's neck and pulls him backwards. He was shocked at how easy it was to throw the guy onto the ground of the roof. He was even more surprised to see him not get back up or fly off. Phil flew down to the vigilante. He heard loud breathing.

Theseus was on his knees, his arm was holding the underside of his left forearm. Through the voice changer Phil could hear the ever so familiar sound of hyperventilation. Wil had a lot of panic attacks for the years following Kristen's death.

“Theseus?” Phil asks. He knows this was a great opportunity, the vigilante was down and vulnerable. He could arrest him now and not have to worry about him again. But… he couldn't do that. He swore to help anyone and everyone that needed help when he became a hero, and right now, a vigilante needs help.

Tommy wasn't there. He was inside his head reliving that moment. He didn't see Phil approaching or how the man knelt down beside the vigilante. He didn't feel himself wrapping his wings around himself to protect himself. When he did come around he felt one thing. A hand was on his back in the small distance between his wings.

“Gah!” Tommy gasps. His feet push himself away from the hand and his vision begins to return to him. He was on concrete, he was on the ground with his wings spread out wide behind him. His airway felt like it was clogged, his lungs felt hungry.

“Hey! Hey.” Phil shushs. He had his hands out in front of him. “It’s okay, It's okay. I don't know what you were seeing or who I was in your mind, but it's not real.”

“I….br….” Tommy’s chest rises and falls quickly, his heartbeat was loud in his ears.

“You’re on a roof, okay? You're Theseus, I’m Father Crow. We were fighting and I… I grabbed the back of your neck and you freaked, okay?” Phil explains. He felt so goddamn guilty.

“Yea…. Mhm.” Tommy chokes as he desperately tries to get his lungs satisfied. He felt so weak. He didn't feel like Theseus despite being Theseus right now. He wanted to be Theseus. “Roof, gotcha.”

“Yup. How many stab wounds do you have?” Phil asks. He can see them, he knows how many there are. They aren't too bad, but he did want to focus the vigilante on something else.

“Two and a half.”

“A half…? Y’know what… not gonna question it. What type of goggles are you wearing?”

“Night Vision. They allow me to see in the dark without everything looking oddly colored.”

“Is that why they're red?”

“No, I just like red.” Tommy pants. He was feeling better, he wasn't breathing like his lungs were ripped out anymore. More like he just ran a marathon type of breathing.

“I can tell.” Phil laughs. He reaches a hand out to offer Theseus something to hold, but it goes ignored.

-

“Thanks..” Theseus sighs ten minutes later. They were both sitting on the edge of the roof with their feet hanging. Avian with Avian, their wings folded behind them. “I still don't get why you didn't arrest me. Or why you haven't yet.”

Phil smiles lightly. “I don't know fully myself, to be honest. Here's the thing. I made a promise to myself and my wife that I would help anyone in the world that needed help, no matter their status or looks or personality. There have been people over the years that I felt like didn't deserve to be saved, but I saved them anyway. In that moment you became just another person I needed to save. It definitely helps that you're an Avian.”

“Avian bros!” Theseus laughs. Father Crow has always been his favorite hero, no matter how much Clay has professed his hate for the man whenever the news was on. He doesn't know why. It might just be because he’s a winged hero, or the fact that he is respectful even to criminals. He didn't cross lines or go too far, he doesn't have a high body count, he doesn't use weaknesses he knows Theseus has against him (wings). And today proved his point. The guy is pretty cool.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Phil looks over to the vigilante. He would've arrested him by now if it weren't for two things. One, his fatherly needs at the moment. Two, the red wings.

“Depends. What are you going to ask me?”

“Where was your Avian parent when your wings sprouted?” Phil blurts out. He knows it's an EXTREMELY sensitive question to a lot of red winged kids, but he wanted to ask it anyway. Most of them were either orphaned or abandoned.

“Geez.” Theseus chuckles. It wasn't a bad question for him because he genuinely doesn't know. “It’s weird. I know my d- one parent isn't an avian. I have no idea who my other one is, I’ve never been told about he- that one. I know that for an avian to be born at least one of the parents has to have a physically visible avian gene, it can't be dormant like it is in like half the population.”

“It’s probably that other parent then.” Phil nods. “Why weren't you entered into the avian-child program then?”

“The what?”

“The program? It's for children that have lost their avian parent. They are sent to an avian on the board of suitable parents and when the wings start sprouting the instincts take over for both the adult and child and the many day long nesting begins. I’m on the board, I’ve parented a few avians through their transformation. The avian kids, after the cycle is over, usually don't share a bond with the parent, it's only in blood cases that a bond is formed.”

“Huh. Maybe my parent didn't know about it then.” Theseus knew the real answer. Clay didn't want an avian kid, that's what. He didn't want to ‘help him’ through it or even provide comfort. Tommy was left to rot in his own skin for days on end. It's the painful puberty of the bird world.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

If Phil knew the truth, the truth on who Thomas and Theseus were, he would feel guilty. He would feel at fault that his own son was a red wing. But he didn't know that, he didn't know who Theseus was. He only felt minor guilt, guilt that can't be explained by his own reasoning.

“We better split then. If anyone asks, you escaped.”

“You mean I won?” Theseus snickers.

“Sure.” Phil rolls his eyes sarcastically as he pulls himself to his feets. Theseus does the same.

“Buh Bye Mr. Crow!” Theseus cheers as he launches himself into the air. When Phil isn't looking he swoops down and flicks the top of his head before really leaving. Was he still a little petty from the paperwork? Yes. Yes he was. Did he want to ignore the feeling of vulnerability he felt when he couldn't breathe? Yes. Was he trying to do that via being annoying? Maybe… maybe.

Chapter Text

While Tommy and Phil do the tango on a random roof in Kinoko, Technoblade and Wilbur are wide awake. They had a lot to discuss; Sally and Tommy being the two main topics of the night.

Technoblade sneaks into Wilbur's room after Phil leaves for patrol. He was nervous. He loved his brother, and although he aches and cries for his youngest every night, he’s the only one of their family that has accepted that their Tommy is gone and it's likely he won't be coming back. Sometimes he wishes that Wilbur would forget about Tommy, it would do him so much more good. He wouldn't be as angry all the time, he would be able to talk to Techno without mentioning Tommy's name.

It's not that Technoblade doesn't want Tommy back. If he was given the choice to get his little brother back, he would do it in a heartbeat. He'd give his own life to bring him back. He just wants his family to be happy. He wants to not hear Wilbur sobbing every night or to have to keep him from relapsing. He wishes Phil didn't get so little sleep every night up on his laptop searching for answers that will never exist. He wishes he cared more about a human life that isn't his brother's, he wishes he didn't kill.

But Technoblade knows that these are ONLY wishes. He can't bring Tommy back, he can't unsee what he saw the day his mom died. He can't protect his family and himself at the same time. Their new assistant only rocked the boat, it brought emotions back that have been repressed in Technoblade since the day he awoke to sirens and his parents crying to a police officer about their missing son. He wanted Tommy back more than ever. His family would be better off with their bright son around rather than the brooding killer.

Technoblade stops his thoughts. Nothing should be about what he wants, he’s struggled the least. Despite having seen the worst, he’s coped differently. Tonight is about Wilbur; about their new friend and Wilbur's soon to be child. He raises his hand and knocks, his teeth grit to the sound of sniffles. After a moment or two Wilbur opens the door. His eyes were puffy and tear stained, he was wearing a yellow sweater and shorts.

“Hey, Wil.” Technoblade sighs. He couldn't keep himself from sniffing the air or peering around his younger, but slightly taller, brother. He was always suspicious whenever Wilbur was upset or locked away in his room. He worries one day he’ll smell weed again, that one day he’ll walk in and see Wilbur foaming at the mouth again. He worries he’ll see Kristen again…

The room smelt of sweat and Wilbur's favorite candle. There didn't look to be any booze or beer on the floor. “Don’t give me that look.”

Wilbur huffs. He was tired of his family always assuming the worst, he knows he messed up back then, but don't they know he learnt his lesson? It makes him feel untrustworthy. “Sorry. How ya holding up?”

“I’m fine, Techno.” Wilbur sighs, stepping aside to let his brother in his room. He had a guitar seated in the corner and shelves filled to the brim with the songs he's written. When - If - he gets Tommy back he’ll play every one to him without any shame. Technoblade hasn't heard any of Wilbur's songs, he didn't earn that privilege like Tommy did.

“You don't look fine.”

“Well I am, I have to be. I’m not going to do drugs! I’m not going to drink! I’m not going to kill myself! I have a child on the way!” Wilbur shouts, he is tired. He is sick and tired of being treated like a piece of glass.

“And that's supposed to be an obvious fact?” Technoblade scoffs. “It’s not that we don't think you should be trusted; we just want you to be safe. You don't know what it was like for me, watching you die slowly. Killing yourself, whether you meant to or not. I didn't want to see that, I didn't want to carry your lifeless body out of our house to meet the ambulance!”

“What about me? I’m the one that had to get my stomach pumped, I had to be put in a psych ward!”

“I know!” Technoblade screams louder than he meant to. “I don't want to lose you, Wilbur! I already lost Tommy. I saw mom hanging from the ceiling. I almost lost you in such a similar way. I’m sorry if I seem suspicious sometimes, I just want to protect you…”

Technoblade feels a single tear rush down his face and he is quick to compose himself. He couldn't cry in front of Wilbur, he really had to stop making things about himself.

“Te-”

“Forget it. I want you safe, that's all.” Technoblade takes a deep breath. “Tell me about Sally. All I heard was that she was a salmon hybrid with red hair.”

Wilbur stares at Technoblade a few moments longer before dropping the prior conversation. He really didn't want to argue with his brother, he also didn't want to say something he’d regret. Like how bad his craving for alcohol was the past few days or how he wanted so badly to sneak off to L’manburg to buy from an old dealer.

“Take a seat.” Wilbur hops onto his bed and Technoblade takes Wilbur's desk chair. “She’s 22. It's a funny story about how we actually met. I was on a stroll through some of the more neighborhoody parts of Kinoko when I heard shouts from a nearby house. Being that I am a literal hero I ran towards the noise and ended up in someone's backyard. There was this older gentleman slipping around a small pond chasing a fish in the water. He kept shouting-

“Sally! Sally get your ass out of the water.” Wilbur impersonates a deep voice. Technoblade lets out a small snicker. “I asked him what the matter was and he said his daughter wouldn't leave the lake. Then, he asked if I could catch her for him. Being the kind gentleman I am, and being bribed with a vintage record player if I caught her, I rolled up my jeans and trudged through the pond chasing that fish around. After what felt like three hours the fish stops in front of me and boom! She goes up in a flash of smoke and suddenly there is a very beautiful woman sitting in the water naked!”

“Naked?”

“Yeah, she wasn't wearing a darn thing. She had gorgeous red hair, green eyes, and small faint scales on his arms, legs, and cheekbones. Her dad ran out and saw her and me and immediately began chasing me around his yard for looking at her. When he finally calmed down the lady was outside again, this time dressed, and we had a decent conversation while her dad blew off steam inside. She ended up giving me her number, which I say was worth not even getting the record player.”

“You do know you have enough money to buy ten record players, right?”

“I know! This one was just really cool.” Wilbur huffs.

“That’s certainly an interesting first meeting.”

“I love her so goddamn much.” Wilbur sighs as he lays back on his mattress. It was an odd sight for a boy who hasn't even said I love you to his dad since he was in the mental hospital and on meds.

“Really now?”

“Yeah.” Wilbur reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a ring. It had a small diamond enveloped in vines made of golder. “I think I might marry her, Tech.”

“Holy shit squared.” Technoblade chokes on his saliva. Wow, that was fast. “Didn’t you meet her… what eight months ago?”

“Life is too short not to take risks, plus, she's carrying my child.” Wilbur points out. He stuffs the ring away and sits up. “You’re really not one to talk, Mr. I refuse romance at every corner.’

“I don't refuse romance! No one on the market is good enough for all of this.” Technoblade jokes. To be honest, he’s never had the time or desire for a relationship. He has his family to look after. Plus, he doesn't want to drag his issues into someone else's life. “When can we meet her?”

“I… I don't know. I don't want to tell dad yet.”

“Why not? You're a grown man, he won't be upset if you get a girl pregnant.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then why not?”

“Because I want Tommy to be the first to hold my child.” Wilbur blurts out. “I want him to be my best man if I get married. I want him to meet my Sally.”

Technoblade should've expected this. He can't tell if he feels hurt or not by the fact Wilbur doesn't want him. Wilbur, even if he was gone, will always choose Tommy. Technoblade doesn't exist in Wilbur's eyes, at least that's how he feels half the time.

“Dad will want to meet Sally. Dad would be the first to hold my child and he’d be a guest of honor at my wedding. Dad would forget about Tommy. He doesn't even talk about Tommy as often as he used to. If something this big came into his life? Tommy wouldn't matter anymore.”

“Wil… he’ll always matter, but you've got to move on. You can't spend the rest of your life searching for someone who is already gone. Look in front of you. You have me, you have Dad. We aren't Tommy, but we still deserve to be beside you in your big moments.”

“I can't do it, not yet.” Wilbur sighs. He wanted his little brother.

“I hope you are able to wake up one day, Wilbur.” Technoblade shakes his head as he leaves. Wilbur was too stubborn, he was too attached to the past. Technoblade saw the way his brother and dad looked at their new assistant, he saw the way their eyes gleamed with hope. Hope for what? He just has to assume it's hope for a second chance. A chance to have a brother again. He needs them to remember. Tommy isn't THEIR Tommy.

Chapter Text

It's been a few weeks since Tommy began his tiresome job at SBI inc.

Does he like it more now he isn't being drowned in work? Yes. He does. Here are some bonuses;

1. He gets free coffee and fruit

2. He gets to be out of his house most of the day

3.He is allowed to work overtime nearly every single day

4.Clay is happy

5. Did he mention the free fruit?

6. Again. Clay is happier.

Is he bothered that Clay has gotten thousands of dollars while he’s struggling to eat everyday? Maybe.

Clay, since Tommy started giving him 95% of his paycheck, has stopped buying food with the intent to share it with Tommy. Anything Clay buys is his and isn't to be taken. Clay isn't around as much either. He’s out more often and doesn't seem to have much care as to where Tommy is as long as Tommy is back home before 10 pm. Does this mean Clay hasn't been hurting him as often? No. No it does not.

Everyday Tommy leaves the house at 6:30 to walk to the subway station a few blocks down. He pays for a ride, which didn't seem like a lot of money at first but it's starting to build up, and rides it into Kinoko. He walks a few more blocks through the busier part of Kinoko to a bus station that rides into Arctic, those rich as motherfuckers have standards on what type of buses and trains come in and out of their section. The bus fare is a lot, but it's either that or walk 15 miles in chilly weather.

He gets to the tower half an hour before his hours start and takes the time to set up and relax for a moment in his office. He works until eleven where he goes out into the lounge and takes a banana from the free fruit basket and coffee if he had a long patrol the night before. Then he goes back to his office to work until the end of the day. He usually stays in his office until 6-7 pm getting more work done. If he goes home he’d either have to see Clay more often or feel tempted to steal Clay’s food. Then he leaves and takes a different bus back into Kinoko and rides the subway back into L’manburg. It isn't ideal, people have attempted to mug him multiple times and he’s had to deal with plenty of creeps.

Today wasn't any different, except for the fact that some people like to notice patterns.

-

“Morning Tommy.” Wilbur greets the young man as he walks through the door. He had an early morning patrol and came to chill in the lounge until his mid-day one. Was he also avoiding some court orders? Yes. Yes he was.

“Morning.” Tommy waves. He really wanted to get to his office and lock himself inside. Bad day, but when are they not?

“You’re early again.” Wilbur points out. He’s been watching Tommy arrive most days, the Hero Council is punishing him for being too aggressive by making him run early patrols, and nearly every time the guys arrive early and go straight to work. He’s also seen Tommy not leave until later in the evening, which he heard from Technoblade is a regular occurrence.

“Yeah, I guess I am?” Tommy rolls his eyes. Wilbur was exceptionally less annoying outside of his costume, but he was still a massive prick.

“Why not come hang around for a bit then?” Wilbur offers. While Tommy wasn't as annoying and stuck up as all the other assistant's they've had, he’s still the most closed off of the bunch. Like Wilbur doesn't even know a single thing the guy likes, except for maybe the color red. He wears it a lot.

“I’ve got work to do.”

“Sure, but you don't have to start for another…” Wilbur checks the clock. “Twenty-two minutes.”

“Better to be ahead than behind.” Tommy begins heading towards his office.

“C’mon! You already work overtime, just sit and hang out for a bit.” Was Wilbur being selfish? Yes. Why? He wanted to see Tommy's face for a while longer in the day. It was so close to his brother's it made him feel fuzzy, or lightheaded. He couldn't tell.

“Fine.” Tommy groans. He knows Wilbur from all their battles, the man is a pestering rat, but he’s consistent with it. He knows that if he doesn't now, Wilbur will just keep bothering him.

Tommy flops down on one of the chairs at the table across from Wilbur with his arms crossed.

“How has working here been so far?” Wilbur asks with a smile.

“Terrible. You guys suck.” Tommy spits. Wilbur was starting to get the idea that Tommy didn't like him.

“Ha.” Wilbur laughs shortly, he coughs into his sleeve. “What’s travel like between here and your house? I’m assuming it’s short since you arrive so early everyday.”

“It takes me an hour and 45 minutes to get here.” Tommy blurts out. He didn't know why he was still doing this, he could easily just go get to work. But, funny enough, he was a bit tired of answering emails.

“What the fuck-” Wilbur chokes on his cough. “Where the hell do you live? Outside the fucking city?”

“No, I live in center L’manburg. It's a lot of walking and buses and trains to get to Arctic.” Tommy shrugs.

“I was expecting you to be a Kinoko or Arctic resident to be honest. It's a bit of a shock.” Wilbur remembers what L’manburg was like, he used to buy drugs down there. The streets were always dirty, trash and broken glass on every sidewalk. It was always dark at night and smokey during the day from the factories just outside the section running. On every corner was a drug dealer, every alley was filled with homeless people and criminals. To say the least, it was dangerous. “It’s dangerous down there, why don't you move?”

“You really think I can just up and move whenever I’d like? Privileged motherfucker.” Tommy scoffs. He could move if Clay saved up the money Tommy was giving him, but he wouldn't do that. Clay liked the district they were in, Clay wouldn't want to move.

“Sorry.” Wilbur looks away. God was he itching for a smoke right now.

“Maybe take into consideration that the only reason L’manburg had gotten this bad is because heros like you refuse to patrol down that way for any reasons other than catching criminals that are bothering sponsors.” Tommy huffs. He wasn't in the mood for pretending to be nice or to care right now. His head was pounding and his stomach ached. Too many bananas or not enough bananas?

“That’s not-” Wilbur protests. “That’s not true. We heros do patrol in that sector, we just have to focus more on bigger villains most of the time.”

“Yeah, like Theseus.” Tommy speaks before he can think. Fuck. Fucking shit dang.

“Wh-” Wilbur freezes. He didn't want to admit to himself that Tommy had a point. He knew the truth, he knew the truth about L’manburg. It was abandoned by the law to save people that are already safe. The Hero Council rarely assigned patrols or missions that way, most were in Kinoko as it was the nicest of the crime-filled part of the city. L’manburg was the worst of the worst. Kinoko was the best of the worst. Arctic was the best of the best. It didn't stop villains from trying to blow up buildings or attack civilians. No matter which sector it was there were still villains, yet L’manburg is treated as it is.

“Ne… ermind.” Tommy whispers. A wave of nausea came over him suddenly. He felt lightheaded and overheated, he felt starving. Such a familiar feeling. “I’m-... Gonna go..”

Tommy winces as he stands from his chair quickly. Too quickly.

A hand shoots out across the table and grabs Tommy's forearm as he sways to the side. His head spins and eyes blur.

“Are you okay, Tommy?” Wilbur asks quickly as he comes around the table to steady the assistant. To Wilbur, Tommy looked pale and woozy. His hand remains on Tommy's arm while his other reaches around to grab Tommy's shoulder to push the boy back into the chair.

“Mhm.” Tommy nods, but doesn't fight back being forced in a chair. He really should steal more bananas. Why does he keep thinking about bananas? “All good, just stood up too fast.”

Tommy holds the bridge of his nose as he breathes through the nausea. It’ll pass, he knows it'll pass. It always passes after some time.

“You don't look so alright.” Wilbur narrows his gaze at Tommy. He knew this guy was hiding something, he could read people well. He saw the way Tommy always looked paranoid and the way his eyes would scan over the heros in the room. Tommy always answered vaguely when asked about his life, the way he moved was consistent with injuries.

“It’s fine.” Tommy groans.

“Sure.” Wilbur scoffs. He walks over to the kitchen and pours Tommy a glass of water. “Here. You look paler than usual.”

Tommy doesn't have the energy to glare at Wilbur so he settles for scowling as he grabs the glass and brings it to his mouth with shaky hands.

“Thanks, I guess.” Tommy takes a slow sip and swallows hard. What was with him and freaking in front of the Craft family? First the attack with Phil and now the dizzy-starvation in front of Wilbur. The two don't know they are helping the same person, but it weirds Tommy out either way. He didn't expect them to be this… nice?

“I’m not sure if that was just ‘standing up too fast’.” Wilbur crosses his arms. “You looked off before.”

“It’s nothing.” Tommy grits his teeth. Fuck Hypnosis’ observational comments. He’s fine.

“What’d you have for breakfast?” Wilbur asks. He had a feeling Tommy wasn't eating enough, anyone with eyes could see that.

“Toast.” Tommy lies. He didn't want people, his bosses especially, knowing he was too broke to eat despite his pay and that his dad refuses to give him his food. He didn't want them knowing he’s gone hungry most of his life, but now he’s starving. He doesn't want them to know he’s not 19, but 16.

Wilbur stares at him for a moment. “That’s an obvious lie.”

“No it's not!”

“You paused, you also shifted your weight on the chair. You aren't the best liar.” Tommy may not lie well now, but a part of him thinks he wanted Wilbur to know he was lying. He wanted help, but even he didn't know that he wanted it.

“Fine. I didn't have breakfast.”

“Why?”

“I woke up late.”

“What’d you have for dinner last night?”

“...”

“Understood.” Wilbur tilts his head and strides over to the refrigerator. He pulls out a tupperware container with old curry inside. Silently he opens the dish and microwaves it before placing it in front of Tommy without saying a word. He slides a force across the table and takes his seat again. “Eat.”

“I’m g-'' Tommy begins. The smell of curry wafts up into his face and takes the words out of his mouth. It smelled heavenly, better than anything he’s even eaten and he hasn't even taken a bite.

“Go on.” Wilbur pressures, his eyes locked onto Tommy's. He was prepared to hypnotize the boy into eating if he had to. Right before he would've tried it, and realized the boy can't be hypothesized, Tommy picks up the fork and slowly sticks it into the container. He brings a noodle to his mouth and he’s suddenly hungrier than he’s ever been. He chows down, stuffing bite after bite into his mouth and down his throat. “Slow down, you're going to choke.”

Tommy DOES NOT pout as he slows his speed down. He finally can breathe between bites, but his greedy stomach doesn't agree with the pace. “This is fucking delicious.”

“My Dad made dinner last night. He isn't the world's greatest cook, but everything he makes is edible. He always makes sure to cook for us at least once a week.” Wilbur smiles.

Tommy felt confused for a moment. Clay didn't even make dinner for him once a year, he didn't even heat his microwave dinners for him or pour him a glass of water. He didn't want to feel jealous or ungrateful for what Clay actually does for him, but in a flash of emotion that was all he could feel. It passes quickly and guilt for ever feeling that way takes over. Clay raised him, he earned for him until Tommy could earn for himself. He was all that Tommy ever had, all that he has. The least Tommy could do was to be grateful. Maybe Clay wasn't like Phil, but Clay was what Tommy knew. Clay was his.

“That’s uh.. that's nice.” Tommy nods, picking at his food. He didn't feel all that hungry anymore. He doesn't know if it's because the food has sunken into his stomach now or if the thought of disrespecting his father chased the hunger away. To be honest, it was a blend of both.

“Y’know, you look a lot li-” Wilbur begins. The door creaks open and Technoblade slowly walks in. His eyes scan over his little brother and the employee. He heard what Wilbur was beginning to say, that's why he walked in when he did. Don't tell anyone, but he was outside the door for a few minutes listening in. It's not creepy! He was curious.

“Goodmorning Tommy, Wilbur.” Technoblade glares at his brother subtly. How many times does he need to be reminded that Tommy isn't Tommy?

“Hi Techno.” Wilbur laughs nervously. “Go on and finish up Tommy.”

“I’m full.”

“No you're not. Finish.”

“Really, I’m full.”

“F-

“Wilbur, if he says he’s full then he’s probably full. You can go ahead to work, Tommy.” Technoblade intervenes. Tommy smiles gratefully at the man and quickly leaves. If he hears hushed arguing for the minutes following his leave he doesn't say anything.

-

There was something about Technoblade that felt familiar to Tommy. As Theseus, Tommy has always been a little terrified of the Blood God. But when Tommy met Technoblade, the actual Technoblade, for the first time he felt nothing but comfort and confusion. His face gives him the same eerie, but happy feeling his nightmarish dream gave him a few weeks ago. It was… nostalgic? Of what, Tommy doesn't even know.

His mind can't seem to focus on his work, it keeps traveling back to things that seem more important to him. Things such as the woman in his dream and last night's events. He stopped a heist, some low-level criminals were attempting, key word attempting, to break in and rob the big hero bank. He was in Kinoko when he saw the group heading that way. They looked suspicious so he followed and saw the start of the heist. The criminals were shockingly easy to knock out and he made it out before the heroes and cops even arrived. If they arrived and found a cocky note from their least favorite vigilante, Theseus has no ideas about it. Wink wink.

A part of him couldn't tell whether he was just tired or if he genuinely felt that way about Technoblade. Either way, last night was a long night.

-

“Sapnap, please, tell me what happened with last night's heist.” Dream crosses his arms. He sat at the head of a large wooden table. His two sidekicks, NotFound and Sapnap, sat at either side of him. It was just the three members today, the lower leveled lackey's weren't invited to this meeting.

Dream started off as a small criminal, he was barely even considered a villian, but over his 10 years of work he’s grown to be a type of boss in the villian world. Him and his Dream team.

“Why did it go so wrong?” Dream pressures. He wore his mask. It started off as a little piece of cardboard and is now a bullet resistant round piece of metal colored white with a smiley face. He had a green hood and daggers in every pocket. His right hand man, NotFound, wore white goggles and a lower face mask with a blue shirt and red cape. He had strange abilities. He could produce poisonous gasses that could do whatever he wanted them to. Kill, sleep, sicken. Sapnap, a blaze hybrid with fire abilities, was the third in line. To be honest, he was a sort of scapegoat in the team.

“Theseus took out our lackey's. I tried to finish it off myself, but by the time I got halfway into the Hero Bank of Arctic heros were already surrounding the place. I don't even think that damn vigilante knew it was us attempting the heist, he isn't one for going after the big guys.” Sapnap explains.

“Fucking Theseus!” Dream shouts as he bangs a fist against the table. He truly hated that vigilante. Though, he hated all avians. This one was just on a similar level of annoying as Father Crow, but Father Crow was Dream's enemy number one. No one could live up to what Dream feels for Father Crow. “Why didn't you intervene faster!?”

“No one sent the signal that they were being attacked. I have to assume Theseus turned off their earpieces. When I found group B they were all knocked out with their mic's smashed on the ground beside them.” Sapnap lowers his head in shame.

“Those were expensive.” NotFound sighs, he paid for all the new earpieces and communication devices. “How’s the funds on your side looking, Dream? The boy still bringing in revenue or do we have to rob another random bank?”

“I’ve got 8 thousand saved up from what he’s given me and another few thousand from other stuff.” Dream sighs. “I’ll have him do more overtime. If I have to fucking look after the kid then he could at least be useful.”

“You’re the one that keeps pushing ‘Mission Phil’ away. We could've done it months ago.” NotFound rolls his eyes behind the goggles.

“It needs to be timed perfectly. We need to weaken the heroism community before jumping on that plan. That's what the heist was for, Sapnap. To rob the hero's of their money!”

“I’m sorry, Dream.”

“Sorry doe-”

“Dream.” NotFound interrupts. He was the only one that could disrespect Dream or voice his opinion. In a way, Dream was NotFound’s puppet. “We need to focus on Theseus. He’s only gotten in the way so far, we need to knock the vigilante out of the game.”

“That’s right.” Dream nods as he takes a deep breath. Sapnap throws NotFound a thankful glance. “Sapnap, I want you to burn the little birdie. NotFound, please plan the heist again. I trust you with it more than somebody here.”

“But Dr-”

“You’ve done enough already, Sapnap. Just try to actually succeed this time, won't you?” Dream cuts him off.

Sapnap loved Dream in the way any friend would love their bestfriend. But, he also hated Dream. Ever since he met NotFound Sapnap has just been pushed to the side. Maybe catching Theseus is what Sapnap needs to do to finally regain Dream's attention and friendship. If that's what it takes, that's what he’ll do. It’s time to find a bird.

-

Sapnap heads off soon after and Dream stays behind with NotFound.

“Dream.” NotFound begins sternly. “I hope you aren't getting attached to the kid.”

“I would never!”

“It’s hard to believe that. You don't even let us around him.”

Dream sighs. He trusted NotFound with his whole heart, he would follow the man to the end of the earth. “I know what I’m doing, George. Trust me the way I trust you. When the time is right I’ll be willing to sacrifice him for the good of our cause. Phil needs to be gone.”

“Goodjob, don't lose focus of that, Clay.”

“I won't.”

Chapter Text

Welcome to Hero - Villian news! I’m Conner with brand new information on a recent battle! At 2:14 am a group of nasty villains, who heros are speculating are working for the Dream Team, attempted to break into the Hero Back of Arctic. Authorities weren't alerted until the heist was nearly over as the dangerous vigilante Theseus intervened.

From what information is being allowed to the public there were only 18 fatalities. 10 were security and the other eight were members of the Dream Organization taken down by Theseus.

And that leads us to our question of the day. Is Theseus really all that bad?

Time and time again we see these criminals being taken down by this vigilante without any civilian harm. The man has only been working, without payment, for two years and already has saved more people (that we know of) than nearly half the hero's out there!

Let's look at the crime charts. A month before Theseus was first spotted flying the skies, crime was at 98% in L’manburg, 56% in Kinoko, and 23% in Arctic. Since his appearances L’manburg has reached an all time low of 73%, Kinoko 50%, and Arctic at 20%.

That leads us to the final question. Does Theseus deserve to be given a free pass to illegally roam the streets? Or should he be arrested?

Mind you, the man still poses a danger. Over 70% of all documented vigilante's eventually blur the line between villianism and heroism and end up becoming the first. If Theseus does blur that line, what type of consequences would the city face for not arresting him if he was given a free pass?

Please leave your comments on our forum! Back to Gerald with today's forecast.”

-

“Stupid news. I won't become a villain.” Tommy scoffs.

-

Theseus has learned many things tonight.

1. He hates fire

2. He wants Tubbo to be his friend.

His night started as it usually does. Theseus flew L’manburg into Kinoko searching for people to save and scumbags to squash. His feather rippled in the wind and he felt weightless. He loved the exhilaration that flying brought, especially in moonlight. He loves nighttime, it is always quiet. Theseus was strong at night. He wasn't afraid when flying. He’s glad his vigilante gear was heavy and warm, though, every day is chillier and every night colder. It's ironic that he felt cold on this night.

Theseus decided that since he hasn't seen anything so far he’ll perch on top of a tall building. It was some random hotel that reached 12 stories and approximately 120 feet. He loved heights, but only when his wings were unbound. He loved the idea of falling only if he could save himself before imminent death.

It was like being on top of the world. He was purely alone, he could see as far as his eyes allowed him too. He didn't have to worry about work or being caught or Clay up here. He was just free.

Theseus sat on the edge of the building for five minutes before his keen hearing picks up the sound of the rooftop door creaking open behind him. Whoever approaches isn't sneaky, but he can tell they're trying to be. Every step is heavy and slow, the door even is closed with a click. When the steps make it a few paces behind him Theseus decides to speak up. He didn't want to seem panicked, despite not knowing who is trying to sneak upon him, so he pretends to be casual. Being confidently chill is easy for Theseus, not so much Tommy.

“You’re horrible at walking quietly.” Theseus speaks into the open air in front of him. He knew whoever it was is still far enough away to not be able to strike, but if that rapidly changes Theseus is prepared to take a dive.

“Shit.” A man's voice curses under his breath, but Theseus could hear it loud and clear. Nighttime was also better for his hearing, there was less going on around to distract his ears. During the day he ends up blurring out the noises.

“Not who I was expecting.” Theseus scoffs. Honestly he predicted it would be Hypnosis to annoy his peace tonight. Theseus turns around, his wings are stiff snd ready for takeoff, and spots his spy. He recognized him instantly. Sapnap, from the news. Third most wanted villain in all of the city, 36th in the world. He wore a white ribbom around his head and a black mask to his nose. He was part blaze and had small fire horns sticking out of the top of his head. “Hello, Sapnap. Need something?”

“Yeah. Your dead body. Mind making this easy?” Sapnap quips back, regaining his composure. He was hoping to burn Theseus’ wings off before the birdie even knew he was there. Now he has to actually fight.

“Nah, I don't think so.” Theseus sighs as he stands to his feet. The heel of his boot sits on the very edge of the roof as he faces the villian. He doesn't fight many of the big boss criminals in the city, he focuses more on everyday crime. That doesn't beat the fact that every now and then he runs into one of the bad guys or big criminals.

“I guess we’ll do this the hard way. Try not to get burned, birdie.” Theseus can see the shift of the mouth turning upwards beneath the man’s mask. A smile.

“Fine.” Theseus narrows his gaze in his goggles as Sapnap’s hands begin to glow with embers of a fire. He could easily run and leave Sapnap in the dust, but he did find that cowardly. If he had the opportunity to prove that news channel wrong, that he could take down a big villian and not become one himself, he would take it. This is that opportunity.

Sapnap begins to run towards Theseus with his hands raised as they begin to flicker into flames. As he jumps forward to smash a ball of fire into Theseus’ chest Tommy jumps backwards and up into the air to the side of the hotel. Sapnap goes stumbling over the side and falls only a few feet before flames emit from his hands and feet and send him flying upwards.

“Nice try, Flaming Panda!” Theseus laughs as his red wings flap behind him. He sees a few lights flick on inside rooms within the hotel, a few stories below them a man stands on his balcony with a video camera pointed toward the two. It wouldn't be long until this hotel was alive and watching the fight, and it wouldn't be long after that until heros begin to arrive.

“Panda?” Sapnap glides up back to above the rooftop. He and Theseus weren't that far apart as he prepared another blast.

“You’re stumbling around like a clumsy fucking panda. I thought you were one of the big villians. I guess I was wrong.” Theseus teases, dodging out of the way of a flaming orb being sent his way. He was more suited for hand to hand combat, but he can't get close to the guy without getting his wings charred.

“Shut up!” Sapnap yells in frustration as yet another flame misses Theseus.

“Quick question before I shut up, why do you want me dead again?” Theseus asks as he tries to out fly Sapnap to be able to land a hit. At this point they were both just floating around in circles. Theseus could begin to hear people evacuate the hotel and gather across the street with video cameras out. They all wanted the best shot of the next big fight.

“You should know, you fucked me over just a few nights ago.” Sapnap groans as Theseus manages to land a punch to his back before attempting to swing another fireball at the boy. This one manages to graze his left shoulder and leave a seared hole in the fabric and a red streak on the skin. Theseus acted fast and was able to lift his wing out of the way before he got a hole burned into it.

“That fucking hurt!” Theseus whines. “Wait, the stupid bank heist? That thing was so poorly directed even a seven year old could've busted it!”

“I directed the mission.” Sapnap grunts with a slight sadistic tone as he watches the smoke sizzle on Tommy’s shoulder.

“My point exactly.” Theseus jokes, this time actually being able to dodge. He swoops behind the blaze before he can react and kicks the back of his knee in while simultaneously tugging the back of the man’s black hair. This causes Sapnap to lose his focus and his flames flicker on his feet snd palms. He goes falling back down to the roof of the hotel with a thump. Theseus takes the opportunity to glide down above him and goes to strike the nape of Sapnap’s neck. As his feet graze the ground and hand raises to throw a harsh punch to hopefully incapacitate the villian something hot wraps around his ankle.

“Gah!” Tommy shouts and rips his foot out of Sapnap’s grasp. It was difficult to wiggle out and the pull made him fall onto his back.

“I got you now!” Sapnap chuckles deeply and jumps to his feet above the boy sat up on the floor. He raises a palm of fire, the corners of his mouth pointy beneath his mask. Theseus tries to roll out of the eay but the flame was too large and he was too close. The fire burns his left side and catches on his left wing. The feathers are quick to light and the orange flames spread on the crimson wing. He flapped the wing onto the concrete the embers settled to faint glows and pure black crisps. The pain sets in, he doesn't even feel the bubbling burns littering his ribcage. All he can feel is red hot lightning pain in his wings.

“AHHHHHHHHH!” Theseus screams, his voice echos into the night sky as he uses his hands to crawl away from Sapnap.

He can hear the faint sounds of a helicopter circling the building, a spotlight shining down on the two. He couldn't hear as well through thr ringing that pierced his eardrums. His chest heaved and voice cries and screams in a vibration through his neck. “FUCK!”

Sapnap’s hand dies down from it's glow in shock. He knew it was cruel, and it sounded cruel, but it's what he had to do. He still needs to win. He still needs to prove to Dream that he can be trusted.

He’s quick to recover from his momentary hesitance and raises his hand again to send another wave of fire to finish the screaming bird off. Just as the flames build, a sudden hand grabs his forearm. His eyes turn to look at who grabbed him and they lock with the face of Hypnosis.

“Your fire has gone out.” Hypnosis speaks in a dreamy voice while his eyes remain in Sapnap’s. Suddenly Sapnap lets his fire out.

“No!” Sapnap shouts and rips his arm away, his head shaking to try and get Wilbur out of his mind.

Dream and Hypnosis may seem like they have similar abilities, but they are two very different powers. Hypnosis was in the mind, he snuck inside and convinced the body what to do. Key word, convince. Sometimes, if the body was strong willed, it could refuse to do as Wilbur tells it. Dream, however, controls the body without touching the mind. His powers seeped into the veins and made the body move no matter if it wanted to or not. He needed to touch his victims while Hypnosis needed to see his victims.

Sapnap, having experienced Dream more than enough, hates losing all control of his own body. Tommy is a similar way. The exact same way.

“Back up.” Hypnosis demands. He was on a patrol when he was alerted about the battle occurring on top of a random hotel in the city central of Kinoko. He was flown in on the helicopter and dropped off on a balcony a few stories down. Neither the bird nor the blaze noticed his arrival. He was shocked to see the condition of the vigilante. Despite hating the guy, he doesn't wish wing injury upon his worst enemy. He’s seen Phil stumble home after a damaged wing before, it's no good. It's no good at all.

“No! NO! NO!” Sapnap shouts. His right foot went to slide back but he fought the blurry loss of control within his mind. He couldn't get caught now, not after disappointing Dream so much. “NOOO!”

His voice and anger bring back his powers as both his feet and palms light up in bright flames. He goes soaring into the sky and is out of Wilbur's reign. He is chased for a while, but that isn't today's story. Right now, we must turn back to the searing pain rippling through Tommy's body, most importantly, his wing.

Wilbur steps back as the villian takes off to avoid being caught in the stray fire before turning to face the vigilante he’s been trying to catch for years now. No matter how easy it would be, he doesn't. The vigilante looked so vulnerable. He sat there on the floor with one wing limp behind him, feathers were falling and bone visible through the empty patch. In that area the feathers that remained were either barely there or charred a deep black.

“Theseus…?” Wilbur whispers, the helicopter light was beginning to fade as the cameras followed Sapnap dashing through the sky with Phil and two other flight hero's short behind.

“Back up! Go away!” Theseus shouts, his vision blurring as he climbs his knees.

“Hey- hey it's ok-”

“GO!” Theseus scream. His right wing flaps harshly as his left makes a few futile swings to try and help through the pain.

Somehow he makes it into the air and off the side of the building. He ignores the shouting and the whir of the helicopter as he lopsidedly floats through the sky. He doesn't know where he’s going or why he’s going the direction he is.

The only thing he can focus on is trying to fly the way a flying squirrel does and to keep from feeling the pain too harshly at moments where he must use his left wing. It was all pain.

-

“Where’d he go!?” Phil shouts as he lands back on the roof. He left the chase for Sapnap, it was a futile cause for him anyway. He could never get close enough to attack with his own wings.

“Flew off!” Wilbur explodes, running a hand through his greasy hair. He was both impressed and horrified.

“Flew off? How the hell… I saw that poor wing!” Phil shudders. Wing on Wing crime was bad enough (but rare). Wing on Non-Wing crime was simply cruel (more common). Non-winged folks didn't understand the pain of an injured wing.

“The guy's got a crazy pain tolerance, he’s crazy, he’s determined, or he’s broken a wing before. Or all of that combined.” Wilbur shrugs, his eyes scan the ground below them as new reporters roll in and cops take pedestrian statements.

“Fucking hell.” Phil’s heart aches for the poor boy's wing.

-

“Shit!” Tommy shouts as he spirals into the dirt from the sky. He skids across the ground and slows to a stop. As he weakly sits up with a wince he finally realizes where he is. He flew to Tubbo’s abandoned building with his homey basement.

He needed help, the longer he sat without distraction in the dirt the worse the pain felt. He didn't feel like he could deny much longer anyways.

Tommy begins to slowly pull himself to his feet and, using the walls of the building, guides himself inside. He drags himself with heavy steps to the top of the shambled steps to the basement. He heard the faint sound of humming and the warmth of a fire from the top.

“T-tubbo!” Theseus calls from the top. His left arm holds the wall and his right his side. His right wing is tucked behind him while his left hangs loosely.

The humming stops and heavy feet rush to the steps. Tubbo appears at the bottom with a wide smile which is quickly wiped away when he catches a glance at Theseus.

“Oh fuck!” Tubbo curses as he bounds up the steps, his feet climb up every other at a rapid pace and he reaches Theseus in the matter of seconds. “What happened?”

“Sapnap happened.” Theseus breaths in through his nose and winces as Tubbo’s fingers gently graze the burnt wing. He felt like a chicken right now. “Sorry.”

Tubbo scrunches his nose and creeps around Tommy to grab the arm not holding his crispy side.

“C’mon.” Tubbo groans as he carries a majority of Tommy's weight down the steps and into the main basement area. “Let’s get you patched up now.”

Tommy is guided to the same tire he sat in last time and is lowered to a seat. He can't help but let tears leak from his goggles and seap into his mask. He didn't care about the burns that plagued his side. All he could feel was his wing. His poor red wing.

Tubbo runs and grabs the medical kit. He kneels beside Theseus unsure of what to do first. He wasn't a doctor, he especially didn't know how to patch a burnt wing. “Uhm…”

“Do my side.” Theseus shifts so his arms are away from the hole in his jacket. He knew there wasn't much Tubbo could do about his wing. There's a reason there's special doctors for avians. Specialists.

“I need to cut the jacket off, Theseus. It's sticking in the wound and the blood and oil is starting to make it hard to rip away.” Tubbo scrunches his face in disgust as he pulls his head away from the wound. “I can cut the jacket at the edge of the sleeve if you'd like, so the hood stays up?”

Theseus groans, barely registering what Tubbo had said. He honestly didn't care right now, he just wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to feel safe.

“Cut between my wings.” Tommy orders as he reaches up and flicks his hood off his blonde head. He slowly grabs his goggles and pulls them off. And without much hesitation he pulls down his voice changing mask.

It felt relieving to breathe normally in open air again, it felt good to have Tubbo sitting flabbergasted in front of him. It felt good to feel a little ounce of trust that Tubbo won't say a word. It may only be their second meeting, but Tommy hasn't met anyone his age before. He wants a friend, Tubbo seems to be someone worthy of that. “Hi.”

“YOU’RE 14?!?!?!?”

Chapter Text

“YOU’RE 14?!?!?!?”

“I’m not 14! I’m a fucking big man.” Tommy huffs, the movement he made when speaking sent a jolt of pain back to his sensitive wings. “16…”

“Wow.” Tubbo blinks as he stares at the boy in front of him. His eyes trailed the long scar on his forehead and the bright blue of his eyes. From the golden curls to the curve of his jaw. “I was not expecting this.”

“Well too bad! Heal me?” Tommy insists.

Tubbo quickly snaps back to reality and uses a pair of shears to snip the jacket off Tommy. When he is finally able to pull the thing off it peels a bit on the raw skin on Tommy's side causing him to hiss through his teeth. Underneath Tommy wore a random back long sleeve shirt which held a large hole with charred edges. It fortunately wasn't sticking to the burns as the jacket was. Poor jacket, he really liked that thing. He sewed it himself.

“Ouch.” Tommy winces as Tubbo’s alcohol-covered fingers poke the peeled skin. He didn't even want to look at it, it didn't even hurt that much compared to his wing (which has oddly enough gone numb at this point).

“Sorry.” Tubbo bites the inside of his gum. He rummages through the medical kit and sighs. “Nothing here will work.”

“Nothing?” Tommy echos. Tubbo thinks for a few moments before his eyes light up with a spark of an idea. “What?”

Tubbo jumps to his feet and bounces off to a stray chest placed behind a few crates of food. He flings it open and Tommy can hear the sounds of glasses clinking from within. Where he is seated makes it so he can't see what is inside the mysterious chest.

Tubbo comes back within the minute holding three glass vials. The first is a ruby color and is a thin liquid within the jar. The second is blue and the consistency of blood or syrup. The third is orange and appears to be almost a pasty jello.

“My friend and I get into trouble a lot. A few years back he took up making potions, he loves to heal, and has been keeping all of the successes in that chest. I remember helping him with these three.” Tubbo explains as he sets them down next to the tire. He takes the ruby colored one first.

“What does that one do?” Tommy asks hesitantly as Tubbo pops the cap. He could smell it from where he sat, foul. Absolutely foul.

“It heals. When ingested it runs through the bloodstream and heals muscles, bones, rejuvenates blood, and internal injuries.” Tubbo holds the viles out. Wait…. He has to drink that fucking thing?

Tommy's lip curls up in disgust as he reaches forward and takes it.

“Go on.” Tubbo pressures. “It doesn't taste as bad as it looks.”

Tommy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before bringing the glass to his mouth. The liquid pours down his throat quicker than any drink he’s ever had. It burns the roof of his mouth and the flesh of his esophagus. He felt the cold liquid drip into his veins and into his body. If it weren't for the relief it brought his ribs and achy muscles he would've spit it out or puked it up by now. “Gross.”

“Next!” Tubbo shoves the blue one with thick consistency into Tommy's hands with the cap off.

“What does this one do?” Tommy asks as he inspects it. It doesn't smell like anything at all. Almost like thick water.

“Nutrients. It gives the body strength while helping the first potion do more. Kind of like a battery.” Tubbo explains as he opens the final potion-paste thing. Tommy shrugs and pours the potion down his throat. It was like honey without any of the sweetness. It stuck on his tongue and slicked up his throat. The worst part was how long it took to empty out the vial with how slow it poured.

“Better taste, worse texture.” Tommy clicks his tongue as he tries to clean his mouth of the stickiness. He was feeling a little bit more energized and the pain was beginning to subside in his side and wing.

“Be grateful, this last one isn't something you ingest.” Tubbo smiles up at Tommy. His hand held a disgusting glop of orange paste. “It’s another healing potion. This one numbs the skin ever so slightly and heals the wound from the outside in while the first heals from the inside out. They meet halfway. It also prevents scarring, so yippie!”

“Yeah, I’ve got more than enough of those.” Tommy huffs. Numb sounded good, numb sounded painless.

“Ready? It might hurt to apply.”

“I’m ready.” Tommy nods.

Tubbo leans forward and hesitantly smears the paste over the bubbling skin with delicate fingers. The pressure stings Tommy, it reawakens the pain he was pushing down from behind him and he begins to bite the inside of his mouth. Tubbo winces at the pained expression, but carries on. When he finishes the burn on Tommy's side he scoots back to grab more paste.

“I have to do your wing next.” Tubbo sighs nervously. Tommy was just starting to feel better, he could barely even feel the stinging discomfort echoing from his side and he saw the skin beginning to clear beneath a thick layer of orange paste.

“Just get it over with, please.” Tommy holds the bridge of his nose as he prepares himself. His wings were a little extra sensitive compared to the usual amount of sensitivity found in avians. Even losing a feather or binding his wings was more painful than he can handle at times, this whole ordeal was five levels higher than he could even imagine.

Tubbo nods and walks behind Theseus. He reaches out and begins to lather the worst parts of Tommy's wing. It wasn't painful at all, to their surprise. The ointment worked faster in the thin bone structure of the wing than it would on thicker flesh. It numbed immediately and was better in minutes. Though they couldn't regrow the lost feathers immediately, it still nearly brought tears to Tommy's eyes seeing how amazing it healed. Now he had a numb wing with a mostly bald spot to the end of it.

“Thank you.” Tommy whispers as the boy walks back around him. He felt better, a little achy, but better. He was expecting not to even be able to survive work tomorrow and now he’ll be able to thrive.

“It’s always my pleasure Theseus… should I call you that still?” Tubbo smiles. He drags another tire up and sits across from the boy.

“Call me Tommy.” Theseus smiles back. He liked Tubbo. Tubbo seemed nice, Tubbo felt safe. Tubbo, though Tommy couldn't fully trust him yet, felt worthy of knowing the real Tommy. If that even exsisted.

Tubbo didn't need to know Tommy by his persona’s. He didn't need to know the smart Thomas or the brave Theseus. He could know the scared Tommy, if he wanted to. The Tommy that goes home to Clay. I mean, he doesn't need to know about Clay, but he can know Tommy's personality. If that doesn't sound cheesy, I don't know what does.

“Tommy.” Tubbo breathes. He always admired the vigilante (he calls him a hero) but to know the boy was really just… a boy…. it was weird. It told him something that maybe he really needed to hear. “Oh my gosh. Now that you're better, answer all my questions!”

“N-”

“Yes!”

“Fine, I owe you it.” Tommy chuckles. “Bring it on.”

Tubbo grins a toothy smile and bounces his leg on the ground in front of him. “Why’d you start vigilantism?”

“Right in with the heavy hammer question first, huh?” Tommy scoffs with a light smile plastered on his lips. “Because I could.”

“Just… just because you could?” Tubbo furrows his eyebrows.

“I have wings, but that's really all I have. Anyone can save people, why shouldn it be limited to just professionals? I love saving people that heros wouldn't save, those that don't matter as much in their eyes.” Tommy sees himself in his mind. Someone that wouldn't matter to the heros if he were just a regular boy in L’manburg. “And because I wanted to fly.”

“That’s inspiring, I guess.” Tubbo nods. Tubbo was an interesting kid, now that Tommy has the chance to sit and really look at him without pain blurring his vision. He had brown hair and wide green eyes, he wore a green tee and jeans. He looked so normal, which is what made him all the more different. He wasn't as normal as he may appear. He was a homeless kid with thousands of dollars worth of intricate potions just sitting in a chest in the basement he inhabits. He also had a weird name. “Next question. What do you do when you're not a heroic vigilante?”

“You sound like a damn news reporter.” Tommy huffs. “I’m a personal assistant for the SBI team in their headquarters.”

Tubbo stares at him as if he were telling a not-so-funny joke. “SBI? Ha ha, if you don't want to answer my questions it's alright. No need to come up with absurd lies.”

“I’m serious.” Tommy deadpans, both of the teens' eyes meet and Tubbo’s slowly turns to that of horrified shock.

“You’re serious?”

“Yupper-doodles.”

“How the hell have you not been arrested yet? Or do they know about you and keep it a secret? I’ve seen your fights on the news-”

“Shh.” Tommy intercepts Tubbo’s rambling. “I’m careful. They haven't discovered me and I don't plan on them ever finding out. They don't even know I’m an avian.”

“They don't know you're an avian? How?!”

“I bind my wings during the days, no one can even tell if I wear baggy enough clothing.”

“Isn’t that dangerous for avains?” Tubbo asks in an almost whisper.

“It doesn't bother me too much, trust me, I’m careful.” Tommy insists. A part of his heart leaped at the fact Tubbo cared enough to ask that. Though the majority of his logical thinking was telling him Tubbo was just curious about a vigilante that saved his life once.

“Okay…” Tubbo narrows his eyes for a moment before coughing awkwardly. “What about the scar on your face? Is it from a battle?”

Tommy reaches up and touches the jagged scar that lines his forehead. It was a mystery he himself never understood, Clay never explained it to him. He asked once, but Clay just deflected and ignored the question. Tommy figured it was a sensitive subject, but wasn't it his scar? He should have the right to know where it came from, shouldn't he?

“No, I’ve had it all of my life, that I can actually remember of course. I honestly don't know how I got it, or when I did, but I have to assume it was before I was eight. It probably has something to do with the fact I had no idea who I was when I was a child and no zero recollection of anything.” Tommy laughs. “I always tell people I was in a car accident, which very much could be possible, but I have no idea.”

“Oh… sorry for asking.” Tubbo rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“It’s fine, really. It isn't an uncomfortable topic or anything, just another mystery plaguing my life.” Tommy reassures. “Go ahead, keep asking.”

“How’d you come up with Theseus? Like the name?”

Tommy pauses for a moment. He thought back to the summer he began vigilantism.

-

Tommy studied a lot that summer. He didn't have much else to do, he wasn't young enough to play and not old enough to leave the house for work. He had already ‘graduated’ highschool back around his birthday in April. If that's what you could call it, he just finished the required curriculum he was told to find online by Clay.

That left him very much alone and suffering from terminal boredom. What does any normal kid do about boredom? He goes on a deep dive into the Mariana Trench that is the Internet.

Tommy liked Greek mythology to a certain extent, he wasn't crazy about it but he definitely enjoyed hearing some of the stories related to it.

He had a long day. Clay was home and in one of his moods, which I bet you can assume where that left Tommy. He ached and wanted to find a way to ignore his everyday. He wanted to be strong.

Clay had work that night and Tommy, having nothing to do most of the day, didn't feel tired much at all. He opened his laptop, which was Clay’s old crappy one, and began to fall deeper into the Internet and somehow ended up in a Greek mythology chat room. Here's how the conversation went.

-
(AnAresGuy) /I saw you were looking for someone to talk about mythology with you. I was pretty surprised to see a notif from this site, I haven't been on it for years/

(TomtheBigMan) /yeah. Pretty bored lmao. Old man?/

(AnAresGuy) /No. Just not a child. I’m guessing you're a child?/

(TomtheBigMan) /Nope. I’m a big man, definitely not a child/
-

Technoblade smiles as he types on his computer. He had a long day, Wilbur was struggling all day and Phil canceled all his patrols to be with him.

Technoblade however? Technoblade picked up all the other two’s shifts and finally just had a moment of rest. He used to be really into Greek mythology when he was a teenager, he would tell Tommy all about it. He used this chat room after Tommy died, when he didn't want to burden his family with his problems and chat with strangers in mythological metaphors.

-
(AnAresGuy) /What do u wanna talk abt then, “big man”/

(TomtheBigMan) /I’ve had a long day. Got any stories that’ll make me feel like a even larger man?/

(AnAresGuy) /I feel ya, kid. How about the story of Theseus?/

(TomtheBigMan) /Sure. I don't know it/

(AnAresGuy) /Course u don't… It's a long one?/

(TomtheBigMan) /I don't care, I wanna hear it/
-

Technoblade sighs. He swears he’s had the same conversation with his little brother.

Tommy always asked to hear a story. After Phil put him to bed Tommy would sneak down the hall and crawl into bed with Technoblade and ask for a story. No matter how boring or long it may be, he’d want to hear it. By the end the kid would fall asleep and Technoblade would carry him down the hallway and back to his own bed. He purposefully always had one ready.

Even after Tommy disappeared and Kristen passed, Technoblade would still wait fifteen minutes before going to bed just watching the door. An illogical part of him hopes that one day Tommy will just walk in and ask for a story again.

-
(AnAresGuy) /Fine. I’m going to keep it simple because [the author doesn't know mythology] I have work in an hour. It started with a town with a labyrinth within. The labyrinth held a beastly Minator, and every few years the town would sacrifice young men and women to the Minator’s labyrinth./

(TomtheBigMan) /Why don't they just kill it? Or move towns?/

(AnAresGuy) /Because it was terrifying and people are stupid. They'd rather stay in danger than admit they're in danger. Can I continue then?/

(TomtheBigMan) /Yeah. Sry/

(AnAresGuy) /One day a young man with bravery and a sense of need to be a savior. He entered the labyrinth with a ball of string to guide him. He offers himself as a sacrifice and saves the other youths, who are able to escape the labyrinth following the yarn. He kills the Minator and becomes a hero. He goes on to unite two nations and become a ruler. However he doesn't satisfy the people after failing a task and is exiled. During his exile he is killed by a king./

(TomtheBigMan) /That isn't that inspiring./

(AnAresGuy) /Sure it is. You have to look at it right./

(TomtheBigMan) /???/

(AnAresGuy) /It's the story of a man with strength and self-sacrifice for the greater good. It's the story of a hero who, after fame, is banished because he didn't satisfy his people. He was a good man, but wasn't given credit for the good once a little ounce of bad seeped in. It's a lot like modern day if you think about it./

(TomtheBigMan) /I still don't understand./

(AnAresGuy) /Just focus on the first part of the story, alright? Theseus and the Minator. He was brave, he was selfless. A big man is brave, no matter how strong he is. Anyone can be brave if they want to be, they just need to learn to be smart while being brave. He saved those people and gave himself and them a proper way out of the labyrinth. The last part just shows how every famous hero is at some point hated./

(TomtheBigMan) /That makes a lot of sense, i guess./
-

Tommy typed. He could see where it would inspire. In his mind he saw himself as Theseus and the Minator as Clay. Instead of killing the Minator and saving the youth, Theseus saves his feelings and shields himself from the Minator.

He didn't have to be afraid of Clay in his daydream of Theseus. He didn't have to be afraid of anything, in fact, he could be brave. He could protect himself.

-
(AnAresGuy) /You still there, Tom?/

(TomtheBigMan) /Yeah. I wish I was brave like Theseus./

(AnAresGuy) /sure u can be, u just have to let yourself think. Be smart./

(TomtheBigMan) /Thnks for telling me that story. I appreciate it/

(AnAresGuy) /Thanks for asking for one. I haven't given one in a long time, kid/

(TomtheBigMan( /Not a kid, old man/

(AnAresGuy) /Not old, kid/
-

Tommy thought about what he said for weeks following their conversation. In the end, he came to a conclusion. He could only be brave if he could be a hero, but a hero would eventually be hated, so he would become a neutral force. A vigilante. And who would he save people as? As Theseus.

Maybe he couldn't stand up to Clay, but he could disobey him without him knowing. A step in the right direction.

-

“Uhm. The story of Theseus, in Greek mythology?” Tommy replies after a moment's recollection.

“Ah. So you're a nerd.” Tubbo laughs.

“Not a nerd! Just curious and I won't sleep.” Tommy jokes back. He should really reopen that chat room. He wonders what AnAresGuy is up to now. “Anyway, it inspired me to become a not-so-traditional hero. Theseus was a story about a selfless brave guy andI guess that's what I wanted to be.”

“Huh.” Tubbo nods. “That’s pretty cool.”

“What about you? What's up with this whole Tubbo thing?” Tommy asks this time. Tubbo looks down for a moment.

“An old friend of mine came up with it, we grew up together. He struggled to say Toby so he just changed it to Tubbo. Even as we got older he refused to call me anything other than that. When he went missing, I just started using Tubbo with everyone. It felt more like me than Toby ever did.” Tubbo sighs.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Tubbo.” Tommy renders.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotten over it at this point.” Tubbo shrugs, his eyes turn back to Tommy's. He was sorrowfully happy. “You look a lot like him.”

“I get that look a lot. A bunch of people always tell me I look like someone they know, or they just look at me with sad remembering-something-eyes.” Tommy scoffs. “Have any more questions for me?”

Tubbo pauses for a moment to think. Did he have any questions? “Do you think someone without powers or mutations can be a hero?”

“Hell yeah!” Tommy professes, “A hero isn't made by their powers or status. A hero is made by their ability to be smart about their bravery. You need to be courageous, not reckless.”

“Do you think I could be a hero?” Tubbo asks quietly. “I’ve always wanted to prove my dad wrong, that I’m not destined to become someone bad because of my family line.”

Tubbo hated who he was. He hated who he was born from, he hated the blood that rushed through his veins and the way he looked when he saw his reflection.

The one thing about himself that he didn't hate? His mind. He loved his mind and the way it defied everything it was taught from the start of his life. His mind was its own without being a part of his Father.

He wants to be a hero because it's the very opposite of what his father wanted for him. He wants to be a hero because it's everything he’s not supposed to be. He wants to be a hero because he wants to defeat people like his father and rescue people like himself.

“Then do it. What's stopping you?” Tommy encourages.

“I’m not in school, I’m homeless! I can't apply for a hero academy or go to a training center to get a license.”

“So?” Tommy grins widely. He did want a friend, maybe both Tommy and Theseus can get an ally. Someone to trust in the heart and in the battlefield. “It never stopped me.”

Tubbo freezes, the corners of his mouth turn upwards slowly. A vigilante, a hero like Theseus. He could do it, there was nothing but his own fear stopping him. He could be a hero.

“What do you say, Tubbo? Would you like to join me? Become a team that'll rattle the Hero Council and Dream Organization alike?” Tommy leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He never thought to team up with any of the other vigilante's in the city, not that there were many, but he did want a friend.

“Let’s blow it up.”

-

“Did you hear about the recent fight, 3D?” Kinesis asks as she sharpens her silver blade. Her white hood laid over her pink hair, her eyes invisible from view.

“Which one? Those damn heroes get into fights everyday.” 3D scoffs as he flops down in a chair, his red and blue glasses pushed up on his head.

“Not a hero fight. Sapnap versus Theseus.” Kinises stops her sharpening suddenly. “Vigilante and villian.”

“You mean THE Dream Team Sapnap?”

“What other Sapnap’s are there?” Kinises scoffs, she crosses her legs and puts them up on the wooden table of their base. Her feet were covered with tall brown boots fading into tight black pants with multiple sacks for metal pellets and sheaths for daggers. “Yes, that Sapnap.”

“So?” 3D rolls his eyes. “What does it have to do with our cause?”

“Theseus fought him, he didn't run. No one, except heros like, stay to fight one of those three. Theseus isn't a normal hero, he’s susceptible to conversation.” Kinises points out. “He could join us.”

“Really? The all mighty Theseus join us, villians, on a mission?” 3D huffs sarcastically. “Like that would happen.”

“Don’t be a pessimist, Jack, it's possible. We need as many good fighters as we can get.” Kinises tilts her head up, her brown eyes and lightning eyeliner piercing into 3D’s own red and blue eyes.

“Fine then, how do we find a birdie that only comes out at night?”

“We go to L’manburg and we wait.”

“If you say so, Niki.”

Chapter Text

The sound of a train was all Tommy could hear as his eyes slowly parted open. It was loud and he could feel the wind made by the moving train whooshing past him. He recognized the station from the last time he had this dream, it has the same dim glow and vacant emptiness that spread for miles, even if he couldn't see farther than the doorless station he sits on.

As he awakes he feels the hard metal of a bench beneath him as it presses into his clothed skin. His hands are folded under his head as if he were using them as a pillow. He begins to sit up, the train never stopping as he rushes by. The platform was yet again empty, but he has a feeling it won't be for long.

It doesn't take him long to realize something was different. He felt behind him and his back was smooth, not even a lump of a wing or a bundle of them folded in a binding. They were just… gone.

Along with that oddity he notices what he wears. It was a white baseball tee with red sleeves and a pair of khaki shorts, his legs were smooth without a scar other than a small white line of a scrape on his knee.

Tommy thinks for a moment before quickly rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, and just as he predicted, the raised scar Clay left on his arm with a fork was also missing. It was just smooth skin yet again. He assumes that if he was able to see his reflection he'd see himself without that damn scar lining his forehead.

He takes a few steps forward towards the moving train. Even though it was zooming past he could still faintly see inside. It was like any normal train except the few inhabitants he is able to see on each car are blurry figures he can't seem to recognize.

Tommy wanders the station, which isn't much to see, before defeatedly taking a seat back on the metal bench he awoke upon. It felt nice to lean back on it and not feel painful pressure on hidden wings. Did he like the feeling of not having them? Not really. Were some things easier? Maybe.

Tommy waits on the bench shifting his positions for what feels like hours. He felt like he was in a limbo situation of doing nothing and having nowhere to go. After he started attempting to count how many hairs sit on his head he hears a change in the volume of the train. It was slowing.

He jumps to his feet and rushes over, the wind only slightly moves his heavy curls. The train comes to a complete stop and the door slides open in front of him. In an impulse to see and hear something different he steps forward to enter.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The same soft voice from the last time spoke from within. He hears the click of heels as she walks from the back of the car to the door. He was able to make out more of her this time. He knows she wears a purple gown, but he can't tell what it exactly looks like, and that she had black hair, but the length and hair type is unknown. Her face is still a pure mystery.

“Why? I don't want to be on this damn station any longer.” Tommy whines, but takes a step away from the gap between the platform and car. He felt the need to listen to what this woman had to say, to obey.

“Yes you do, the station is what allows you to come and go. If you step onto the train you may not come back. You must stay in limbo to continue passing between life and death.” The woman explains as she steps past Tommy and onto the station with him.

“What is this place?! Why am I here?” Tommy asks, he follows the woman’s footsteps as she walks to the center of the platform. “Who are you?”

“You need to figure that out for yourself, dear. I may control this place, but I can't bend its rules. Just by visiting your station am I blurring an already foggy line.”

“I’m so confused.” Tommy groans.

“That’s why I brought you here. You need to remember who you are, who I am.” The woman breathes. She turns around and faces (if that's what you can call the smeared skin) Tommy with a hand outreached. It stretches to caress the side of Tommy's cheek, which he lets her. It felt comforting, soft and familiar to a deep part in his heart. “I’m sorry I’m not truly there to find you, my dear. I wish I could save you, but I can't save someone if I couldn’t save myself.”

“Why? Why is this happening?” Tommy chokes on a lump in his throat, the corners of his eyes pool with salty tears which fall and land in the corner of his lip.

“Because you need to remember.” The woman repeats, her gentle fingers wipe away a falling droplet. He loved the feeling of her hand on his face, the way she looked at him even if he couldn't see her face. It was bittersweet. “It took me oh so long to find your mind, and even so I can't find you. I’ve been traversing the limbo for years searching for my family, hoping that when I approach their station it will be empty. And when I landed upon yours I made a choice, a choice to try to bring you back to them. Please, Tommy, remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Start with me. Remember me. Remember me. Remember-”

“Not this again!” Tommy backs away from the woman as the sound of her chanting grows louder and fills his minds.

“REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! 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REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER ME!

The voice stops suddenly and Tommy's ears begin to fade from their ringing. He was in the void again. The senseless void. Standing in front of him is a glowing door. This door didn't feel dangerous, it felt calm. It felt like home. He takes a step forward and sprints into a run as he jumps through the glowing door.

He feels himself fall downwards and when he lands he’s back in that grassy field. His hands brush daisies and dandelions. In front of him is a brown cow. Tommy knew the name of it already, a name he doesn't know why he knows.

“Henry.” Tommy whispers into the empty field. He couldn't hear singing this time, but in the distance he can hear the chirping of birds and the chattering of squirrels. He reaches forward and pets the cow's head while his eyes scan the location he fell upon.

It was a wide field surrounding a small hill with a willow tree planted at the top of it. Tommy felt the need to go to the tree.

“Bye, Henry.” Tommy lets his hand fall and begins to trudge through the tall grass and weeds in the direction of the mound. It was a sunny day, he could feel the warmth of the sun on his arms and face. In the faint distance he can hear his name echoing through the thick forests surrounding the field.

He makes it to the hill in a short amount of time without a single ache in his weak muscles. The tree shades him from the bright sun as a small tombstone comes into view beneath it. The call of his name grows louder as he kneels to look at it. A few lilacs sit in front of it. He reads the inscription.

“In loving memory of a mother, wife, and friend. Krist-

“TOMMYYYYYY!”

-

“Tommy, wake up!” Tubbo shouts in his ear, his hands on the boy's shoulders as he shakes him. Tommy jolts awake and sits up with sudden panic. That's right, he fell asleep in Tubbo’s basement home. They were talking and went to sit on the small couch Tubbo recently found on the street. They were making plans for Tubbo’s vigilante persona and droned off to sleep.

“Shit!” Tommy curses as he sees a streak of light pour in from the small window against the ceiling. If the sun was out then it was definitely past 5 am.

“Yeah, shit! It's 7:30.” Tubbo scrambles to his feet and rushes to the bins beside his bed. “I have work in half an hour!”

“My dad is probably awake by now, and I was supposed to leave for work by now.” Tommy panic's. “Fuckity Fuck Fuck!”

“Wanna borrow something of mine?” Tubbo asks as he rummages through a bin of clothing.

“Fuck it, yes.” Tommy groans and runs over to Tubbo. As the boy grabs a uniform and runs off to a separate room of the basement Tommy digs around. He ends up finding a decent pair of washed jeans, a green sweater, brown jacket, and a belt with enough belt loops. Why does this homeless kid have this much clothing? “Tubbo! Do you have anything I can use to bind my wings?”

“The purple laundry basket behind the pile of DVDs should have some bandage wraps in it!” Tubbo calls back from the other room (which Tommy assumes is a bathroom Tubbo found a way to restart water systems to). Tommy sighs and steps around a stack of books and hops over a keyboard before finding a literal tower of DVDs with a broken laundry basket behind it. He reaches around and feels ten rolls of bandage wrap. What the fuck? Are these people hoarders or what?

Tommy grabs two and a back of travel toothbrush and toothpaste from another random basket before waiting outside the makeshift bathroom. Within the minute Tubbo walks out in black ripped jeans, a green collared shirt, and an apron labeled ‘Bee’s Bee Garden’ on the front.

“What the hell?”

“It’s basically a cat-cafè for bees. Don't ask, it's one of the only non-criminal places hiring under the table.”

“You don't have a fake identity?”

“You do?”

Tommy chuckles nervously and rushes into the bathroom behind Tubbo and locks the rackety door. He wraps his wings and dresses, brushes his teeth and attempts to make his hair not look dirty. The outfit definitely wasn't his usual color, nor was it as semi-casformal as he’d like it to be. It was more full-blown casual. Eh, Phil wouldn't mind, right?

“Tubbo?” Tommy calls out as he opens the door holding his vigilante gear. He was hoping Tubbo would have a pair of shoes in his massive hoarders market that would fit Tommy, but Tubbo was nowhere to be seen.

As Tommy looks around he spots a small sticky note on the wall beside the staircase.

“Sry Tommy. Had to go to work. See u later.” It read.

“Well shit.” Tommy groans. He didn't have much time to get to work and his vigilante boots were too… Theseus coded to not raise suspicions. With nothing else to do Tommy finds his Theseus jacket on the floor and digs in its many pockets until he is able to pull together 15 dollars that was given to him at some point by sweet old ladies he has saved. Guess he’s buying new shoes today!

Tommy, with much disgust, finds a pair of slippers in the mess of Tubbo’s basement and uses them to walk a few blocks down to a cheap shoe store. He purchases a 12$ pair of white sneakers and ditches the slippers in an alleyway. He was on the outer edge of L’manburg with no phone, 3 dollars, and he has to be at work in an hour. What does a boy do when he’s in that situation? He hitches a ride with a stranger of course!

Tommy ends up finding a random guy that owned some type of factory behind L’manburg that was heading to Arctic for business that decided to give him a ride. He probably wouldn't have if Tommy didn't tell him he was Thomas Watson and worked for SBI.

Without having to take a train or walk the drive was 45 minutes long (of awkward silence) and Tommy was dropped off right in front of the tower (the guy was a big fan of Father Crow and Tommy promised him an email from the man that he really was just going to write himself).

Tommy ran inside and realized his stupidity. He doesn't have his elevator card. Fucking hell.

“Alyssa!” Tommy rings the bell aggressively at the front desk. Alyssa groans and pops up from underneath the desk. “What the hell were you doing down there?”

“Don’t ask. What do you need?”

“I forgot my elevator pass…”

Alyssa blinks at him a few times in utter annoyance before rolling her eyes. She reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out a small pass labeled ‘Emergency Worker Pass’.

“These are one time use, if you forget it again then you have to pay for a new one. I have your name written down, the pass is to be returned to me before 6:30 tonight. If it's not, you will be fined 30 dollars.” Alyssa writes something on a notepad and tosses the card at Tommy.

“Thank you!” Tommy cheers and runs to the elevator without another word. Alyssa watches from the desk with irritation painted in a scowl.

Tommy isn't even hesitant to walk across the crack of the elevator and repeatedly press the floor button until the elevator finally rises. It was 9:02. Fucking hell he’s late. He’s never been late, he always comes early. He hopes to godly force that the team hasn't come to the office yet today and all got stuck with early shifts. Although they’ll see what time he clocked in on his work day when he enters it onto his computer, he'd prefer NOT to have them see him walk in late. Boy will he be in a whirlwind of surprise.

Tommy makes it to his floor with anxiety bubbling in his throat and not a single stop along the way. He can't help but to jog down the hallway with hurried feet feeling good in new shoes. Except when he arrives in front of the door his ears pick up a sound from within. Voices.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Dad! He’s always here by now, he arrives half an hour early everyday. And you said he wasn't picking up his phone!” Wilbur shouts. Tommy's heart cringes in embarrassment.

“Maybe he slept in?” Phil offers.

“Not probable, the kid isn't the type. While I don't agree with Wil’s loud reaction, I do think we should find where he lives and break the door down.” Technoblade spits back rapidly.

“Yes! Give the address, Dad.” Wilbur demands. Tommy decides that him standing outside listening had gone on long enough and he twists the handle open. He really didn't want all of them knowing where he lived, nevertheless breaking in. He doesn't want to think about Clay right now, he’s to anxious as to what will happen upon his arrival home tonight.

“Tommy?” Phil whips around quickly as the boy enters. Wilbur, while relieved the kid wasn't dead on some random L’manburg alleyway, felt taken aback by the several out of ordinary characteristics shown. Here's a few the team noticed instantly.

1. No Lanyard
2. Different choice in style
3. No messenger bag
4. Lateness

“Yes, sorry for coming late. I spent the night at a friends and woke up late. I didn't have time to go home and grab my clothes or key card. I’ll make up the time I lost this morning in double through overtime this week.” Tommy rambles a nervous apology. Was he being a little too honest? Yes. Did he realize it because he was so nervous? No. No he did not.

“It’s fine kid, it's only four minutes.” Phil reassures. Wilbur seems to take seven long deep breaths and Technoblade never stops staring at Tommy.

His wing was still numb from the paste, along with his side, and all his other aches were pretty faint. Just by looking at him Technoblade could tell he was standing with less pain and his eyes were less tired. Though even Technoblade, the one without emotion reading powers, could feel the anxiety radiating off of Tommy. Both him and his brother just assumed it because of his tardiness today, but they had an inkling deep inside them that there were worse issues troubling their brother's doppelgänger.

“I’ll go get started now.” Tommy holds back the odd urge to bow and runs to his office. He can feel the piercing eyes of the team watching as he runs off.

“That’s weird.” Technoblade shrugs before turning back to his cereal.

“Definitely. Definitely weird.” Wilbur agrees, staring a moment longer at the now empty hallway.

-

Tommy hates emails.

He’s been working here for almost a month now and he still hasn't found any mediocre feelings for emails. Everyday he logs in to find nearly a hundred unread emails to reply to. Half of them are from marketing or sponsors and the other half are from fans or the Hero Council. To say the least, they're a pain in his ass.

Tommy likes to start his work day, even if today was wildly different, with answering as many as were backed up throughout the morning and prior night. Then he trudges through the stack of paperwork that piles on the corner of his desk. Most of the work is boring, just signing off on missions for SBI and putting them in the delivery pile and signing off on decisions down on the corporate side. He, the assistant, really needs an assistant.

By noon he’s halfway through the pile and decides he needs coffee, and maybe a banana. The lounge area was empty, no one sitting at the table to stare at him or on the couch to try and make conversation. Peaceful.

As Tommy passes by the fridge his own name catches his eyes. It was a bright yellow sticky note with a message written in messy handwriting.

“Hi Tommy! I left lunch in the fridge for you in the blue box. Have at it! -From Wilbur.” Tommy reads aloud. Now he’s leaving fucking lunch’s for him? When will this guy not be a pester? First the curry, then the Sapnap thing, now a packed lunch.

Despite Tommy's pride he opens the fridge and takes the lunch out. It was a turkey sandwich on whole wheat with a container of strawberries and a twix. What was he? Five?

He was hungry, no doubt about that. Last night took a lot out of him, and no matter how much this whole lunch box thing gave him contradictory feelings, he still needed food. It was a nice gesture, more than Clay has done since the lasagna, but he wasn't a child. He hasn't been a child for many, many years now.

Tommy sighs and goes to take a seat at the kitchen table before remembering something. Fundy takes his lunch around now. He did invite Tommy to join him at some point. It wouldn't be rude to just walk in and eat with him, right?

Tommy takes a few moments to think before repacking the meal and carrying it downstairs. The lab doors were closed and Tommy could smell burning rubber from within. The small window on the door was foggy with smoke.

“Fun-man?” Tommy calls as he slowly pushes open the door, he coughs a few times from a potent scent of chemicals and smoke. Through the fog he sees a flash of orange.

“Tomzers! Welcome, sorry for the smoke. I blew something up again.” Fundy cheers. He can hear the sound of someone scurrying around and the flick of a switch. A fan swooshes awake and the fog begins to clear. Fundy is more visible in the corner of the room.

“I came to have lunch?” Tommy smiles awkwardly holding his box up a bit.

“Yes!” Fundy jumps. “Come! Come have a seat.”

Fundy runs over to a countertop and throws some random pieces of scrap off the side of it. Tommy follows him and slides into a clean stool on the farthest end of the countertop. The fox went to his fridge and brought back his own tupperware container of food.

“I’m so glad you're joining me!” Fundy smiles, he takes a seat a few stools down. “I don't really have company much down here.”

“It’s certainly… isolated from the rest of the department.” Tommy looks around at the bland, empty, white basement. “Is it just because you do dangerous work?”

“Well, that's what most people will tell you, that's what Phil will tell you.” Fundy opens his lunch box. “But, I think it's really because they're ashamed of me.”

“Ashamed of you?” Tommy tilts his head to the side. Why would anyone be ashamed of Fundy? He’s been working here long enough to know the man had not a single bad bone in him. Tommy trusts that if Fundy held a gun and was forced to aim it at anybody, he would aim it at himself. Fundy was a cheery lad, he wasn't someone to be ashamed of having in your life. “Why would anyone want to be ashamed of you?”

Fundy laughs for a brief moment. It wasn't a cheerful laugh, no, it was a guilty chuckle. “Tommy, I’m a bad man, trust me. I’m a real bad man, and I’ve messed up in the past.”

“What… what did you do?” Tommy asks.

“Phil, he had this cousin, y’know? They were real close, nearly brother's. Now, I may look young, but I’m up in the years by Phil. When we were all in our twenties his cousin and I got into an affair. I loved that man, he was my everything.” Fundy smiles endearingly. “And I thought he loved me too. But, on the day of our wedding-”

“Wedding? You were engaged?” Tommy chokes on his sandwich.

“Yes, I was engaged.” Fundy laughs at Tommy's shock. “On the day of our gorgeous wedding, everyone was there. Phil, Kristen, baby Techno, all of em’. He left me. He got to the stand and when it was his time to say ‘I do’ his face fell and he blurted out.

“I do not wish to marry you.” Fundy makes his vocie deep.

“The church stood in silence and then he ran off. The entire wedding was a waste. It set a hole in Phil’s relationship with his cousin, and sooner or later his cousin completely cut contact. Phil never understood why, but he hasn't looked at me the same since. His kids don't know about it, but he knows. He knows what I did. If only I had kept my mouth shut and never got with that man.”

“Fundy… that isn't your fault!” Tommy protests. It was such a tragic story, but one where the only one at fault was Phil’s cousin. “Why would they be ashamed of you for that?”

“It’s probably what I did after.” Fundy sighs. “I threw a fit, in honest words. I watched as my lover left me and knew it was all ruined anyway. The whole wedding. I threw my bouquet at the priest and destroyed the church with my claws before Phil was able to calm me. He paid nearly fifty thousand dollars in damages for me, since I was in debt from the wedding, but I am still reminded of it by my own family every year the anniversary comes up. They send me news article links about what happened, the entire headquarters knows by now.”

Tommy stares at the fox for a while longer. He felt horrible for him, and he didn't over-react either. To Tommy, that was a perfectly reasonable reaction to being left at the altar. “Fuck everyone then, you don't need their bloody opinion! Y’know what? Block your stupid family members and walk through this tower with surety that you were reasonable to react the way you did.”

“I destroyed a historical building.”

“And? A man destroyed your heart.”

Fundy smiles slightly. “Thanks Tomzers, you're a really nice man.”

“And so are you, Fun-Man.”

The two ate their lunches together in joy for the rest of the half hour before both returning to their work. If Fundy felt a load of weight lift off his shoulders, then his work was done with less stress and he made an appearance in the lobby the following week.

Tommy finds a note on the fridge everyday following and finds a lunch within. Some days he goes down to eat with his new found friend, some days he’s too tired to eat at all.

Chapter Text

Tubbo!” Tommy calls out as he bounces down the steps of the Bench Base. They named the basement that because when Tubbo found it he was sleeping on a park bench. It's better than calling it a basement.

Tommy was in his vigilante gear with his mask and goggles pushed away, Tubbo was able to make him a new jacket infused with fire resistant material. It was a bright red color, Tommy loves it moee than his old one. Tubbo, being the little genius he is, has been designing and making his hero gear out of pieces of scrape metal and radios.

“Over here!” Tubbo yells back from the corner of the base. Tommy helped Tubbo reorganize the place so he has a proper work station. Apparently Tubbo’s roommate has a night job and doesn't come around often after 5 pm.

Tommy jumps from the last two steps and makes a run for Tubbo’s station. Life has been really good since his fight with Sapnap, though he doubts amy connection with most of the new aspects. Clay never knew he never came home that night and hasn't been home as often since. He has a friend at work and he hasn't suffered much of a long-lasting injury because of Ranboo’s healing potions that Tubbo uses on Tommy. He was free.

“Whatcha working on?” Tommy asks as he hops beside Tubbo. The boy was hunched over an oval shaped slab of metal and iron. It was connected to a small box that had tiny tweezers fiddling inside it.

“My bee wings.” Tubbo whispers back. He has been making his vigilante gear for abouf a week now, he’s already got his wings nearly done and a gas mask. He even has a name.

“When do you think it’ll be ready, Nuke?”

“Probably in another few days, Theseus.” Tubbo smiles, but doesn't take his eyes off his work. He was a vedy dedicated man, that's what Tommy has learned. “I’ve actually got a little surprise for you. Open that box on the corner of my bed.”

“A surprise? I love surprises.” Tommy grins and spins to see a small black box on the edge of Tubbo's top bunk. He reaches over his roommate’s bunk to grab the small box. He opened it and inside was a small earpiece. “What is it?”

“Communication device, I have one as well. I've been saving up and was able to get some black market tech. I’ve got crime scanners, a police radio, comms, and all the works. Until I can get out on the streets I might as well be useful here.”

“Black market?”

“It’s cheaper and easier to find.” Tubbo shrugs. “Either way, you should wear it while on patrol. I can tell you when I detect a crime calling.”

“This is why you're going to make a great partner.” Tommy smiles and slips the black piece around his ear. It fit well and didn't feel like it would slip out while he flew. “I should probably go then, I wanted to check in before actually starting patrol.”

“Yeah, make sure to get back here by four so you can head home afterwards. You need sleep before work in the morning.”

“I do not!” Tommy jokes as he slides his mask up onto his face and his hood upon his head. He takes flight the moment he get to the top of the Bench Base staircase and exits the abandoned building via a hole in the roof. He’s gotten very used to coming and going between the tower, his home, and Tubbo’s home.

Tommy takes into the air and starts to head towards the more central, busier part of L’manburg. A sudden static strikes his eardrums from within the earpiece.

“Ow.” Tommy winces and a hand shoots up to hold the wire. It begins to fade to a whooshing white noise and a voice breaks through.

“Theseus? This is Nuke, over.” It hisses the way a walkie talkie would.

“Hi, Nuke, do we really have to say over, over?”

“No, but I find it cool, over.”

“Have you checked your radar thing yet?” Tommy asks, his night goggles scan the dark streets from above. L’manburg is more active at night, Theseus has noticed. During the daytime it feels barren and full of the regular poor folks, but at night all the criminals and gangs come out. You see people walking around more often than not as other districts hire L’manburg people only for graveyard shifts, cruel isn't it?

“Checking it now.” Tubbo’s voice wasn't perfectly clear, this WAS black market technology, but it was clear enough to know what he says. “A police officer near the Kinoko border just called in suspicious activity. Go to Fourth street.”

“On it.” Tommy grins beneath his mask and takes flight towards Kinoko. When he spots a run down police vehicle sitting unmoving in the middle of fourth street he takes a dive and lands beside the car.

The windows were foggy and dirty, as any L’manburg cop car was, but there was something off with this once. The back window was shattered and the glass poured into the cheap leather seats of the back. Theseus peers inside and holds a gag back. The cop in the front seat was hunched over the steering wheel with his shirt ripped off of him. His back was cut open with jagged cuts writing out a message.

HEROES MUST BURN

The cop's throat was slit open and Theseus could see that his larynx was missing. It was foul. It was absolutely disgusting.

“Bad news, Nuke. The cop is dead.” Theseus whispers into open air, his voice laced with concentrated disturbance.

“What? How?”

“Window was broken, someone carved the guy's throat open and wrote a message on his back. Heroes must burn.” Tommy winces as he opens the driver side door to get a better look. “I have a feeling I know who this is.”

“Gross. Who?”

“Burn? The message? C’mon, only the Dream Organization would do something like this. They're all about silencing people and going after the heros.” Tommy shakes his head. He reaches over the dead cop and grabs the radio. “Hello?”

“Officer David?” A voice replies. “Officer David, do you need to back up on that suspicious activity.”

“This isn't Officer David. I’m a civilian, I found the officer dead in his car on fourth street beside the Kinoko border. I would come if I were you.”

“Sir, we’ll be right there. What is your name?”

“You don't need to know.” Tommy tosses the radio into the passanger seat of the vehicle and walks around the car for any sign of the culprit. “Nuke?”

“Here, Theseus.”

“I can't tell if this was the doing of one of the Dream followers or a member of the team.” Theseus sighs. “They couldn't have gotten far, though, not in the time between doing it and my arrival.”

“Check surrounding alleyways on the L’manburg side of the border, I don't think a Dream member would go into Kinoko after a crime like that.”

Theseus closes his eyes and focuses his hearing. He can hear the faint whoosh of an ac unit in a nearby apartment building. Someone is driving close by. A few blocks down a siren rings. A block away two people cackle and run as they sheath their daggers. Jackpot.

“I hear them.” Theseus takes flight towards the sound of cat-like cackles. He flies overhead and spots two running criminals with blood on their hands and green hoods over their heads. He can even see the signature white smile mask tattoo on their shoulders. The mark of that fucking cult-like organization. “Targets spotted.”

“You sound like an assassin.” Nuke huffs. “Go in, Theseus. The police are three blocks down, they won't cross your street.”

“Got it.” Theseus takes another dive and flies up behind the asshats quickly. He reaches out and grabs the back of each villain’s hood and pulls. He flaps harder with the weight, but successfully carries both the two into the hair.

“Hi guys. How are we doing on this fine evening?” Theseus asks, looking down to get a look at them. The one he carries in his left hand is a female around 27 with black hair. The one in his right hand is a male of about 24 with blonde hair and has gills on his cheeks. A human and a tuna fish-hybrid.

“Let us go!” The girl shouts as she reaches behind her to try and scratch Tommy's hands.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, touch me and I’ll drop you both, a 20 foot drop isn't survivable if I’m correct.” Theseus loosens his grip on their hoods and they squeal. “Now, I got a question for you two.”

“We won't answer it, not to the likes of you.” The man spits.

“Ben! We have to, he’ll drop us!”

“And? Dream doesn't bow to Theseus, he said we should kill him if we ever got the chance.”

“We can't kill him if we’re dead!”

“Oh shut up, children. You can kill me another time.” Theseus rolls his eyes. “Did you two scratch up that cop a few blocks back?”

“We ain’t going to admit nor deny anything.” The Ben guy huffs. Boy was he stubborn as hell.

“What? Are you ashamed of your work? I don't think the people of the city will hear your messages if you won't even admit that you did it.”

“Fine! We did it, we want the world to know heros can't just do anything they want!” The girl yells.

“Janice!”

“Shut up, Ben.” Theseus sighs, he can hear Nuke laughing in his ear. “So heros can't make mistakes, but people like you can torment a cop and kill him? An innocent man?”

“It isn't like that!”

“Sure it isn't.” Theseus groans. He circles back and lowers his flight. A wall approaches fast in front of him, he feels the two begin to panic.

“No! No, we’re sorry!” Janice pleads. Theseus shakes his head and right as the wall draws in front of him he pulls back and uses their necks to bang each head against the wall. They go limp in his hands, but he can still hear their hearts beating.

“They’re out, Nuke.”

“The cops are a few blocks down inspecting the vehicle now. You can drop them off there, the daggers will match the wounds and the branding on their shoulders will be clear.”

Theseus flies back in the direction of the sirens. He spots multiple cop cars surrounding fourth street and dives into an empty spot on the left of the dead car.

“Put your hands up!” A policeman shouts as he takes his gun out and points it at Theseus.

“Hey, man! No fun.” Theseus whines, he holds the two criminals up higher. “Here’s your culprits. This was an act against the Hero Council committed by members of the Dream Organization.”

Tommy tosses the two onto the ground in front of the cop, his face twists and gun lowers.

“Wha…”

“The daggers will match the wounds.” Theseus crosses his arms. “Sorry for your loss, if you knew the guy they killed.”

“I did, we went to the academy together.” He puts his gun away, his hand ushers the others to do the same. “Thank you, Theseus.”

Tommy was surprised to be thanked, especially by a police officer, but he smiled under his mask anyway. “It’s my pleasure.”

“You have a friend in a L’manburg sector police station, we’re too underfunded to try and arrest you and you make out jobs a lot easier half the time anyway. Finding knocked out criminals is a lot better than wasting gas chasing them.”

“Good to know.” Theseus bows dramatically and takes flight above the tragic crime scene of an underpaid cop.

“Look at you making allies. Good to know we’ll have cops on our side when I start blowing shit up.” Nuke laughs.

“Please don't make them hate me, they are finally content with NOT trying to arrest me every five minutes.” Theseus groans. That was a really smooth take down, but he has a feeling he just gained an even more determined enemy in the Dream Organization than he had before. He just hopes next time it's NotFound or a lower level guy that comes after him rather than the temperamental Lava Panda.

“The name’s nuke for a reason, I’ve already got two smoke bombs made and three grenades.” Nuke admits proudly.

“Why bombs? Couldn't you have decided to be an… I don't know, quiet hero?”

“Cause I’m more fun than you.”

Theseus shakes his head as he flies in a random direction.

“No your no-” Sudden static fills his ear. “Nuke? Nuke, do you copy?!”

Theseus didn't hear a reply, it was like the signal had been blocked. “What the hell…?”

It goes silent again, just the same faint white noise from before. “Nuke?”

Theseus waits, paused in mid air. His eyes dart around the night sky for signs of anyone. Could it be Father Crow? A different hero? A simple faulty connection? In this business, you could never be sure.

“Not Nuke, whoever that is.” A soft voice speaks in his ear through the ear piece. A voice he didn't recognize. “It was easier to connect to this thing than I thought it would be, Theseus.”

“Who are you?”

“You’ll find out soon. See that apartment complex in the distance? Go land on the roof, me and my partner will be waiting for you.” The woman instructs and the line goes faulty again, static fills his ears. What the hell? What should he do? Leave or follow her demands? Is this a villian? Hero? Member of the Organization?

Sometimes Tommy is too curious for his own good, or just stupidly, permanently, tired. Either way, he wanted to check this out. He knew how to fight, he wouldn't be a vigilante if he didn't.

Theseus moves again and heads to the run-down apartment complex, it was the only one within a five block radius. It was also close enough to connect to the radio earbud, so Theseus calls it a win.

He lands slowly on the edge of the rooftop. He didn't see anyone, but there were a lot of ventilation units and a wall beside a door to the building to hide behind. As he cautiously steps more onto the roof he sees the flash of something blue scramble behind one of the vents.

“I saw you.” Theseus crossed his arms, his wings spread behind him prepared to take off if he needed to.

“Shit!” He hears a male whisper, it reminded him oddly of his battle with Sapnap. Not being able to see the other right away and hushed cursing. He just wonders where the woman that called him on his ear piece.

“It’s over, 3D.” The same, soft but terrifying voice echoes through the night sky with a sigh. A sudden flash of white pops up behind the wall next to the door. It was the woman. She wore boots, black pants and shirt, and a white cape hood that hid the top part of her face from where Theseus stood. He recognized her by the pink fingerless gloves she wore. Kinises, the telekinesis villain of the Kinoko. She mostly robbed banks and killed dirty cops, but the news never admits they're dirty.

“Fucking hell.” The man behind the vents groans as he jumps to his feet. He wore a blue shirt and white glasses pushed up on his head. 3D. The bald man of the villian world. He had the power of vision, which sounds lame until you understand it. He could, if he activated it, could see through walls, skin, in the dark, in 3D, anything he wanted to see he could.

“Kinises. 3D.” Theseus greets. He didn't feel too nervous in front of these mid-level villains. Really, with their MO they don't have any reason to go after Theseus, but who knows? They could be agents of Dream. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“You had a fight with Sapnap a week ago, correct?” Kinises takes the lead, her heeled boots click as she walks to the center of the roof. 3D is quick to follow behind her and stand at her side.

“That’s true, why’d you call me?”

“We’ve been watching you.” Kinises ignores his question.

“Yeah. We saw you take down those two Dreamers.” 3D butts in, man was he creepy. His bald head is shiny. His eyes are one blue and one red. His toothy grin. Those villains certainly aren't afraid to show their faces.

“Well that isn't creepy at all.” Theseus huffs sarcastically. Watching him? Why?

“Are you against the Dream Organization?” Kinises asks.

“Of course I am, who isn't?”

“Are you afraid to butt-heads with them? Are you willing to make enemies in the Organization without a care?”

“I mean, they already hate me as it is. Why avoid taking down their members?” Theseus narrows his eyes. “Why are you asking these questions? Are you with them?”

“We would never!” 3D shouts suddenly and aggressively, Kinises puts a hand out and he calms himself.

“We are agents of justice, we take out the evil in the world. The cops that let rapists go free, the lying politicians, the killers of the world. Dream and his men are evil, they kill the innocent for their cause, they hurt the worthy.”

“What does that have to do with me then?”

“We’re starting an army of anti-heroes and villains to join forces to take down the Dreamers when the heroes can't. You're one of the few we have seen who isn't afraid to fight back against their men.”

Theseus freezes. They want him in their “army”? They're killers, they're villains. They are exactly what Theseus spends his nights chasing after.

“I’m a vigilante.”

“So were we.” Kinesis points out. “Being a hero never works, even illegally. The only way to fix this broken city is to kill the pests.”

Theseus looks between Kinesis and 3D. While he doesn't agree with their way of doing things, he can't deny that the Dream Organization needs to be stopped. They were getting out of hand, the dead cop proved that fact. He wasn't a regular hero. He wasn't someone that gets paid to stop the bad. He chooses to save people, he chooses who he goes after. And right now? He needs to go after Dream. If these guys could help that, then maybe it's worth working with them for a bit. Just for a bit.

“Do you even have a plan?” Theseus sighs, crossing his arms. 3D grins wildly at the small inclination that Theseus might be interested in their cause. Theseus was still unsure, but if he kept a level head he’d know what to do.

“Yes, but we aren't giving it away like pamphlets for the Dreamers to find out about.” Kinises raises her head, her eyes lock into Tommy's behind his goggles. Why was she so scary? Even Sapnap wasn't this terrifying. “Are you in?”

Theseus grits his teeth. He doesn't know what the morally correct decision is in this situation, but based on what he knows he makes a decision. A decision he might regret later.

“I’m in.”

Kinises smiles for the first time since he met her, the smile didn't exactly make Theseus happy to say the least. It was intimidating.

“We’ll contact you when it's time to meet with the other’s. You’ll get a location and time on this phone-” 3D fumbles to get a burner phone out of his back pocket as Kinises speaks. He tosses it to Theseus. “Make sure to arrive and arrive on time.”

“Got it.” Theseus breathes. This was feeling way too assassin core right now. He was just the L’manburg petty-crime bird. He wasn't supposed to be an Organization defeater. He pockets the burner phone anyway, he didn't have the time to change his mind.

“Don’t tell anybody about our encounter, not even that little guy you were talking with before we cut your connection.” Kinises demands.

“Bu-”

“No buts.”

“Fine. No one will know.”

“We’ll see you soon, Theseus.”

And with that Kinises snaps a finger and the two get surrounded with a fuzzy pink light. They go up into the air and Theseus watches the hue of a pink glow fade into the night sky. He could easily chase them, but he doesn't want to. Now he has a burner phone, a weight in his mind, and stuff to lie about.

Theseus’ earpiece rings in his pocket, Tubbo’s voice comes into focus.

“Theseus! I repeat, are you there Theseus?!” Tubbo screams from his pocket. Theseus sighs and fumbles the earbud out of his pocket and slides it back into his ear.

“Yeah. I dropped it. Oops.” Theseus lies. Sometimes he hates how easy it is for him to lie, how he can deceive so smoothly that even he believes himself at times. It comes in handy, but it's also the quailty terrifies him the most.

“Fuck you. That was scary!”

Theseus laughs, his eyes still trail the pink glow. She said not to tell him, that's what Tommy will do. He’ll lie and lie again, just as he does all the time. He lies to Phil, he lies to Clay, he lies to Wilbur, he lies to Fundy, he lies to Technoblade, and now he lies to Tubbo.

“Got anything on the radar for me?”

-

“Sally! I’m here!” Wilbur calls as he tosses his bag onto the floor of their apartment. This was his home away from home, his secret little life.

“In the kitchen!”

Wilbur smiles and turns the corner into the kitchen. There stands his red haired beauty, the mother of his child. The woman he wishes to marry.

“Why are you up and about? The doctor put you on bed rest.” Wilbur sighs and walks up behind her, putting his head down on top of her head.

“I get antsy if I’m not doing something, you know that.” Sally complains, her hands were stirring a disgusting looking mix of flour and water.

“What is that?” Wilbur asks, holding back a small laugh.

“Muffins.”

“Hm.”

“It doesn't look that bad! Trust the process.” Sally shouts, smacking Wilbur's chin with her head.

“Ow!”

Sally laughs and turns around, her pregnant belly sticking out in front of her. Wilbur reaches forward and holds it. He loved his love, he loved his unborn child. He may have tension with his family, but he will always love this family he made for himself. He just wishes Tommy was here to see it. Too see him settle down.

“I’m so excited for our baby to arrive.”

“You gotta wait a few more months Wil, patience.” Sally smiles. “When will I meet your family?”

“I don't know, Sal, I told you I’ll tell them when I’m ready.”

“I know… but I really want to. You’ve been saying that for months!”

“Just give me time, my brother already knows about you.”

“I shouldn't have to be someone they don't know about until the last minute!”

“You know why I can't tell them!”

“Yeah!” Sally shouts with tears pooling her eyes. “You need your dead brother to know about me first! Well tough luck, Wilbur. He’s gone and I’m here! Our child is going to be here!”

“Don’t say that to me! You don't know what it's like!”

“Well I know how it's making me feel.” Sally defeats. “I’m going to bed. Don't follow me.”

“Wait- Sally!”

Chapter Text

Tommy liked working well enough. He enjoyed eating his lunch with Fundy and having a cup of coffee in silence with Technoblade and having a quick chat with Phil each afternoon. He liked the routine, the stability. He worked from 8:15 to 6:30 every day, he got paid 50 dollars an hour and gave 95% of his earnings to Clay. The rest he used to support Tubbo’s costume making. He ate lunch everyday and that was it. He patrolled nearly every single night and slept about two to three hours afterwards. It was his new normal, and he honestly liked it.

Nothing disturbed the peace (if that's what you call living on eggshells at home and feeling the fear of getting caught at work) except for the weight of the burner phone in his pocket each day. He was always afraid it would go off during a meeting or slip out while on patrol. He needed it nearby in case they called, but he hated the new fear it added to all his others.

Today felt like any other. Tommy arrived at work at his usual time and bothered Alyssa at the front desk for a few minutes before taking the elevator. He rides to the 24th floor without even a hitch in his breath. Like any other day he heads straight to his office with a small wave at Wilbur. He sits in his wheely chair and logs into his laptop. The first thing he sees is a notification on his bulletin board.

“The hell?” Tommy leans in and clicks on it. The sender id was the Hero Council Official email address. It was a video link. Shit

In the paused start of the video a woman sits in an expensive suit in a white marble office setting. Tommy recognized her from the news as Madame Welsh, the head of the Hero Council. What was she doing emailing him a video? The Hero Council usually just sends quick mission forms as a whole Council.

“Fuck me.” Tommy groans and clicks on the link. Madame Welsh clears her throat as the video begins to play.

“Hello, Mr. Watson. I’m sure you know me already. I have some information I’d like to convey to you for SBI. I would normally do this type of thing in person, but we are dealing with some… issues down here in headquarters. I’m sure you understand.”

“Issues my ass.” Tommy huffs. He’s very glad this is a video and not a call.

“We have gotten word from Pandora's Vault that a prisoner has come forward with information regarding Dream. We are incredibly busy and would like to send you and The Blood God down to interview the prisoner. We trust SBI to get the job done. A similar video has been sent to Technoblade. Thank you.”

The video cuts off and it leaves Tommy rattled. Pandora's Vault? Why not send an agent to a different hero? Why him? Was the Hero Council that lazy they'd send the second hero and his assistant instead of a certified agent of the Council? Fucking hell.

-

Tommy, despite having work to do today, pushed it aside and collected himself. He needed to go grab Technoblade for the prison visit. The Council sent a second email right after with forms to bring with that were for once mostly filled out and a bunch of information. It definitely cleared some things up.

“Technoblade!” Tommy knocks on the office with Technoblade’s name plated on the door. He wore his black business slacks, a white button down with a dark red sweater layered over top and he carried his black jacket for warmth. He had his messenger bag at his side. “Are you in there?”

“Coming!” The hero shouts and opens the door within a minute. He was in black pants, pink collared shirt, and a brown leather waistcoat.

“Did you get the email?”

“What email?”

“From the Council?” Tommy groans. “This is why I remind you three to check your personal emails!”

“What is it then?” Technoblade sighs. He hated the Hero Council with a passion. They were so controlling, they had too much power over the government of the city.

“They need us to go to Pandora's Vault and interview an inmate making a deal for a lesser sentence on Dream. From the info log Wanker Welsh sent me he refuses to give the information to just any guard. He wants a hero.”

“Why are you going then?”

“Apparently they don't trust you to take notes or behave so they're sending me with you as a witness.” Tommy grins, he was less annoyed at this job now knowing it was him babysitting the hero. He was still irritated that HE of all people had to go through the Vault security.

“When do we need to be there then?”

“Based on traffic and distance we need to leave the tower in…” Tommy checks his phone for the time.”Five minutes.”

“Holy shit that's soon.”

“Yeah, maybe check your email more often.” Tommy crosses his arms and shoves a small stack of paperwork into Technoblade’s chest. “Read that on the drive, I already called one of your drivers and they're bringing a black SUV.”

“Geez. You are prepared.” Technoblade huffs as he scrambles to keep the papers from flying everywhere.

“And I got the email only half an hour ago, don't even mention the fact that I am significantly younger than you.”

“You’re nineteen, it's only 5 years.” Technoblade rolls his eyes. Tommy forgot his fake age for a moment, being around Tubbo so much kinda made him feel like an actual teen. He doesn't even understand what being a teen is, he doesn't want to be one, but he had the feeling anyway. Time to acclimate back into being an adult.

“Boo hoo, you are still old.” Tommy replies in quick fashion, his feet beginning to take him to the main door of the office. “Keep up! And make sure you have a mask in your pocket unless you want to reveal your face to the press. They keep trying to film heroes leaving the building.”

“Fucking press.” Technoblade scoffs as he digs around the pockets of his pants. He ends up pulling a wrinkled fabric mask out and slips it onto his peculiar pig ears and leaves the cotton bunched up on his chin as they enter the elevator. “When will they draw a line!”

“I don't know, man. I’m just lucky they haven't been chasing me around. I think it's because of all the hate emails I write back to crazy fans that find the official email, they keep ending up on Twitter.”

“The hell are you writing to these guys?”

“Do you really want to know?” Tommy flashes a mischievous grin.

It's odd, y’know, how at peace Tommy feels when he sees Technoblade’s face. You’d think his prior fears of The Blood God would carry over once he met the real guy, but no. Tommy always feels happier when he sees Technoblade’s face. He also feels something he can only compare to a past battle he had. He was running from a villian that could control rocks. As Tommy ran he found a small corner that he could rest in and be safe while he collected himself. That's right. Safety. Tommy feels safe around Technoblade, which definitely isn't a familiar feeling for our poor boy. He doesn't even know the word for it. But just do you know, he feels safe.

“Yes.” Technoblade deadpans.

“Well…” Tommy begins with an eerie grin. “There was this one email a few weeks ago. This girl was writing about Wilbur asking him for marriage and… honestly it was total pornography. She kept talking about h-”

“Skip that part. He’s my brother. Gross.”

“Good point.” Tommy shrugs. His eyes glance at the elevator screen as it dings to the 10th level. “So I was disgusted and all, but here's the thing. This email came during my 6 o’clock re-check of the inbox. Technically, it wasn't really in my work hours, so I did something.

“I went onto the good old Internet and… well I wouldn't call it stalking but I stalked her.”

“Tommy!”

“Don’t worry! I used my fifteenth secret account!” Tommy laughs. “I went through all her accounts and dug up some information on her, so to speak. I’d figured out she had been arrested four times for possession of illegal substances and was currently on parole. I was able to find her secret account and followed her, she followed me back because my fake account was a fake small business, and I saw her most recent photos were of her at an illegal bar I heard of down in my part of the city.

“So, I downloaded the photos and found her Parole Officer’s insta in her at’s and then I contacted the officer with the photos. After my work was done I went to email her back. Basically I just insulted her ability to learn from her mistakes and how stupidly reckless she was and told her to have fun in jail before blocking her email address.”

“Holy shit…” Technoblade coughs as he slips his mask over her face. Tommy heard the elevator chime as it reached the ground floor and he stepped out with Technoblade in tow. “Good for you.”

“Not so good for her.” Tommy chuckles. The lobby is decently empty with the exception of some agency heroes wandering in and a few folks from different departments heading for lunch. He can see the tailend of the SUV outside the front door. “C’mon. The car’s outside.”

“Alright. Alright.”

Tommy guides the hero to the SUV and hops in. He’s taken a car twice before in his time here. The first was to meet with a sponsor along with Phil. The second was with all three of them to a Hero Council meeting. He wasn't made for this life of private drivers and meetings. He didn't like it. But, he did it anyway. He was paid to take part in this.

The two slide into the back seat of the car. Tommy spots the driver and nods once they are buckled in. The car whines awake and turns onto the road.

“So, which inmate are we visiting today?”

“They call him Slime, true name unknown.”

“Fucking Slimesicle.”

-

The drive was long and peacefully quiet. The driver didn't say a word and the two didn't share much conversation. Pandora's Vault is a high-security prison with four gates and an extreme entrance security. You have to be searched multiple times, cars scanned and marked, and the actual visits are highly monitored. It was built a few years back as villians got more violent and powers mutated with others as more powered people had babies with other powered people. A man who goes by the name Awesome Dude Sam designed and structured the prison himself, he still owns and runs it to this day. He placed it ten miles outside of the city in the deep woods surrounding it. Most of the lands outside of the city were unowned properties and farms. Quiet and out of the way.

As they approach the first checkpoint Technoblade speaks up. It was a small glass building with a tall metal gate with barbed wire on the top. About four guards stand outside it. Tommy rummages inside his bag to grab the forms he was sent.

“This is Checkpoint A. They check out forms and id’s and do a rapid drug and alcohol test before letting us through. We are handed a pass form on those tests and the next checkpoint searches our vehicle and person's.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Yeah, it's a high-security prison for a reason.” Technoblade sighs and unbuckles his belt as the car comes to a stop. A guard walks over to knock on the driver window. Tommy ushers the man to open his.

“Goodmorning, sir.” Tommy greets and scoots closer to the window.

“Step out of the vehicle with your forms and identification.” The guard demands. Tommy nods and opens his door with the papers and his fake id in hand. This was a bad idea. They will know. They’ll know it's fake and they’ll find out he’s an avian. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Okay, sir.” Tommy breathes nervously. He closes the door behind him, he hears Technoblade come around the car and stand beside him, the driver slides out as well.

“Forms and identification.” The guard holds out his hand and Tommy quickly places their forms into his palm. He places his fake id on top and Technoblade is fast to throw his own as well.

“Wait in the booth while we run these. The woman in there will use a breathalyzer and have you pee in a cup.”

Tommy nods, his breath a little unsteady. This was fucking weird.

“You good?” Technoblade asks, his hand gently rests upon Tommy's shoulder. This isn't Tommy, he reminds himself. This is a different Tommy, but that doesn't mean he can't treat the younger boy with consideration and kindness. This wasn't a replacement sibling.

“Yeah. This is a little… a lot, I guess.” Tommy chuckles nervously and begins to head to the glass booth. He could feel Technoblade’s eyes on his back as he followed behind towards the booth with the massive glass window.

A woman in a yellow t-shirt labeled in black ‘Inspector’ and giant pink glasses too large for her face sat at a small desk in the far end of the booth. She was clicking away at something on the screen.

“Hello?” Technoblade asks. “Amanda?”

“Techno.” The woman groans. Tommy knew that Technoblade had likely made trips to this prison before, but he wasn't entirely expecting him to know the workers by name. Amanda also sounded completely annoyed by the simple presence of Technoblade. “You know the drill. Go to the toilet in the corner and pee in it.”

“Yup.” Technoblade salutes and walks over to the wall-less bathroom. No privacy? Gross. Tommy quickly turns his head away the second he sees Technoblade step onto the tile. He wasn't about to what.

“You’re a newbie. Name?”

“It’ll be on the file that guy that took our forms is making. Thomas, Thomas Watson.”

“You look like Technoblade’s dead brother. Here, breathe.” Amanda sticks out a small black box with a stick attached to it. Tommy didn't even get a second to think about what she said before breathing hard into the breathalyzer. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Nope.”

“Good answer. Zero.” Amanda holds up the small screen and sets the box down. “When Technoblade is done pissing you’ll go do the same. Don't worry, we don't stare. Cups are on a small shelf next to the toilet, it would've been a long drive so I hope you have to pee.”

“Here ya go.” Technoblade is suddenly beside him holding a sealed cup, which was fortunately opaque, to Amanda.

“I’ll run the speed test.” Amanda glares at the hero and waves Tommy towards the bathroom.

Tommy very nervously walks up to it and stands in front of the toilet. He felt entirely awkward and uncomfortable with this, but he had to do it anyway. Stupid Hero Council.

(author here. I’m not going to make y'all read Tommy pee. I thought about it, but I can get way too detailed with shit. Have fun with an unexplained time skip)

“Here.” Tommy sighs and shakily sets down the sealed up. Technoblade was leaning against the counter that separates her desk and the small area of the booth, which was really just a large shed. You could walk from the wall-less bathroom from the counter in five steps.

“Technoblade’s cup done. He’s drug free.” Amanda grabs Tommy's and wheels over to the machine again.

“Fucking awkward, right?” Technoblade chuckles. “I’m just glad they don't make you do a complete strip search.”

“Complete?”

“Yeah, like they don't make you FULLY undress. You leave your undergarments on. It happens… inside the prison I’m pretty sure. Separate rooms, don't worry.” Technoblade smiles reassuringly. It didn't do much. Tommy was internally freaking the fuck out. On his id he wasn't a registered avian, plus, his red color was pretty distinguishable. There are other avains with it, other underdeveloped kids, but still!!!! Scary.

“Oh…” Tommy swallows hard.

“He-”

“All done! You’re both free to go if the guards cleared your forms and ids.” Amanda interjects and hands both men a slip of paper that includes their breathalyzer results and drug test results. They were both marked with a red stamp that says PASSED in bold letters.

“Thanks, Amanda.” Tommy smiles at her, but it honestly appears more as a pained grimace.

“Have a good one, kid. Fuck yourself, Techno.” Amanda gives Technoblade the finger.

“You too, Mandy.” Technoblade rolls his eyes and steps outside the booth doors. Tommy follows, staring expectedly at him. “What?”

“So? What’d you do to piss her off so much?” Tommy asks intently.

“I may or may not have accidentally, key word accidentally, dropped my poorly sealed piss cup on her during my first visit.” Technoblade smiles slyly.

“It wasn't an accident, was it?”

“Maybe.” Technoblade shrugs sarcastically. Tommy felt a little less panicked around Technoblade, he felt calmer than he was when he was peeing into a cup. That really sucked. Boy he hopes he’s never sent here again, not as a visitor or inmate.

“You guys are good.” The guard from before walks up to the two and hands them their forms and ids back. He still had the same bored frown on his face. Tommy could tell that this was a guy that truly hated his job, and he doesn't even blame him. He would hate his job too if he had to sit outside the gate to a high security prison all day taking forms and papers. “Get back in your car and we’ll open the gate. Your driver only goes as far as the parking lot, that's what his forms say.”

“So that's why he wasn't forced to piss.” Tommy nods. “Thanks.”

“Move along.”

Tommy and his hero companion hop back into the SUV, they don't even bother to buckle up. The speed limit is so slow and there's not even other cars. Within a few minutes the large metal gate creaks open and lets them pass, Tommy can hear it slam behind them once they are a mile or so down the road.

“Well he was a real charmer.”

“Yeah, all of them are as dead as he is. All except Sam, that is.”

“Really? I’d expect the guy that made this gloomy ass place to be just as gloomy.”

“Nope. He’s strict, but friendly.” Technoblade shrugs lightly. Checkpoint B began to fade into view. It was such a foggy day, which is convenient. It was the exact type of weather you’d see on a television show about someone visiting a prisoner.

“How many checkpoints again?” Tommy asks, his head leaning against the window to try and see the B. From what he could tell, the building was a lot bigger this time.

“Three, at least outside. The first is drugs, the second is searching, the third is a form check, and then it's the parking lot. There's a few more inside as well.”

“This sucks.”

“You tell me.”

The car slows to a stop at yet another gate, not that it was moving much at all before. About seven guards surround the car with flashlights, gloves, and detectors. The one beside Tommy's door knocks aggressively on the window.

“Step out of the vehicle!”

Tommy nods in a hurry and opens the door with fumbling hands. Just as he is barely out of it the guard slams it behind him, he hears Technoblade doing the same on the other side. His feet sunk into some mud, he forgot it rained last night. He didn't even get to go on patrol. How sad.

“You’ll be processed and searched in that building there, we’ll be checking the car.” The guard steps to the side and holds an arm out to the building. It had the words Registration written on its doors.

“I know, man, have fun.” Technoblade pats the guard’s back with annoyance and ushers Tommy out of the mud and onto a small stop sidewalk. “He’s one of the rough one's, known to get in people's faces.”

“Oh.” Tommy sighs, he could feel eyes on his back.

The two enter the building and are greeted with two baskets before another set of doors. They were set on unmoving conveyor belts with a small sign above it. It read- TAKE OFF ANY JACKETS, LAYERS, SHOES, BAGS, POCKETED ITEMS, JEWELLERY, ECT AND PLACE INTO BINS.

Tommy, being as anxious as he clearly was, began to do as the sign instructed. He slipped off his black jacket and folded it into the bin. He chose to do his shoes next, it took him a few moments to untie the laces, but the sneakers ended up in the bin beside his jacket. If if already wasn't chilly enough inside the building he also had to take off his sweater. Once he was standing awkwardly on the freezing tile floor in just pants, socks, and his button down his digs around in his pockets. He finds his lanyard with his elevator card and house keys attached, a piece of gum he found on the floor, and Clay's puppet necklace. He puts the rest in the bin, but holds onto the puppet for a few moments.

He carried it around more often nowadays. It served as a reminder as to why he does what he does. Why he works late and hard, why he gives up most of his money. Why doesn't he just leave Clay's home and live with Tubbo or save up for an apartment. If you spoke legally, he was old enough to do that. No one knows he’s really a teenager. The necklace keeps his steady. It shows him that Clay is his father and his controller. He is related by blood to the man, he raised him, the least he could do was be his puppet.

Tommy sighs and gently places the necklace onto the top of his folded red sweater. Man was he cold. He turns around and stares at Technoblade in just his shirt and pants, it was weird seeing him without the dozen rings he always wears when he’s not patrolling. He was holding one, actually. The ring Tommy always sees on his pinky. A small silver band with an amethyst hexagon. It was a beauty.

“Technoblade?” Tommy takes a few steps forward.

“Sorry.” Technoblade shakes his head. “It was my mother's.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It's been years.” Technoblade places the rings delicately inside his own bin. “What about? I saw you holding a necklace over there.”

“Oh, me? It was a gift from my father.”

“Why don't you wear it then?” Technoblade tilts his head, hands in his pockets.

Tommy pauses and fidgets with his fingers. “I carry it around to remind me of the good in my father. I don't wear it because it becones a reminder of all of him.”

“Do you and your father have a bad relationship?”

“No!” Tommy blurts out. “We’re… we’re fine. I love my dad, and I know he loves me, he just isn't the most… supportive I guess.”

Tommy meant that in many ways. Clay doesn't support him, he doesn't carry him up when he’s down or help him around the house. Clay doesn't support the fact that he’s an avain, in fact he prefers the wings to have never existed. He hasn't seen them since Tommy was growing them. He doesn't-

Tommy snaps out of his mind. It's no good speaking ill of his father when all he’s done is raise him and protect him, even if Tommy didn't like the protection.

“Oh…” Technoblade nods lightly. “I understand that to a certain degree.”

“Rea-”

“Please step through the next set of doors.” An automated voice rings from a small speaker on the ceiling. Tommy was grateful for that stupid robot voice, it just ended a very awkward conversation Technoblade was trying to have with him.

“Guess that's our cue.” Tommy shrugs and reaches forward to press on the handle of the door. I5 wouldn't budge.

“Pull door, idiot.” Technoblade scoffs behind, Tommy flusteredly tries the handle again, this time pulling towards him. It opens with ease.

“I knew that…” Tommy huffs, walking through the doorway into the next room. The conveyor belt whines awake and he sees their bins being moved along a line of people with gloves and detectors. A few paces ahead of them are a set of metal detectors and two guards with scanners attached to their hips and rubber gloves on their hands.

“C’mon.” Technoblade ushers Tommy towards the metal detectors. He walks through first, a green light flashing on as he passes through. Instantly two guards surrond him on either side and scan up his body and use their hands to pat him down. He is given a nod and moves forward. He turns around waving for Tommy to walk through next.

Tommy takes a deep breath and steps through the doorless metal archway. He sees a light flash green and he is surrounded. One man scans his body. Once he’s done the one with gloves begins patting him down from the ankles up. Tommy's breath hitches, his mind floods with thoughts what they’ll say when they pat his back? Will they make him take his shirt off? Will they force him to unbind his wings? Tommy holds his breath and shuts his eyes as the hands near close. And they hit. And they pause. The guy pats around the binding and takes a step back.

“Take off your shirt.” He demands, and hand rests on his holster. Technoblade glances with worried eyes between Tommy and the guard. “Slowly.”

Tommy nods, biting his tongue. His shaky fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt. He felt exposed and vulnerable. He slips off the shirt. He watches Technoblade’s eyes glance from the tight binding around his back and his jutted ribs and the risen scar lining his forearm. The guard walks around and begins feeling the binding. He pulls a bit of fabric back to look inside and instantly backs away.

“My apologies, sir, you may put your shirt back on.” The man had a guilty and pitiful expression on his face. Tommy didn't entirely understand what was happening or why the guard was so upset that he even made Tommy take his shirt off. Tommy was just grateful Technoblade wasn't behind him, but he was also worried. Technoblade would have a lot of questions.

“To-” Technoblade begins, his eyes quickly look away as Tommy grabs his button up off the floor and slips it on as fast as he can.

“Not right now, Technoblade, you can ask questions later.” Tommy groans and fixes the cuffs of his sleeves.

“I’ll go check in with the people searching the car, you two are free to go when they're ready.” The guard refuses to lock eyes with Tommy, he scurries off quickly. Tommy sees that they're stuff is being sent back through the conveyor belt.

“Let’s go.” Tommy defeats. Technoblade follows him out the set of doors and into the lobby room with their bins stopped at the end of the belt as they were when they came in. Both were marked with inspection passed stickers. His grabs his stuff and shoves his sweater over his head, lanyard into his pocket, shoes on his feet, jacket over his arm, and his necklace in his hand. Technoblade takes a bit longer, his waistcoat had a lot of buttons and straps.

“What was that?” Technoblade blurts out as he slides his rings onto his fingers. “That binding. Are you injured?”

“No.” Tommy deadpans. He didn't want to answer Technoblade’s questions. He didn't want this slight bond he’s built with the Craft’s to crumble. If Technoblade finds out, then surely the othetr two will find out in the matter of a day. He didn't need them knowing he was an avain, it was too closely related to Theseus. If he was caught here, then Clay would find out. He’d rather be killed than have Clay find out.

“What was on your back then?”

“Nothing.”

“What did he see?”

“Nothing, Technoblade!”

“I’m worried, my assistant is skin and bones wearing a hidden binding. What is going on!?”

“I’m an avian!” Tommy shouts. He couldn't keep the words for exiting his mouth, he doesn't know why. He was battling his trust towards Technoblade and his own desire to not be discovered. His frustration and exhaustion won. “There! Are you happy?”

Technoblade froze, his face went blank. He honestly didn't know what to think. A part of him went to the very thing his family’s mind went to whenever something relatively similar to it came up. Their Tommy. Tommy hadn't been determined yet on if he had his mother's abilities or if he was a mutant, there was a possibility he’d have neither, but they never found out which it was before he went missing. Phil always said he would've been an avian like him since they looked so alike. Kristen always said he would've had her powers, but no one truly knew what Kristen's powers were.

She came from a lot of different type of people. Sirens, Seers, Magicians, ect. She called it Limbo, but it wasn't explained to the kids. Whenever he has asked Phil about it he’s just defected. They loved talking about Tommy, but refused any conversation about Kristen. Sometimes Technoblade wanted to scream and shout at the top of his lungs. He wanted to talk about what happened the day she died, he wanted to talk about what he saw. His father and brother missed her too much to let him talk about it and he never trusted therapists. So it was stuck playing over and over again in the back of his mind.

Technoblade shakes his head and snaps out of his thoughts. Tommy wasn't his Tommy; he was too old to be. Tommy was an avain, that has nothing to do with his brother. There are other things to worry about. Why was he so thin? What was that scar on his arm? Why does he hide the wings?

“Binding is dangerous for your wings, I have an avian father.”

“You don't think I know that?” Tommy scoffs. “I know the risks.”

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are they binded behind you instead of free? Why aren't you registered on your file? Why’d you lie to my dad when he asked?” Rightfully, Tommy couldn't tell him the absolute truth. It’s stupid to tell a morally gray hero that you're a criminal in his eyes. So Tommy tells a partial truth, although he hates how it's going to make his father look.

“You know how I told you that my father isn't exactly the most supportive?” Tommy starts with his eyes downward.

“No….”

“He isn't too happy about the fact that I’m an Avian, to say the least. I prefer to hide it, he hasn't seen my wings since they came.”

“I’m so sorry. Are they…are they red?” Technoblade asks hesitantly. Not many people in the world know much about winged folks, especially those of the bird family. Avains come in many different animal groups. Birds, bees, butterflies, dragons, ect. Birds are more common, but they are also more complicated. Technoblade, having a crow as a father, knows more about Avains than even some avian specialists. He knows about the avian parent bond and the horrific growth process. He also follows his father's no wing target when he’s in battle.

“Yes.” Tommy looked away, he knew he couldn't lie. If Technoblade ever saw them, which is possible with him knowing, he’d know their color. He just hopes Technoblade doesn't make a Theseus connection. Tommy doesn't know that most heroes, with the exception of Phil, believe that Theseus is anywhere between 25-35 years old.

“I’m sorry.” Technoblade apologizes again, his head hung low in shame. “I’m guessing your father isn't the avain in the family?”

“No, he’s not.” Tommy shakes his head. “Uhm… please don't tell anyone. Phil and Wilbur don't have to know about it, I didn't even want to tell you to be fair.”

“Yeah! No worries, they won't find out until you're ready.” Technoblade reassures. “But, being an avian isn't something you should be ashamed of, just know that.”

“Ye-”

And yet again their sentences are interrupted by one of those stupid guards. “Your car is ready, sir.” The guard before says to Tommy, funny enough he barely acknowledges the famous hero’s presence.

“Thank you.” Tommy nods to the guy and turns back to Technoblade. “We can talk more later, I guess. Let's get this prison visit over with already.”

“Good idea.” Technoblade sighs defeatedly. The two head back to their car and hop in. If the carpets had creases and the seats were more tilted than usual, neither said anything. They didn't say much of anything to one another to be fair though.

The driver moves slowly along the gravel road for a while, a few stray drops of rain pass through the air. They finally reach checkpoint C, the final one before the parking lot. A female guard knocks on Tommy's window and he rolls it down.

“I will take your forms now, sir.” Tommy nods and stacks up all their passes and forms. The parking pass, drug tests, breathalyzer results, search forms, and their personal forms and ids for being there and he hands it to the woman. “Thank you.”

She walks off to a small booth with a lady sitting at a computer. Tommy looks back to Technoblade who sits beside him on these cold leather seats.

“How long does this part usually take?”

“Depends on if the systems are running well. Some days they're so slow it takes half an hour. Other days it could take five minutes.”

“Geez.” Tommy turns his head back to the booth and watches the people within through the window. The guard stands over the lady typing on the computer and flipping through their files. The lady on the computer looks to be chewing gum, Tommy relaxes his mind and decides to listen in. He can hear the chewing, man was she obnoxious. She also types really loud. He focuses on their voices.

“Yeah the systems are running fine today, Mr. Awesome fixed them a few days ago.” Gum-bitch says.

“That’s good. I hate this fucking job, he put me on the graveyard all of last week and this week the day. My sleep schedule is fucked up.”

“Oh hush, Kacey. He tries his best. He only put you in the graveyard last week because the guy that takes it had a baby with his wife recently and needed to be there at night to help.”

“Oh…” Kacey crosses her arms. “It’s still annoying.”

“He’s sweet, Kace. Remember the girl that used to have my job?”

“Yeah?”

“Well she moved inside because I got pregnant. He didn't want me working around the inmates with a baby on the way…”

Tommy fades out of the conversation, it was feeling a little invasive.

“The systems are fast today.” Tommy tells Technoblade. “But I have a feeling this will take a while longer. The two people inside are chatting up a storm.”

“Oh yeah. Super hearing.” Technoblade smiles a bit. “Yeah these two seem newer. I haven't seen them before.”

“Computer gal just got moved from inside to here because she's pregnant. The other one keeps complaining so she seems newer to Pandora.”

“Do you always eavesdrop?”

“Only when the conversation is interesting.” Tommy shrugs mischievously. Technoblade chuckles lightly and goes back to looking out the window at the wired gate.

Tommy waits, trying not to eavesdrop, for their gate go open, and in ten minutes Kacey comes out and hands him the forms in a beige folder.

“You’re good to go on your way now.” She says and the gate begins to creak open. As their car comes alive again Tommy turns to the window and decides to mess with her a bit.

“Thanks, Kacey.” He smiles sarcastically. “Tell the lafy inside I said Congratulations.”

Her face twists in confusion and their amused driver presses the gas. Tommy held back a laugh as she stared at the departing car. A prison probably isn't the best place to be messing with people, but what was Tommy supposed to do? Not mess with her?

The car pulls into a small parking lot and finds a space close to the gate. Tommy could see a massive black building on the other side, guard towers surrond the area and people pace on either side of the gate. He’s heard this is rhe cruelest prison there is. Inmates don't get yard time or time outside their cells unless they are low security prisoners. The lower ones get 15 minutes in a small yard that is surronded by 10 feet walls. The higher ones get a cell with a small 14 pane window. The worst of the worst get a windowless cell. The latter two don't get anytime outside the cell. From what Tommy read, they are visiting a lower level prisoner. He wants a deal to give information for a transfer to a different prison. Slimesicle, a former prisoner of the Dream Organization and widely known villian. He is now a prisoner of Pandora's Vault.

Technoblade and Tommy hop out of the car and say their farewels to the driver, who is unlucky enough to have to sit in the parking lot until they come back out. They walk up to the gate and scan the small barcode on the forms on a small scanner. The gates part for them and they are allowed inside. Woohoo!

-

Tommy hates Pandora's Vault. He’s been through so many pat downs, partial strip searches, waiting for files to be looked over again, more pat downs, more metal detectors that by the time he reaches the hallway leading to the interrogation room he is fucking exhausted. He sees a man in armor standing at the end of the hall, he recognizes him from the news. Sam, the architect of the Vault. Technoblade looks tired as well, but his face perks up a little at the sight of Sam.

“Sam. Good to see you, again.”

“You as well, Technoblade.” Sam smiles kindly. “And you must be Thomas. Welcome to Pandora.”

“Certaintly is welcoming.” Tommy quips sarcastically. “Call me Tommy.”

He reaches a hand out to shake, Sam’s is firm but gentle. He was having a lot of mixed feelings about the man.

“It is a high-security prison.” Sam laughs. “The prisoner is inside the interrogation room. He isn't too dangerous, one of the ones that only ended up in here because it's safer from Dream Organization members in other prisons.”

“Why does he want a transfer then?” Technoblade asks.

“Why do you think, Techno? This place isn't the most
comforting.” Tommy rolls his eyes jokingly.

“That’s exactly right, he’s quite the innocent guy. He’s naive though. The crimes he commited were for rhe Organization, he broke very easily after he was taken. We have pyscologists here that have been working with him and he’s finally ready to talk. He only wants a hero because it feels safer.”

“Got it.” Technoblade nods, he didn't like Slimesicle that much. Actually, he assisted in his capture. The guy was a bother, but he did feelt empathy.

“Do you have any paper and pen ready for me in there as the Council requested?” Tommy asks the man.

“Yes. A small notepad and crayon, we don't allow sharp writing utensils in here. Sorry.”

“No, a crayon is fine.”

“If that's all, I’ll allow you two inside now. You have half an hour.”

“That’ll be more than enough.” Technoblade looks down at Tommy and gives him a prepared nod. Sam opens the heavy metal door and the two enter the room. A mirror sat on one wall, Tommy understands it's most likely double sided. The room consisted of nothing but a metal table bolted to the ground, two metal chairs on one side also bolted down, and one chair on the other side also bolted down. On the table was a notepad and a red crayon and a small bar with a handcuff attached to it. The chair on the farthest side helf a green man that looked like he was dripping green goo. He wore an orange jumpsuit and a pair of rubber glasses.

“Hi!” The gooey man greeted. His voice was loud and happy, which was a sight to see in a grey concrete room without any color.

“Hello?” Tommy twists his face and slides into the seat with the crayon in front of it. Technoblade takes the only other seat there, which was next to Tommy.

“Afternoon, Slimesicle.”

“Technoblade of Arctic!” Slimesicle smiles. “Who is your friend?”

“My name is Thomas Watson, we are here to get that information you claim you have.”

“Tommy of L’manburg, it's good to meet you.” Tommy's face scunches in confusion. How does he know where he lives and his actual name? The fuck?

“Uhm.”

“Don’t worry about it. He knows a weird amount of stuff.” Technoblade rubs the bridge of his nose. “Slime, could you tell us how long you were with the Dream Organization?”

Tommy picks up the red crayon and holds it above the paper as he prepares for what he will hear.

“How long I was there? I was there for two years after I was taken.” The man suddenly seemed a lot less cheerful.

“And when did you start working for them instead of being a prisoner?”

“A year and a half in.”

“Why did they keep you as a prisoner for so long?”

“I know a lot, Technoblade of Arctic. You just said that.” Slimesicle sighs sorrowfully. “I had information on Las Nevadas that they wanted.”

“Las Nevadas? Isn't that the casino in Kiniko where it's speculated to be a villain meeting spot?” Tommy turns his question to Technoblade.

“Yeah, we can never bust it though. The owner, his name is Alex, he has connections in high places. A lot of government officials owe him money.” Technoblade sighs, he hates the fucking government here.

“What was this information?”

“I can't tell you.”

“Okay.” Technoblade huffs. “What is this information you want to tell us?”

Technoblade gets straight to the point very quickly, not much build up at all, but then again they only had a mere thirty minutes. Slimesicle pauses and begins.

“While I was in captivity I heard a lot of conversation between Dream and NotFound, there meeting room is right next to my room. I had a lot of time to listen.

“One day I hear a peculiar conversation. Dream started talking about your father, Technoblade.”

“Phil?” Tommy butts in suddenly. “He was talking about Philza Craft?”

“Yes. Phil from Arctic. He sounded real mad, he really hates your dad, Technoblade from Arctic, he REALLY hates him.”

Technoblade’s face twists into worry. “Why? Do you know why?”

“I don't knlw exactly why, but I think Phil did something to Dream at some point. Anyway, they were talking and NotFound said something about Tommy.”

“Tommy?” Technoblade freezes, his mouth hangs open after he repeats the name. Tommy himself felt confused for a moment, but is fast to remember the missing Craft child.

“Not Tommy of L’manburg, Tommy of Craft.” Slimesicle reiterates as if that were the confusion.

“Why’d he mention Tommy? Does he know something?” Tommy asks, honestly it felt weird to say his own name but not be talking about himself. Technoblade seemed to out of it to continue leading.

“Oh he doesn't just know something, he is the something.” Slimesicle laughs a little, but is words were a little odd. “He claims he HAS Tommy from Craft.”

Technoblade stands up suddenly, if the chairs weren't bolted his would've fallen over, and leaves the room with teary and angry eyes. Tommy is left alone with the inmate. Guess he had to finish the interview.

“Wow. What's wrong with him?”

“Shut up, you just told him his missing brother is alive and with a sadistic criminal.” Tommy rolls his eyes. “Did Dream say anything else?”

“Yes. He calls whatever he’s planning to use Tommy from Craft for is named Mission Phil.”

“Do you know where Dream is keeping Tommy?”

“No.”

Tommy sighs and puts down his crayon. “Thank you for your time, Slimesicle. I’ll let the Council know you were very helpful.”

Tommy grabs the notepad and gets up. As he goes to open the door Slimesicle says something.

“Goodbye Tommy from Craft! Stay safe, Dream isn't a kind man.”

“I’m not Tommy Craft, Slime.”

“Yes you are.”

“No.” Tommy shakes his head and leaves. Slime was a disturbed man, he isn't right in the head. But still, something about the way he was talking made Tommy feel off. Why would he mistake Tommy Watson for Tommy Craft if he already established he wasn't talking about the Tommy in front of him but the missing Tommy? That was one hell of a confusing thought.

When Tommy enters the hallway he can already hear Technoblade’s breathing, it was heavy and filled with anger. Tommy looked to his left and saw the man a few feet down leaning his back against a wall with a crack in it, the knuckles on his right hand were dripping crimson blood onto the concrete floor. His good hand was rubbing his temple, he looked to be suffering from a pounding headache.

“Technoblade?” Tommy whispers, he was both scared and concerned. He knew the Craft family had issues, any family that has to deal with a missing son and a wife that kills herself within four months wouldn't be the most mentally stable, but he always saw Technoblade as the steadiest one. He saw how Phil always looked tired and the droopy eyes when he looked at Tommy. He saw the needle scars on the crook of Wilbur's elbows and his hopeful eyes when he stared at Tommy. Technoblade? Technoblade always treated Tommy like a friend. He knew Technoblade did suffer, he knew he still did, but he didn't expect him to punch a wall after the mention of his brother's location.

“I thought we could finally move on. I was ready to move on.” Technoblade allows a singular tear to drop. “Wilbur was finally better, Phil has been sleeping more, I don't wake up every night in a cold sweat anymore. I accepted that Tommy was dead and then this happened.”

“Do you not want him back?” Tommy asks gently.

“No! I do want my baby brother back, but I want my freedom as well. I want my family to be happy.” Technoblade hits the back of his head lightly against the wall. “I don't want to be responsible for their issues, I want to matter!”

“You do matter, Technoblade.” Tommy comforts. He takes a few steps closer to the man and grabs his wrist to look at the bleeding knuckles.

“It’s always Tommy this or Wilbur that or Phil this. It's never Technoblade.” His eyes leak harder. “I’m tired. I’m honestly exhausted from taking care of them, or putting them first. I watch them and I notice them but they don't want to look at ME.”

“Then I’ll look at you, Techno.” Tommy looks up at the intimidating, unempathetic hero. “I’m here, you don't need to take care of me, okay? I'll listen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Techno, it's okay.” Tommy comforts with a smile. “This will be okay, it's just surface scraps.”

Tommy drops Technoblade’s wrist. “Would you like to know what else he said?”

“Yes.” Technoblade nods and wipes his face dry. He still seemed a little shaken up and upset, but calmer in most ways.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Alright. He said he’s planning to use your brother for something Dream calls Mission Phil.”

“Mission Phil?” Technoblade thinks for a moment. “Fuck me. I understand.”

“What?”

“My dad would do anything to get my brother back, Dream hates my dad.”

“Oh no.”

“We need to get back to the tower, if we can find Tommy's location before this ‘Mission’ starts then we can stop whatever will happen.”

“Let’s go.” Tommy nods. This will be a long ride, at least leaving the Vault is a lot easier than coming in.

-

Tommy stares out the window of the SUV as trees and back roads turn into highways and distant skyscrapers. It was a silent drive, a peaceful drive. Technoblade spent most of it staring at the palms resting in his lap and Tommy watching the trees rush by. There was little tension in the air. Technoblade felt at peace, but guilty with the way he spoke of his family. Tommy felt nervous with Technoblade finding out about Clay's resilience against his species and his wings. Despite the discomforts, they felt calmer together. If Tommy had to go with Wilbur he knows this drive would be filled with attempted conversation and glances. Technoblade is much easier to be around by a landslide.

As Tommy watches the car turn off the highway and into the light end of day traffic of the city he hears buzzing from his bag and a buzz from Technoblade’s pocket at the same moment. Tommy, not recognizing the sound as his own phone, knows it's from the burner. Shit.

Tommy digs around and pulls out the phone, flipping it open at the same moment as Technoblade. He keeps the small screen turned slightly away so Technoblade can't see.

MEETING AT LAS NEVADES AT 11 PM. GO TO THE BACK DOOR AND TELL THE GUARD THERE YOU’RE WITH THE SYNDICATE. DON’T BE LATE.

Tommy flips the phone close and shoves it in his pocket, he turns to look at Technoblade who is staring at an exact replica of the phone Tommy was just on. He decides it must just be a coincidence, as many things in his life are, and looks away.

The rest of the drive Tommy is anxious for the meeting and Technoblade seems to be in deep thought.

I wonder the chances that they keep the same burner on them..

Chapter Text

MEETING AT LAS NEVADES AT 11 PM. GO TO THE BACK DOOR AND TELL THE GUARD THERE YOU’RE WITH THE SYNDICATE. DON’T BE LATE.

He rereads the message as he enters his house, it was darkly lit and Clay's car was yet again not parked outside so he didn't have to worry about leaving with his father awake. He dresses into his gear and sits at his computer catching up on the emails he missed throughout the day.

Theseus leaves his home at 10:30 to make a slow fly over to the casino. He had his goggles up on his forehead, the scar doesn't show but his eyes do. He didn't really like wearing them indoors.

The night sky was cloudy and cold, he had to start wearing layers under his gear to preserve heat. He nears closer to the casino, flashing lights and chimes and a giant sign lighting the air come into view and into hearing range. Las Nevadas. The gambling capital of the city. Also a housing for villains and vigilantes of the city. The owner allows and hosts meetings between villains or groups or gangs. Everything for a price. It isn't surprising this is where the group of anti-Dreamers decided to meet.

Theseus swoops and takes a dive into a small back alley behind the building. He, not wearing his goggles, made a faulty swoop and ended up slamming into a brick wall of a nearby establishment. Unlucky him hit first with his face and got thrown backwards onto the ground with the wind knocked out of him.

With a groan he pulls himself to his feet and takes a look around the alleyway he finds himself with an achy face in. It consisted of a green dumpster, multiple walls from surrounded buildings, and a lit up door with a man outside it. It was a heavy metal door with a small lamp above it, the man was dressed in all black with a gun holstered to his side. That's probably the guard the message was talking about. It made Theseus a tad nervous about the gun and the entire… just mood of the casino. It was dark and intimidating despite the colorful lights that covered every corner of the inside gambling room.

He didn't like what he heard of this place. Government and Council officials in the main room going into debt, villains in small private rooms behind the main area plotting attacks against those very officials. Then heroes come in discreetly and pay guards and managers for information on those plots. The only person that wins in this casino? The owner. Alex, aka Quackity. A duck hybrid with a knack for ripping everyone off and winning. No one really ever sees him, he spends most of his time in his office.

Theseus groans and rubs the side of his masked face. He stumbles over to the guard, the man tenses and his hand subtly rests a little tighter on his holster.

“What’s your business here?” The guard’s eyes narrow upon Theseus. Of course he recognized the little fake hero, everybody knows who Theseus is. This guard wouldn't rat a criminal out, it’d bring too much attention to the casino, but it didn't stop him from worrying if Theseus would bust the casino. He was a little too righteous in his opinion.

“I’m uh… I’m with the Syndicate?” Theseus rubs the nape of his strained neck awkwardly. The guard’s face falls in disbelief and he takes a step away from the door.

“Let me take you there, sir.” The guard lets go of his holster and opens the door. A confused Theseus furrows his brows and steps through the door into a small red carpeted hallway. He could hear a few bells chiming and wheels spinning in a room to a hall to the left, he guesses it leads out into the main gambling room.

As he is led down the dimly lit hallway a few rooms pass him by that he can actually hear noises from within. A few he can tell are private poker rooms. Shouts of frustration, stacking of chips, shuffling of cards. Beer bottles popping open, laughing between friends, a cheer for a win. In other rooms he hears people chatter in serious voices about mysterious code named projects. Tommy tries his best not to focus on what they say, he honestly doesn't want to know something he shouldn't from officials or villains. He has other things to focus on. Such as an illegal criminal meeting planning the destruction of a massively dangerous Organization.

“Right this way.” The guard nervously laughs and turns a corner. At the end of this hall was a door that had a sign plastered out front stating RESTRICTED ACCESS. He guides Tommy to the front of it and stops. “I can go no further, we ain’t allowed in these meetings. Theseus? Do good work. Las Nevadas trusts The Syndicate.”

He bows lightly and leaves.

“Thanks? I’ll try my absolute best.”

Theseus felt confused as hell, but he figures it has to do with the reason a meeting like this is held in a place where information is bought easily. His ears perk to the sound of light conversation being held within. He can't place any names to any voices, but he does know there's quite a few.

He’s hesitant to make a move to go inside. This is the step that fully involves him in whatever this is. Does he really want to join a group of people in order to defeat a criminal organization? Do the pros outway the cons? Join villains or take down worse villains? He can't stand any longer outside a door like a child nervously trying to decide how to tell their parents they wet the bed. He grabs the golden handle and pushes, which is actually a push door this time.

The room was decently large and held a large round table in the center. A majority of the seats are filled. He spots Kinesis without her hood, 3D without his glasses, and some other surprising star guests. Here are a few names he can spot so far.

Ex hero, The Captain, aka Puffy.
Quackity himself, Alex.
The Blood God, Technoblade

Wait…Technoblade???? What the actual hell. Theseus freezes in his spot for a moment before deciding to shut the door behind him. Kinises spots him and waves him over. She sits at the head of the round table with 3D on her right and an empty seat on her left. Puffy and Technoblade sit together on 3D’s side and Quackity sits next to the empty chair on Kinises’ side.

“Welcome, Theseus, please come and have a seat next to me. You are welcome to unmask if you feel comfortable, most of us here are friends and are sworn to secrecy.” Kinesis smiles and pats the spot on the table beside her. Theseus smiles and walks around the table to sit down. “Okay, now that our prime members are here we will begin.”

A few nods go around the table. Theseus can feel Technoblade’s eyes on him. Having ran from the man multiple times in battle, it certainly isn't a shock.

“We will go around and give out names, you can use personas or real ones. This is a safe space.” Kinises smiles. “My name is Niki.”

“Jack.”

“Technoblade.”

“Puffy.”

“Quackity.”

“Theseus.” Tommy nearly coughs. Was he nervous? A little. Is he showing it? Very much so.

“Good. Now we’re all familiar.” Niki gives a warm smile. She was a lot less intimidating than when she was fully a public villain. “Let’s get started.”

“Can we even do this?” Puffy interjects. “I already got in enough trouble with a law in my hero days, I don't want to lose my freedom over something hopeless.”

“This isn't hopeless, Puffy!” Jack fights back.

“Okay! This isn't a debate, you can either leave or listen!” Niki interrupts. “Puffy, we understand this might feel impossible, but we have to try.”

A few people nod around, Puffy hangs her head slightly.

“How about we all go around and get some clarity on this, try to understand each other a bit more?” Niki offers. “Let's explain what this means to us, taking down the Organization.”

“Sounds good.” Jack smiles to his partner in crime.

-Niki-

“I’ve always fought for justice. Ever since I was a little girl. I fought to be treated equally with my classmates, I fought to be graded fairly, I fought for those pushed down and went after those that were put on false pedestals. But, I could never make a difference in this dang city.” Niki sighs, a few eyes glance around in agreement.

“That's why I became a vigilante. I wanted to make a change. I started off as this young woman straight from college unhappy in an unfair workplace with corrupt bosses. It felt good, y’know, to be a hero. I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to change this place. And I did, for a little while. I put away bad guys and dropped crime rates a few percentiles, but it didn't do what I wanted it to. Those criminals got short sentences and corrupt officials still went on embezzling funds and cruel cops still killed kids.

“I couldn't change the way things work by going after the little guys, and I certainly couldn't do it by revealing their corruption. I had to stomp it out from the inside, kill the cockroach. I thought I could do justly, but something changed my mind.

“One day I stumbled upon something really filthy about the Head Commissioner of Kinoko police Department, it felt good to have this piece of information. Something that could most literally destroy this man. He was putting away criminals on worse charges to lessen charges on criminals that had connections to a massive drug ring he was siphoning cash revenue from. Hundreds of people got worse sentences and others walked within a couple months. I had him right where I wanted him.”

Niki smiles sorrowfully. “I took my righteous ass to the City Council and told them about it. And you know what happened?

“I expected to see him on the news in handcuffs. What did I see? I saw a note on my front door calling me to court for a crime I never commited. They fined me more money than I could ever pay in my lifetime just to shove it into their own overflowing pockets of money.”

A few people scoff around the room, Technoblade is the most prominent.

“I couldn't take it anymore. A filthy man walks free and I get thrown into debt so badly I become homeless. I decided my first night sleeping on a park bench that things would change. I needed to make that change myself.

“The next morning I got up and became Kinesis. I marched into a bank where the city council holds their cash and robbed the fucking thing. I kept going from there. If no one is going to listen to you, then you have to make a statement. I hung corrupt officials from bridges and slashed that Commissioner’s throat.

“The Dream Organization is a corrupt evil in this world. I made myself a promise to crush all corruption, and that is what I will do if it's the last thing I do!”

Niki cheers with a fist in the air. It gets the room pumped with motivation. She wanted to make the world just, Tommy gives her that. Even if he doesn't personally agree with her ways, he understands. She wasn't as bad as he assumed.

-Jack-

“My name is Jack, but you all know me as 3D from the news. I have been working with Niki since the start, pretty much. She always had an eye for justice, and I followed her with it. My story isn't motivational, it doesn't make me a hero for justice. I only follow Niki through her crimes because I have nothing else to do with myself, with my useless powers, so I might as well help someone good.

“When I was younger I grew up in poverty, in the L’manburg side of the city. From ages eight to seventeen I was mugged twenty-seven times, shot nine, stabbed six, and offered drugs five hundred and thirty-two times. I’m lucky I wasn't dead before I turned an adult, I would've said graduated but I dropped out of highschool to get a job to pay the bills. No one ever helped us, not the rich nor the heroes nor the Council. I was alone, and I made it. I’m here today out of strong will. But my story really starts when I was nineteen.

“I came home from my night shift to the door of my apartment complex shattered and the front door attendant dead on the floor. Assuming the worst, I ran up two flights of stairs to my apartment and found all my neighbor’s heads in the hallway. As I grew closer to my own I saw my mother's head. It was bruised and cut from her body. I was horrified, I was terrified. I was the only living person in that building out of 200 tenants.

“The news called it a tragedy, the Council called it a crime, the masses called it horrific, but all of them forgot about it within a week. I’ll tell you this now, it was one of the earlier works the Dreamer committed in an act to get the attention of heroes.

“I called it unfair.” Jack’s voice cracks. “It wasn't fair to me, it wasn't fair to all those innocent people, it wasn't fair to my family. But y’know what? Life isn't fucking fair! If you want fair, you need to earn it. That's what life in this goddamn city tells you. Well what about us? What about us innocent people in unfortunate situations? Where’s our justice?!”

Jack’s voice stumbles and a tear runs down his cheek.

“I devoted my life to nothing after that. I didn't have the flashy power to go after the Dreamers or the status to fight for myself. I dug a hole, figurative, and laid myself in it.

“Niki pulled me out. She searched for me, in fact. She saw the news and how quickly everyone moved on. I think it helped that I had the ability to see through walls and in the night and into rooms I’m not in. She grabbed my arm and lifted me from my self-pity and lit the match that set off rage in my heart.

“I wanted justice, and if the city wasn't going to get it for me, then I will! I stood by Niki's side for years to come as we fought the city's most cruel and worked on our side project. Mission Dream.”

It was a sad story, Tommy remembers hearing about that tragedy on the news. He was still in captivity then, he started calling it that recently. His captivity in his own home. He understands, again. Tommy can almost feel Jack’s rage and sorrow from across the table. This felt more like a sad people want justice support group than a group of people planning on taking down the Dreamers.

-Puffy-

“I’m sure everyone and their mother's know me by now. The Captain, the former number one hero that retired after a scandal. There's a lot more to my story than just a retired hero. I’m someone that's been misled and ignored and lied to.” Puffy holds her head strong as she speaks.

“I was number one for many, many years. I took down the big guys and the little guys and anyone in between. I loved saving people, I loved more than just the thrill of a fight. I didn't love the popularity that much, but it came with the job. I started to see some people in the world that needed to be arrested, people from the Arctic side of the city. The rich that were suspicious, that needed to be investigated. I brought my concerns to the Council and was told to ignore it. I tried. I truly did try again and again to do something, but every time I was turned down.

“It’s already hard enough as it is being a woman in a position that the world sees fit for a man. There are nowhere near as many female heroes in the world. The Council used that against me, I know they did. I wanted to keep my place as a hero, I saved people, so I stayed silent. I let those criminals live their lives as I continued to arrest people robbing banks because they couldn't afford to eat.

“I never saw the injustice the Hero Council was dealing out until I was on the side of being ignored. I saw the biased mission patrol placements and the cover-ups and their ignorance. I was lied to on so many occasions as to what was going on and who people were that I put away the innocent because they told me to.

“I thought being a hero was being a savior, being someone that serves for the weak no matter who the weak is. But that's not what it is in this city, no. It's protecting who the city wants protected and throwing those they don't see fit into a pit of crime and poverty and captivity.” Puffy sighs, holding her head.

“That’s when the scandal happened. I was fed up of being lied to and told what to do by the Council. I marched into a meeting and pulled Madame Welsh from her tall chair by the hair and I beat her ass.”

A few people cheer, a whoop and a yeah. Tommy loved how encouraging these people were. Though he felt awkward, he did feel at home. These people felt like him.

“Of course that wasn't taken very well.” Puffy laughs. “But the Council didn't want the people to know what really happened. They didn't want the masses to know their golden sheep beat their shepherd because the shepherd was unjust, so they made something up. They made up a story about legal allegations and told me to retire before things got messy, and that things will get messy if I don't. I knew that was the truth. I’ve seen enough heroes go down in my lifetime to know that. So I retired and I stayed silent.

“It’s been itching in my brain ever since. I still want to save people, I still want to be a hero, so I will help this cause. Dreamers have been around for far too long without the Hero Council being able to take them down. It's time we take matters into our own hands, they're useless enough.”

Puffy smiles. “I want justice for what they did to me, but I don't want to dedicate my life to fighting them. I've wanted to be a hero since I was a little girl, so that's what I’ll be.”

Tommy joins in the clapping. He knew about the part of the story the news was told, which was way different than this, and he felt enraged for her. Fuck the Council.

-Technoblade-

“Hi. I agreed to this meeting months ago, and my reasons still stand, but today they got added upon.” Tommy knows what he means by that.

“I spent most of my teenage life looking after my mentally ill brother and protecting my father from being careless with his life. Even into my adulthood I still do it, but as a hero? I don't like the way things are structured. I get away with literally everything, but Puffy couldn’t make a suggestion?! I go out there everyday and run after people like Kinesis and Theseus and Dream and Sapnap, but why am I being ordered after you guys and them and not after the Organization as a whole?

“It’s more reasonable to take an Organization down from the base up. You can knock down a building by skimming the top, you have to destroy the foundation. I came here because nothing else will be done about those fucking Dreamers. I lived my entire life hoping to do something worthy, and this is worthy. This will fix some of the issues in this godforsaken city!”

Technoblade takes a deep breath. “Sorry. It's been a long day.”

“It’s fine, Blade, keep going.” Niki encourages.

“Dream has been an issue for years, I was a teenager when he first began appearing and here I am, a full-fledged adult, and we still don't know the first thing about him! What's his identity? Why is he doing this? Where is he?

“No one pushes for answers other than the ones they want answered. The Council doesn't want to know why he hates heroes or who he is. They just want him arrested so the city looks good for capturing the number one most wanted bad guy. Well guess what?

“Once he’s taken down, someone else will take his place. That Organization needs to be demolished before Dream can be smothered. And honestly? I want to kill him.”

Technoblade is silent for a moment.

“A hero shouldn't kill. That's one of the gospel rules of being who I am, and boy have I broken it before, but this time? I want to kill Dream with my bare hands. I want him to feel the suffering he put my fucking family through. I didn't know if I REALLY even wanted to come to this meeting until I found out that he kidnapped me fucking brother!”

Gasps fill the room. Quackity huffs amused, Jack and Niki stare with wide eyes, Puffy’s eyes water and her fave twists.

“He ruined my family. I can't even feel like a normal human being anymore because of what I’ve seen and been through. He stole my little brother.” Technoblade chokes. “And he will pay for what he put my family through.”

Tommy nods in agreement along with most of the room. Everyone had their reasons for wanting the Organization gone. Between justice and revenge and saving lives, they all wanted Dream and his men gone. Technoblade? Technoblade wanted Dream to feel pain.

-Quackity-

“I’m well known around here, the grand owner of Las Nevadas. the cruel man that had blackmailed half the city. The heartless gambler. Well let me tell you something, the Dreamers have wronged me in so many ways. They're one of the few gangs in this city ACTUALLY banned from the casino, which is saying something because all the other's can be bought back in for a price. Let me tell you a story.”

Quackity leans forward onto the table.

“I’m a man of many lovers. My first husband was an abusive prick that died of a heart attack. My second husband was Sapnap. We were in a happy relationship, we were so happy. Before you all ask, I never knew his real name, but I could point him out in a line up. But one day, he left me. He didn't do it obnoxiously, but he left me and never truly explained why.

“It may seem petty to want to take down an Organization because one of the leaders is your ex, but it definitely helps further my hatred for the gang.”

Quackity takes a pause to pull a photo from his pocket. Technoblade and Tommy recognized it as Slimesicle from the prison today.

“This is Charlie. I met him while I was still getting Las Nevadas up and running. He was a funny guy, he didn't understand much in life, but he was kind. I taught him everything I knew about this place and life, I taught him how to gamble and dap people up. He was my best friend.

“I was reckless, I’ll admit that. No one person should know so much, especially someone like him. Dream came after him, and he took him. He took my best friend right out from under my arms and no amount of money would get him back. I was tortured for years with endless vidoes of his torture sent to me, and even more harshly hurt when Charlie became one of them.

“He showed up on my balcony at night and tried to kill me, he was so brainwashed he forgot I could fly and pushed me off the balcony. Duck hybrids aren't the best at flying, but I didn't get injured. Dream knew I wouldn't fight back my bestfriend, he was my one weakness. I guess after not finding the information he needed he created a weapon to destroy me.

“I think his plan was to take over my casino, it held so much power over the entire city. It's a good idea, but I can't be killed so easily. That's why I hate Dream. He hurt my friend and used him against me. Now that pure man is in the Vault still trying to get Dream out of his head.”

Quackity pauses, holding his chin. “I miss him, and I hate myself for letting myself get so attached to someone they get hurt. I wish I never told him as much as I did or allowed him to enter my life. He was my sun, he was my favorite person without two hundred and six bones.”

“I will help defeat that Organization, I will help you kill Dream, and I will get justice for my best friend.”

(author here. I keep crying writing this)

Tommy watches a shiny teardrop down Quackity’s cheek and he quickly wipes it away. He wasn't a man that likes to be vulnerable.

Tommy felt a little guilty now. He doesn't have a sad sob story like them that motivates him.

-Tommy-

“Theseus?” Niki asks, reaching a hand over. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh uhm… yeah.” Tommy sighs.

“I’m not motivated by my losses. I can sit here all day and talk about how I was locked inside my house until I was fourteen or how I didn't have someone to guide me through my wing growth or how I go hungry everyday. But that isn't what makes me someone that wants to save others.

“I want to save others because being Theseus is what I’m not on a day to day. I’m scared, when I’m not Theseus. I was always scared growing up, always weak. But since I became Theseus I felt safe with myself and brave, brave in my own way. I want to make this world safer, I want other people to get up every morning and not have to feel scared every waking moment of the day.

“The Dreamers make people scared, and they hurt people. Just a few weeks ago they killed an innocent cop just to make a statement that could've been easily graffitied onto a wall! So they need to go. They need to be taken down, not just for my reasons, but for all of ours. I want justice, I want to help you save people, I want to help with your revenge, I want safety for our loved ones.”

The room is silent for a second. One by one the members begin to clap as they did for all the other member’s stories.

“For Justice!” Niki shouts.

“For Justice!” The rest of the Syndicate echos with fists high in the air.

-

The group settled down from their excitement and encouragement after hearing each other's stories. Niki took charge again.

“I really appreciate everyone sharing. I think it helps lessen some doubt we may have here today. I’d like to start with the beginning of a plan. Today I name us five The Syndicate. We will join hands, heros and villians and vigilante’s and blackmailers alike to defeat an Organization that has plagued terror on our lives and on this city!”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s begin.” Niki smiles and folds her arms.

Tommy is glad he chose this. He’s glad he turned that handle or answered that message on his earpiece. However, there is something creeping into the back of his mind. Worry. An inkling that something terrible is lurking in the near future. He doesn't want to feel doubt now, he’s already so far in. All he has to do is listen, now. Listen to what Niki has to say and trust everything will fall into place. Dream will go down with all his pawns.

Chapter Text

“I would like to start with breaking down their numbers.” Niki begins. “As of right now there are four hundred known members of the Dream Organization. I want to cut that down as much as possible.”

“What are we talking about here? Killing or capturing for arrest?” Theseus interjects. It was made clear at the start of the official part of the meeting that questions and ideas were openly allowed.

“Whatever is best for you. I know Puffy, Technoblade, and yourself aren't the MOST kill happy unlike the rest of us, so arresting them is fine.” Niki reassures. “I would look out for anyone with the white smile tattoo. They are very open about their anti-hero beliefs and probably won't be hiding them.”

“How many are we talking here? Half of the population of Dreamers?” Quackity asks this time.

“As many as we can take down, but half or more is best. Going into a battle knowing you already cut their army is a comforting thought.” Niki smiles. “As for the battle itself, we don't have an exact date yet but we would like it to be within the year. Dream had been known to bounce back quickly from losses.”

“What should we do if one or more of the Dream Team tries to engage? They’ll surely have targets on our backs now, you saw what happened to Theseus after stopping just one bank heist accidentally! His wings were nearly fried chicken, no offense to Theseus.” Puffy glances apologetically at Theseus. “It’s that I don't want to fight, but I don't want to be killed before we even make it to the main battle.”

“I recommend limiting engagement and being extra cautious. Anyone got any pointers for fighting them if it comes to that? Theseus? Technoblade?”

“Sapnap gets angry fast.” Tommy tells the group. “He acts on his emotions and gets sloppy when he does. It doesn't seem like a good idea, but try to make him angry and act on his vulnerable clumsiness.”

“Dream can only hurt you if he touches you, keep long distance combat.” Technoblade butts in with his own pointers. NotFound was the one that fought the least, so no one really knew how to handle him. But, staying calm and not breathing his smoke are two very obvious tips.

“Thank you.” Niki smiles gently. “I want you all to know that I believe we can work this out.”

“I don't give a rat's ass if you believe it or not, I need to see solid foundations for this plan to be funded.” Quackity seems to almost roll his eyes.

“I know. Here's what I’ve come up with so far, please give your suggestions at the end.” Niki sighs. “We weaken their forces as a start. As we do so we’ll have someone tail a member back to the Dream base so we know the location. Once we have weakened them enough, and made our name known around here, we’ll strike. We need bombs, signal blockers, new blades, gear, anything. We’ll attack and if we don't succeed the first time we’ll strike again.”

“Do you think a member is stupid enough not to notice we’re tailing them?” Puffy asks sarcastically.

“Yes, actually. We’ve got a few in mind that are decently unaware of their surroundings. If not, I know a few out there that can be bought.”

“So the whole plan is just… strike?”

“Not exactly. I left out a key detail, but that's a little project for me. You all will see it when it's done.” Niki grins mischievously. “What are you thinking, Quackity? I know you have connections to some gun and explosive dealers.”

“It’s a decent plan, but I’d like more. I can get the weapons.”

“Hold up… guns?” Tommy's eyes widened.

“A few of us need them. Puffy and Jack are gun users. You don't need a gun if you don't want it.”

Tommy nods and leans closer to the table.

“I’m good to start taking Dreamers out. Honestly, they're really easy to spot.” Theseus laughs airy. “I got friends that can help without needing to know about our group.”

“Good.” Niki grins proudly at Tommy. “Everyone will get a new, nicer phone at the end of the meeting. Quackity was able to get some that aren't government tracked but also not crappy burners. Contacts are all created for you and a group message has been started.”

“All meetings will be held here.” Quackity stands up. “I need to run a casino, drinks on me if anyone wants to go grab anything.”

“Ooh! Me!” Jack cheers and clammers out of his seat.

“Guess that's the end of the meeting? Go drink!” Niki chuckles and stands out of her seat. She wasn't in her villian wear, really on Theseus, Puffy, ans Quackity were in special outfits. But even Theseus had his goggles pushed up. Not that they could see his hair or face, just shining blue eyes.

“I need a beer.” Puffy huffs and takes her leave behind Jack. That leaves Niki, Technoblade, and Theseus.

“You guys thirsty? I might get a margarita.” Niki smiles warmly. It was odd to see after having just planned the start of an attack against a dangerous organization.

“I don't drink alcohol, bad family history with it.” Technoblade shrugs. He made a swear to himself that he wouldn't ever drink or do drugs or smoke cigarettes. There's multiple reasons for it. He’s scared he’ll get addicted. He doesn't want to become like Wilbur. He doesn't want to come home smelling of beer with a former alcoholic in the house.

“Theseus?”

“Underage.” Tommy blurts out before he could stop himself, he kinda forgot he was Theseus the unknown aged guy with a voice changer and not Thomas the nineteen year old. Forget his legal age, he’s fucking sixteen!

“You’re not even twenty-one? Wow.” Technoblade’s eyebrows raise in shock. Niki just stares at him. “How old are you then?”

Tommy, having no clue what to say, decides to make a horribly stupid decision. 19 makes it terribly easy for Technoblade to connect him with his real self, eyes and wings are already too close for Tommy at this point, so he says the first age that comes to mind. His real one.

“16.” Theseus shrugs. His eyes glance between the two, their faces melting into ones of pure horror. Niki is ashamed she brought a literal child into a mini army of people fighting against Dreamer and Technoblade terrified that he’s fought the kid before.

“HUH?” Technoblade coughs, choking on his dry throat. “You said what?”

“I’m sixteen?” Tommy regrets the stupid decision he made that he knew he would regret but still made anyway because he’s an idiot that knowingly makes idiot decisions.

“Fuck.” Niki runs a hand down her face. “You uh…. You shouldn't be in this… fuck.”

“Too late now, bitch, I’m a part of this. It's either that or I’m going after Dream myself.” Tommy crosses his arms. He doesn't know why he wants a part of this after literally almost not even walking in half an hour ago. It's mostly because he saw how much this meant to all of them and wants to fight for their justice against Dream, but he won't realize that. He also won't realize he’s fighting the guy that kidnapped and abused him, so there's that.

“Fine! Fine, you can stay.” Niki groans. “Technoblade.”

“Yup.” Technoblade slings an arm around Theseus’ shoulders and walks out of the room dragging the boy along. “You’re such a stupid child.”

“Hey!”

“I’ll gjve you credit, though. You're a good fighter, you've made a pretty solid standing for yourself in this city.”

“Yeah I’m the most wanted vigilante, a teenager, and you, an adult, haven't been able to catch me yet.” Tommy teases.

“I wasn't even trying!”

“Sure you weren't, you were just exhausted and breathing heavily chasing me because you weren't trying.” Tommy smirks beneath his mask. Technoblade, annoyed, opens the door he led Tommy to and tosses him out.

“They’re all about to go get drunk and I’m about to go head out on patrol to scram, child.” Technoblade steps out behind him and shuts the metal door. This one exited to a different alleyway, but the guard at this one didn't seem to mind them two. Quackity must of spread word of The Syndicate fast to his employees then. Most of the members were fine as open ones, but Puffy and Technoblade had to say a secret. Former hero and second hero really shouldn't be in a vigilante-criminal group working to illegally take down a gang.

“Don’t tell me to scram.” Theseus rolls his eyes. “I have work to do tonight anyway, these criminals won't capture themselves with me locked up in a casino.”

“Careful!” Technoblade shouts as Theseus takes flight.

“Fuck yourself!” Theseus shouts back and goes off into the night air. He didn't feel like making a connection with Tubbo tonight, no offense to his friend but he preferred quiet flies. Plus, he had a lot to think about tonight. A lot.

-

Wilbur has been itching for a smoke. He knew it got worse when Sally told him she was pregnant, but the past week after their argument has been hell. He spends every waking hour thinking about booze or smokes. He hasn't fallen back in yet, but he feels it tonight. His feet move without his mind thinking at all, they walk a familiar route.

Wilbur had a favorite bar when he was a teen. He frequented often without fake ids and they always let him in, they let anyone in. And the beer was cheap. He told himself he was just going for a walk that night. That he just needed air from the tension in his bedroom between him and his pregnant girlfriend. So he walks.

He walks along sidewalks and road sides. Wilbur listens to crickets and watches the stars. He doesn't have a destination in mind or a period of time before heading back home, he just walks. It doesn't take long before he knows where his instincts have decided to take him. He was two blocks away from that bar, a mere two blocks. Apparently his feet want to get drunk along with the rest of him.

He IS 21 now, legally he can drink. Is it safe? No. Is it legal? Yes. Wilbur started drinking at the ripe old age of 16 and didn't stop being drunk until he was 17 and had his… accident. He’s been sober for four years now. He has the chip in his pocket to prove it. He’s matured, hasn't he? Wilbur can handle some alcohol, he isn't a teenager anymore.

And with that logic Wilbur's feet take him another two blocks and they freeze in front of the building he spent most of his teenage nights in. He remembers how often he didn't come home for days and fights with his dad and concerned looks from his brother. If he starts drinking again, will they react the same? It's not like he PLANS on getting wrecked. Just a few beers to ease the crave, right? And he won't even touch a cigarette, that's a way worse hobby to remove the stench of when you go home.

Yes! That's fine. He is a grown man, he can have a drink when things get tough and not have it be a full-fledged relapse. And with clarity in mind, Wilbur steps into the bar and is welcomed by its patrons.

-

Tommy has learned a few things in his time of being the great and wonderful big man Theseus. He’s learned where criminals frequent and where crimes happen most often. But more importantly, he’s connected into the world of gang bars. A lot of bars and restaurant-bars get taken into a liking by various gangs. There was this big cult that frequented this bar so often that the heros were only able to bust them because 90% of their members were there at the same time one night. Tommy likes to keep track so he knows which ones to perch over and wait for a crime to spark. He knows of one that has been taken under the wing of Dreamers. Dozens flood the place each night and, more often than not, attack non-Dreamer residents. It was a hot spot for catching them, a little pool of fish ready to bite the hook.

That's what he decides to do after the meeting. A part of him was a little freaked out that Technoblade and Niki knew his true age, but it also comforted him a tad. What he didn't understand was why they were so concerned with him getting into danger when they were so adamant on his attendance before. It's odd. Why does his age make a difference? Clay always said if he was old enough to think he was old enough to work. Tommy is way older than just being able to think, a little danger is nothing.

Either way, he has more important things to think of. Such as catching a Dreamer in the act of attacking a non-Dreamer. It was weird how they all hated anyone that wasn't one of them, like some massive fucking cult.

Theseus perches on the top of a building across from the bar and has the perfect view. He is able to see the entrance, back exit, and the surrounding alleyway. Anything weird going on tonight will be unmasked by Theseus. How ironic.

I mean, that is what he is doing. The Dreamer hid behind the mask of their beliefs (and were led by someone with a white smiley mask) and Tommy's goal is to take them down (unmask them). Tommy likes that metaphor, but thinking it up kinda distracted the boy. He didn't notice a familiar guy walking up to the bar and entering. He didn't notice Wilbur until it was too late.

-

Wilbur walks inside the bar and takes a seat at the barstool he always sat at. He took in the familiar scent of tequila and limes and fruity drinks. Since he was here a lot as a kid, the bartender, who has worked here since he himself was a teen, walked over and smiled at the guy.

“Wil! Welcome back my man! You have been gone for a while, what happened?”

“I stopped drinking.” Wilbur laughs lightly, his finger twitches on the countertop as he itches for something to drink. This conversation was too long for him to be not holding a glass in his hand yet, and they barely got past first greetings.

“A new man!” The bartender cheers. “What can I grt you then? Something new or old?”

“New. I ain't the drunk I used to be chugging straight liquor. How about something good?”

“How’s a nice slow drinking whiskey?”

“Pour me a chilled one.” Wilbur nods his head and the bartender puts down the glass he was drying to make the drink. He slides it across the counter gently, holding his own up.

“Cheers.” Wilbur grabs his and clinks it against the bartender's. He’s quick to put the cool glass to his lips and let some of that golden liquid slide down his throat. It was smooth, but felf familiar in his mind. He pulls the glass away so as to not chug it and ask for another immediately, he needs to pace himself. He isn't an alcoholic anymore. Though through the bliss of having whiskey on his tongue again he does feel the growing weight of his four years sober chip in his pocket. This wasn't a relapse in his sobriety, right? One drink doesn't count.

“Yo.” Someone greets beside him and leans against the counter top. “Two more!”

The man waves the number two towards the bartender and turns to Wilbur. “Name’s George. You’re Hypnosis, huh?”

“Oh?” Wilbur turns his head to George. He was surprised someone was recognizing him in this type of place. Most patrons have always not cared or were too drunk to tell. “Yes, but please, call me Wilbur.”

“Alright, Wilbur.” George puts annunciation on the name, his eyes were nearly freakish the way they stared at him. Almost glowy. “What are you doing in a place like this? I thought heros avoided the L’manburg bars, too much illegal activity or whatever.”

“Wel uh… usually.” Wilbur rubs the back of his head awkwardly as another whiskey is slid his way. He doesn't hesitant to down the first to begin sipping the second. “This one is pretty cool, though, I used to come here all the time.”

“Really? Didn't you turn 21 just a few months ago?”

Wilbur, who always feel loose and carefree after just one drink, continues conversation with George. “Yeah, before that. It was the only one that allowed me in as a teen.”

Wilbur laughs, finishing the second whiskey. George has barely sipped from his, he had things he wanted to remember tonight. That of course involved digging up dirt on a hero.

“Wow.” George smiled slyly, but Wilbur wasn't in the mood to be watchful of body language or emotions. He missed this; he missed drinking and talking with new strangers each night. Why did he ever stop again? “I didn't know our favorite hero drank underage.”

“Not just that. I was completely drunk!” Wilbur laughs. George subtly orders him another drink, and when it arrives he holds it for a moment. If the top was smoking ever so slightly when Wilbur took it and began to sip, he never noticed. He also didn't notice that it was exceptionally stronger than the others. “I was sober for a few years, boring! No drugs or smokes or drinks, that's over now. I want to live a little!”

“Hell yeah.” George grins. He glances back at a few associates in the corner and gave them a signal. All three slowly went out the door that led to the back alley. “I know where we can buy some, some dealers hang around outside this place nowadays.”

“Really? Let's go then!” Wilbur cheers and downs his last drink. He didn't see how George set that entire situation up or how the bartender standing nearby on the counter had a small recording device attached to his collar. Wilbur was in a good mood, a try anything mood. It felt good to be not fully stressed and craving substances every two seconds.

-

Theseus sighs. This was boring, he didn't see anyone in the past fifteen minutes that looked remotely interesting or suspicious. He wasn't exactly the most patient when it came to being a vigilante. It was useless for him to be sitting here waiting instead of being out somewhere actually saving people.

Theseus pulls himself to his feet. Sitting here was boring as fuck, he bets himself that he could find a Dreamer somewhere else. Just as he stretches his wings to take off the corner of his eye catches a glimpse of three people exiting the bar into the back alley. It was the first sign of people with any suspicious activity in a while, all three scooted to various corners of the alleyway. The first leans against the farthest wall across from the exit and stands there with his head. The second scurries off to the deepest corner of the alleyway, a dark spot. The final person turns a corner into the side alley and stands out of sight of anyone that would exit the building. It was a clear trap.

With a curious inkling Theseus takes flight and lands silently on the top of a darkened rooftop above the alleyway. He was concealed from view, but he himself had the perfect view of the situation. It definitely helps that he had night vision goggles. His eyes narrow on the bare shoulder of the man around the corner in the side alley. A white smiley face. Bingo.

“Where are we going again?” A slurry, but terrifyingly familiar voice asks as the metal door on the side of the bar creaks open. Wilbur stumbles out alone, the door slams shut behind him. “George?”

“Fuck.” Theseus whispers and hits his forehead. What was Wilbur doing here?! And is he drunk? Theseus couldn’t take out Dreamers with civilians around, nevertheless his intoxicated friend from work.

“You! Are you the guy that's supposed to sell me druggies?” Wilbur laughs and points at the Dreamer leaning against the wall with his head down. Theseus had to assume it's a Dreamer since his tattoo is covered, but if he’s taking part in this then it's likely. “How much?! What do you have?”

Theseus hated seeing Wilbur act like this. It didn't take a genius to see the man was struggling. He was never directly told WHAT was wrong with the Craft brother, but he did see signs. Needle scars, a small gold chip being fidgeted in his fingers, Technoblade’s comments. It was clear to Tommy the guy was a recovering alcoholic, which was odd being that he wasn't all that old.

Theseus narrows his eyes on the guy hidden in the dark as he begins to creep closer to Wilbur. This was who the trap was for then. Hypnosis. A smart move, Theseus admits. Getting him drunk and attacking him out of uniform. Cruel, but smart. What wasn't smart was not checking high places beforehand for a bird.

“Yeah. Come a little closer.” The man leaning against the wall tells Wilbur. And stupid drunk Wilbur listens, which leaves his backside open for the man in the shadows to close in a little closer. Okay. Time for Theseus to intervene before things turn ugly, which might happen either way. These were Dreamers, you never know what could happen or where things could go.

Theseus jumps from the roof he was perched on and swoops behind the Dreamer closing in on Wilbur, his gloved hand reaches out and grabs the back of his collar tightly, his arm swings and he tosses the man against the far wall. Wilbur whips around at the noise, his eyes landing on Theseus and gliding over to the man groaning on the ground.

“Wha-”

“Shut up and get behind me, Hypnosis.” Theseus demands, grabbing Wilbur's wrist and most literally dragging him behind his wings. “Hello, Dreamers.”

“Theseus.” The one against the wall stands up straighter, he didn't recognize any of them (which is a good thing being that if he recognized them they’d be newsworthy and dangerous.) “Such a pleasure.”

“Sure is. How about you three give up? I don't think you guys want to do this dance.” Theseus steadies his stance, preparing for a fight. Wilbur wasn't even close to sobering up for the situation behind him, whatever George did to his drink left him unbothered and delirious.

“I don't think so. You, birdie, is a good catch for hunters like us. I know a lot of people that would pay good money for you to be knocked out of the game, including my boss.” He pushes himself off the wall and takes a few steps closer.

“Is that so?” Theseus scoffs sarcastically. “How much is Dream going to ‘pay’ you?”

“Actually he has a five thousand dollar check over your head, and a promotion. If we are able to catch, we take Sapnap’s place in the team.” The man’s face twists into a sly grin, his feet balance themselves. “Bring it on, Theseus. It's three against one, and you have the disadvantage of a drunk hero to protect.”

Theseus’ stance shifts fidgety, he WAS a little nervous. Wilbur was in no condition to even stand on the side of a fight, nevertheless one that all three the criminals would love both of them unconscious and tied up in the back of a puke smelling van. He’s making assumptions, but they are completely possible.

“Let’s dance, Nightmare.”

“I’m a Dreamer!” The man steps quickly forward. Nightmare was a news term they used for the Dreamers to make fun of them since they do such nightmarish acts. Theseus saw how sloppy this guy was. Really? These guys are trying to take HIM down? He takes a small step to the side, his wings folded to block any view of Wilbur behind him.

“Oh really? Why aren't you in bed dreaming then instead of out here killing people?” Theseus quips, dodging another attack. He can hear the Dreamer he took down at the start pulling himself to his feet. The one around the corner hasn't made his presence known yet so Theseus has to be extra careful for an ambush attack.

“Oh shut up!” The criminal groans, missing another hit at the vigilante. Mister Shadow (Tommy needs to come up with nicknames for these guys, it's boring calling them Dreamer 1, 2, and 3) is finally steady on his feet and closing in on the fight. Wilbur is humming a little tune behind Theseus and singing lyrics in such a slur that he can't even tell what's being sung. Man was he more annoying than usual, which is saying a lot since this man was one of the most annoying people Tommy knows.

“Why? Are you tired?” Theseus snarks, hitting Wilbur with the side of his wing to shut HIM up.

“Ouch!” Wilbur whines. Wall Man takes the moment of distraction to land a punch on Theseus’ side.

“Shut up, Wilbur.” Theseus shouts. “And ow! That hurt, ass.”

Wall Man grins widely, sadistically proud of himself. Did this guy even know how to fight? How rarely did he ever land a hit? Theseus scoffs. He dodges a messy attack and grabs Wall Man’s arm and twists it until the guy cries out and pulls back, his feet stumbling backwards. As he does Shadow Guy comes from the left with intent to tackle, Theseus kicks his leg out and trips to man. He himself takes a step backwards in order not to get his ankles grabbed.

“Gah!” Shadow Guy groans, pushing himself up. Both Dreamers begin to close in from either side. Instead of weakening they are just more frustrated and determined, but with emotions come clumsiness. Theseus just wishes he didn't have to keep cautious of the drunk behind him, this fight would go a lot quicker if he didn't have to stay in a small area to block their view of Wilbur.

“Come on guys, this really isn't a fair fight.” Theseus whines, fixing his stance. He wasn't even focused on Corner guy anymore, all he was focused on was the delirious Hypnosis behind him and the assholes in front of him.

“Then give up, fake hero. Give us the number two and give yourself up.” Wall Man huffs, closing closer in on Theseus along with Shadow Guy.

“Never.” Theseus grins beneath his mask. Shadow Guy swings, Theseus ducks. Wall Man took the opportunity to strike and landed a punch into Tommy's side. Theseus resists the urge to double over and cough, you’d think all his years living with Clay he’d be used to hits to the ribcage. Nope. He wasn't.

Shadow Guy dodges a hit from Theseus and sends his foot out to hit the back of Tommy's knee. It sends Theseus tumbling and falls down onto his chest. When he goes to push himself to his feet a foot presses into his upper neck.

“Hypnosis! Run!” Theseus groans, attempting to grab the ankle of the person holding him down as the other comes up behind him cracking his knuckles. If Theseus failed to kick that person’s calves and instead flailed, no one is a proper witness to date.

“Hold on-” Wilbur slurs. “You aren't supposed to be doing that, mister drug dealer. Stop.”

Wilbur's voice changed at that moment and became smoother, still drunk, but soothing. Theseus noticed the change, felt relief, but wasn't affected by the demand.

“Back up, please!” Wilbur huffs like a tantruming child. He used his Hypnosis voice, which Theseus can't tell if it were on purpose or a drunken accident, so both Dreamers take multiple steps back with foggy eyes. Theseus pulls himself slowly up to his feet, rubbing the back of his achy neck.

“Thanks, Hypnosis.” Theseus smiles lightly behind the mask. “Now if they could just… go to sleep that'd be nice.”

“Okay! Sleep!” Wilbur shouts and both Dreamers instantly fall to the ground in a deep slumber. “Hey… aren't I supposed to arrest you?”

“No…?” Theseus tilts his head hopefully. Man, did his ribcage hurt like hell.

“Oh… okay!” That was surprisingly easy, him being drunk had its perks. Tommy was a little concerned. What was Wilbur doing drunk off his ass trying to buy drugs at a bar in L’manburg filled with Dreamers? Better yet, why did he go to a bar in the first place? “I’m tired.”

“Please don't go to sleep as well.” Theseus groans.

“Hm.” Wilbur sighs, sitting down on the ground. “This is a good napping spot.”

“Get u-” Theseus doesn't hear the footsteps of an approaching man, and Wilbur was too drunk to point him out. He didn't hear the unholstering of a gun. But he did hear the gun being prepared to shoot.

“I see you forgot about me.” Corner Guy smiles widely as he holds the gun balanced towards the back of the vigilante. He was going to get the prize all to himself now that the others were down. Both prizes if he were lucky.

“Wilb- '' Theseus begins, but looks down and sees a snoring drunk on the concrete. Shit. “Hey buddy… how about we put the gun down?”

“I’m not stupid.” Corner Guy laughs loudly. “I got you motherfucker!”

Theseus takes a deep breath and slowly turns around. He needed a plan. To keep his wings from being hit in the possibility that the man shoots he tucks them behind him.

“Just…”

“Shut up!” Corner Guy shouts, turns his aim, and shoots Tommy's left leg. It pierces his skin with a loud boom, he can already feel blood dripping down his leg and soaking the black fabric of his pants. A drop hits the sock within his boot. But he remains as silent as he can as he grits his teeth. This was an incredibly unfortunate situation. “Now uh…”

“There’s someone behind you.” Theseus tries. It was an easily stupid trick, he just hopes it doesn't get him shot again.

“No there isn't.”

“Yes there is.”

“No. There. Isn't”!

“Yes. There. Is!”

“Fine!” Corner Guy turns his head to peer behind him and in that moment Theseus propels himself forward and grabs the gun from his hand. He puts his finger on the trigger. So here's the thing, he’s never shot a gun before. But this guy doesn't know that! Plus, he might try to shoot. It was really annoying and painful to be shot in the leg. “I knew it!”

“Yeah that was really stupid.” Theseus laughs.

“You were stupid too!”

“Yeah, but it worked?” Theseus rolls his eyes behind his goggles. His finger twitches on the trigger. It’d be very easy to shoot. Just shoot him dead in the head and this would be all over. He could shoot the others dead as well and there'd be three less Dreamers in the world to hurt people. But was he a killer? Could he kill?

Theseus focuses his breathing, steadies his arms, and… swings! He hits the man over the head with the front of the gun and he fall, a stream of blood dripping down his face. Theseus tosses the gun into the corner of the alley.

“Theseus doesn't take lives, save them.” Tommy limps over to Wilbur and shakes the hero. “Come on! Wake up prick.”

“Dad? Is it morning?” Wilbur slurs, rolling on the ground. “Five more minutes.”

“Get up, Wilbur! I’m not your father, I’m Theseus and three people just tried to jump you.”

“Oh shit.”

Theseus eventually got Wilbur up and helped him out of the alley, which was difficult when he started puking into the dumpster after a minute of walking. It honestly should've been the other way around, Theseus was the injured one! But Wilbur needed help, he wasn't in a good state of mind.

This was going to be a long walk.

Chapter Text

“Come on. Up and adam.” Theseus sighs, dragging Wilbur to his feet as the sounds of his barfing die down to just spitting and panting. The hero groans, slinging his arm around Theseus to keep steady. “Where should I take you?”

“I don't know.” Wilbur hiccups. “I don't wanna go home.”

“Well you got to.” Theseus orders, limping as he tries to fight the pain in his leg and keep Wilbur up at the same time. “You can't stay out here in the streets drunk off your ass.”

“I only had… four drinks.” Wilbur mumbles, leaning his head on Theseus’ shoulder. Man he breath stank of puke and stomach acid, but neither could hide the very apparent smell of alcohol beneath.

“Sure.” Theseus agrees sarcastically, rolling his eyes. There is no way in hell Wilbur JUST had four drinks, either that or he was an extreme light weight. “I’ll bring you back to the tower, prick.”

“No!” Wilbur whines, coughing as he chokes a bit on his own saliva. The man was just drooling all over himself. “I don't wanna.”

“Why not?” Theseus sighs. If he was going to have to carry this man across the city then he might as well make conversation. Wilbur was annoying and whiny, which really wasn't fun to be stuck with while bleeding out. How will he even get into the tower? It's not like Theseus can walk in as Theseus and just use his card, not that he even carries his business id with him. It's stupid to carry your identity around as someone with a hidden identity. He knows the residential areas are upstairs above the office, so he’ll just have to fly up there and find out which one the Craft’s use. Easy, right?

“Cause… I’m supposed to be sober.” Wilbur sniffles, wiping his drooly face on Theseus’ shoulder. He’s barely even walking, Theseus has to drag him and his feet brush the ground without actually moving. Tommy is just glad he has decent physical strength to handle this. “Dad will be mad.”

“You’re a grown ass man, Wilbur. He can be mad, but I think he’ll be more concerned with the fact you're drunk and were nearly attacked.”

“You’re gonna tell on me?!” Wilbur pouts, sniffling again. Theseus really doesn't want to deal with a drunk, let alone a crying drunk. A part of him really regrets coming out to watch the bar tonight, but if he hadn't Wilbur would probably be knocked out cold in the back of some Dreamer's van. The bar is now also on his radar, so yay. More work.

“Of course I am, fucker. You could've died!” Theseus rolls his eyes beneath his goggles. They've already made it a block down the street. He didn't want to start flying yet, his wings get tired when he carries extra weight. “What were you thinking about going to that place!?”

“I used to go there all the time, I just wanted ONE drink.”

“Huh?” Theseus looks down at Wilbur hanging from his shoulders. He went to THAT bar all the time? That bar sucks, Theseus knows. He’s captured so many criminals from that place you’d think a cop would be living there at this point with how many times Theseus has called them there. Wilbur didn't seem like the type, but there were probably a lot of things he didn't know about Wilbur. “Is that so?”

“Yeah! Only bar I could get into as a teenager.” Wilbur sighs. “My brother is a teenager, I wonder if he’s at any bars?”

“I thought Blood God was 24?” Theseus glares down at Wilbur with a tilted face, the man couldn’t see it, but Theseus didn't think he’d notice even if he was unmasked. Theseus knows Technoblade isn't at any bars either.

“No.” Wilbur sniffles. “My little brother. Tommy.”

Theseus remains silent. He didn't know what to say, really. He’s assuming Wilbur doesn't know the truth about his baby brother yet, the same truth his and Technoblade discovered just hours earlier. Wilbur probably wouldn't be wondering if the boy was in a bar or not if he knew. Theseus wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

“I miss him. I miss him so much.” Wilbur begins to rack with a sob, the side of Theseus’ jacket catching the drunken tears that slide down his face. Fuck. “Is he even alive?”

“I don't know, Wil, I don't know.” Theseus tries his best comfort without getting too personal, which is difficult. He cares about Wil, but hates Hypnosis’ guts.

“It’s been EIGHT years! Why do I even still hope anymore? I mean… I have a baby on the way and I am still thinking about my missing brother. How can I be a father if my own girlfriend won't talk to me because I can't get over my brother?” Wilbur sobs, hiccuping as he wipes his tears on the vigilante's shoulder. Theseus, while feeling nothing but sympathy for the hero, did feel annoyed he was getting his jacket soaked while he is limply dragging the drunken mess that is Wilbur. If he was Tommy right now, and not injured, he’d be comforting Wilbur like crazy. But he wasn't Tommy right now. He was surprised beyond relief that Wilbur was going to be a father of all people, how'd he not hear of this sooner? These types of things BLOW UP on the Internet. Huh.

“Hypnosis.” Theseus takes a long deep breath to prepare for the cheesy ass stuff he has to say next, but Wilbur needs to hear it. “We can't change what's happened to us or fix our pains, but we need to see those around us. The future is more important than the past. The past has already occured, there's nothing to fix it, but the future holds endless possibilities. We need to focus on how we want the future to go.”

“But I don't want to forget my brother.”

“I never said you had to forget the past, but you can't let it tie you down. You need to learn to grow from it, keeping those that will be with you in the future while still remembering those in your past with a lighter heart.” Theseus wants to gag at how fucking weird it is to be saying something like that. He hates when someone tries to console him or comfort him, he hates it even more when he has to comfort someone else. It's easier as a person, harder as a hero. “Tell me, what were you doing tonight?”

Wilbur sniffles, blinking away salty tears. “I came to fill my craving. Ever since my dad hired this new assistant in my building that looks nearly identical to my brother my need for a drink has been stronger. I broke my four year sobriety tonight. What is wrong with me?”

Theseus continues to walk, but mentally freezes. This was because of him? Because he looks familiar Wilbur broke his sobriety, because he made his life harder by coming to relieve work stress? Tommy begins to hate the way he looks, not that he ever liked it in the first place. He looks too similar to a boy that Dream took, and now it's hurting others. He doesn't want to walk into work everyday and know that he’s a walking reminder of what the Craft family lost, of what they are going to be fighting against Dream for in the upcoming months. He doesn't want to make Wilbur break sobriety again or for Technoblade to cry again or for Phil to stare at him with longing eyes. Tonight has been an eye opener. He hates the way he looks.

“I’m sorry, Hypnosis.”

“Why are you apologizing silly? It ain't no one's fault but the person that stole my baby brother.” Wilbur lightly smacks the vigilante's side. It sent a wave of pain through Tommy's bruised ribs, but he held back his urge to cry out in pain. Instead he winces in the dark. Wilbur would've never been this friendly with Theseus if it weren't for his loopy alcohol filled mind, but Theseus is just glad he isn't trying to fight him every two seconds.

“I hope my dad isn't mad at me.” Wilbur blurts out, his voice hushed in the silent street and filled with shame and guilt. “He’s been so proud of how good I’ve been doing with my sobriety, how I go to meetings every other week and avoid events with alcohol being served. He doesn't need more stress.”

Wilbur had a point. While Tommy doesn't want to let Wilbur go home and not tell Phil about his near death experience and broken sobriety, he also doesn't want to add yet another thing onto the man's plate. He already looks tired enough on the daily. Not to mention how Technoblade will feel in the coming weeks, he finally opened up to Tommy just earlier today. Fuck!

“I’m sure he’d be more worried than not if he found out later rather than sooner. It isn't good to hide things.” Well that's hypocritical for Tommy to say being that he is the King of Lies. Huh. That's a sick name. King of Lies. Ki-

“Imma just die now.” Wilbur blubbers, his feet dragging heavier. They weren't too far from Kinoko, Tommy feels like dragging him is taking up more energy than flying with him in his arms. Plus, he’s leaving a trail of blood behind him from the bullet wound. He’s just worried how Wilbur's weak stomach will handle flight, vomit is one thing Tommy will never deal with willingly.

“No dying.” Theseus groans. “I need to fly, don't flail, got it?”

“Yup!”

Theseus wraps his arms around Wilbur's waist and flaps his wings hard, it takes a minute to get steady into the cold hair with the extra weight, but he figures it out pretty quickly. Wilbur holds his arms out as if he were the one with wings, whooping in a tired and delirious voice. Tommy was pleasantly surprised with how well he’s taking the flight, but he did forget to include the avian father factor when considering how Wilbur would react to being carried midair.

It was a heavy load, Wilbur. He moves around a lot and his feet kept kicking the front of Tommy's ankles as they glided closer to the tower, the glowing top coming into distance at a rapid speed below them. Tommy loves flying by the clouds, it always felt like another world, even in the middle of the darn nighttime.

“Which floor do you live on?” Theseus asks the Wilbur in his arms, shifting the weight of the man in his arms as he circles the tower like a falcon over prey.

“30.”

“Really? Top floor?”

“We have a big window for Phil to fly out of, it should be open.”

“Got it.” Theseus circles once more and takes a dive. He went spiraling towards the top of the tower a lot faster than he anticipated, but he did have the extra weight to increase his fall speed without any gravitational resistance.

“Wooohooo!” Wilbur cheers, laughing hilariously at the feeling of a near freefall past the 30th floor, Theseus is panicking trying to get his wings to turn his direction to the side to slow down their fall.

The ground grows closer and Theseus halts his wings, which is honestly painful but necessary so they don't end up as bloody pancakes for the heroes to find in the morning, and like a parachute it tugs him upwards slightly and slows them down just enough for Tommy to redirect and flap up back to the 30th floor.

Now, here's the thing, avians are part bird. So while they can perceive glass as a structure and know when it's there, they sometimes have a tough time seeing it if they're not thinking. Of course this is heightened at nighttime, and avian eyes perceived through a pair of goggles definitely can't register a piece of glass. It doesn't help that the avain was told that the pane of glass was supposed to be opened, not tightly shut.

That being said, Theseus most literally went splat into the window face first. Was it painful? Very much so. Did Wilbur laugh anyway? Again, very much so. He did. A LOT. Like the laughing didn't end even as a sleepy Phil came into the living room to see what smacked onto his window or when he spotted a pained Theseus carrying his delirious son outside the window.

“Fuck.” Phil groans, still tying the front of his night robe as he rushes over to the window and opens it, much like a door would. “Theseus? Why do you have Wilbur?”

“Hey… Father Crow- funny story actually.” Theseus glides into the condo and lands with a tumble as he tosses Wilbur onto the floor with a huff. The drunk man cries out in pained offense. “I found this guy drunk at a bar about t-”

“DRUNK?!” Phil screams, running over to his son. He drags the boy up by the ear and forces him to sit on the couch. Theseus takes the opportunity to find a light switch, this upcoming conversation should probably happen with lights turned on. “What were you thinking Wilbur? Are you alright? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Theseus is nearly impressed, that was a lot of emotions in one sentence. Concern. Fear. Anger. All valid and actually understanding for a situation like this, but the tones had insane gear shifts.

“I’m tired dad, leave me alone.” Wilbur whines, flopping his head back onto the cushion of the couch. His eyes were puffy from his sobfest on the way here, nose still sniffling at random moments in time. The Tommy part of Theseus felt like crying with him, he felt like crying for both Phil and Wilbur, but the vigilante part of him needed to stay up and calm. He wouldn't get anywhere tonight if he just cried for his friends.

“I’m not leaving you alone until you explain yourself.”

“I’m a grown man, Dad! I can drink if I want to.” Wilbur rebuttals.

“A grown man living in MY house! What happened to your sobriety? What happened to being healthy? I won't allow you to sit in my house and kill yourself, Wilbur.” A tear falls down Phil’s cheek, his voice already going hoarse from yelling. He didn't want to yell at his boy, but he also didn't want his son to die the same way he was going to years back.

“Then maybe I won't live here anymore!” Wilbur shouts back, his voice comes straight from deep in his throat. Phil was flabbergasted, shocked beyond relief. He felt regret, but he also felt anger.

“I’m not losing another son, William!!” Phil shouts at the top of his lungs. The other heroes that live here could probably hear them, but he didn't care. He wouldn't care until the morning when knocks sounded upon his door and he had to answer awkward questions. At least he’ll get a casserole or two out of it.

Wilbur falls silent at Phil’s proclamation. He had a point, he was just going to fall down this path again and that he might not survive. But he also hated that Phil brought up Tommy. Wilbur wasn't anything like Tommy.

“Don’t use my baby brother to gaslight me into being sober, Phil.” Wilbur spits, he feels more sober than he has in an hour. The realization of what he’s done and what Phil thinks of it hits him like a train of water, knocking the alcohol from his system.

“I’m not gaslighting you, I’m trying to save you. You're my son, Wilbur. You're the only youngest son I still have. I've lost Kristen; I lost Tommy. I don't want to lose you, Techno doesn't want to lose you.”

“Ever stop to think that I lost them too? I have suffered since the moment I woke up on the day Tommy disappeared and none of you think about me! You only see that I’m an addict.”

“That’s not true.”

“I should g-” Theseus feels awkward having to watch this private moment, but neither seem to see him there.

“Yes it is! You two tip toe around me like I’m an eggshell, watching my every move to see if I mess up! I’m not perfect! I can relapse without dying.”

“And you think we know that? Last time you nearly died, how do we know you're not going to do that again when you come home drunk off your ass from your first relapse?” Theseus slowly inched away from the living room and back towards the window, leaving a trail of blood on the carpet as he went. He didn't know if he should leave or stay, this fight seemed pretty heated.

“Because you don't trust me!”

“I trust you, Wilbur, I just worry.” Phil sighs, his eyes pooling up as hot tears stream down his face. “I’m your father, I’m always going to worry.”

“I don't need you to worry.”

“I can't help it, my boy. I love you and I never want to ses you hurt or cry or dead, never ever.”

“You can't make me do anything, Phil. I will get hurt and I will drink no matter what you say or do, Phil. You can't control me or what happens around me.”

“I can at least try.”

Theseus steps out the window and takes flight, leaving their conversation behind him. He has to fly far to be fully out of earshot of the arguing, but he flies until he can't any more. He flies until he nearly leaves the city, stopping at the very edge of L’manburg. He perches onto the top of a short warehouse, breath heavy and mind reeling.

While he worries about Wilbur’s well being, he can't help but think about the way Phil spoke. The way he yelled without any true anger in his voice. The way he told Wilbur how much he worried and loved him. The way he cried for Wilbur. Clay would never do anything like that. When Clay says he loves him his voice never breaks the way Phil’s did. When Clay yelled his voice was angry and mean and loud. When Clay worried about him he hurt him, when he cried he cried to sway Tommy's mind.

Why was Phil so much better than Clay?

Wait. He can't think like this. Phil didn't struggle for money or had to work as hard as Clay did. Clay tried his very best and deserved respect. So what if Phil acted differently? He’s only one person, he wasn't from L’manburg.

He couldn't be selfish and want more than he has.

-

“I can't be selfish.” Technoblade speaks into the night air, hopping from one building to the next. There wasn't much criminal activity tonight, not that he really wanted to do much tonight. He was mentally exhausted.

Tommy was alive. His baby brother was alive, which is honestly even worse than him being dead. Him alive means more suffering, more waiting for answers. Him alive means he is stuck with Dream, stuck in a hell made for him personally.

Why does Technoblade not want him back? His whole life he’s only wanted his baby brother back, and once he finally made peace with never having him back, he is alive again. He is alive and stuck with the worst person on this earth. This will only do more damage to his family. More damage to him.

How much more can he handle? How much longer will his life take ups and downs until he breaks? He doesn't want to have to take care of everyone else, he wants to take care of HIM. Is that selfish?

“Of course it is, idiot.” Technoblade scoffs, rapidly approaching the tower in the distance. He can't be selfish. Phil lost his wife and son. Wilbur almost died from his addiction. Tommy was probably being tortured as he spoke. Everyone has suffered more than him. So what that he’s seen the worst out of them, so what if he sees shit that isn't real? He isn't the person to be worried about. Everyone else has it worse.

But either way, he still hates his life. He hates what he’s been forced to see, what he sees when no one else can see it, what he has to feel. He hates the bags that grow under his eyes and how red they get when he cries. He hates crying too. He hates a lot, which is weird when he doesn't have much of a life to hate. Stable finances, food on the table every night, a father and brother. It's what's missing from the life that was there before that makes him hate it.

The thing he hates more than anything in the entirety of his life? The hallucinations. He sees things out of the corner of his eye or just right in front of him. Sometimes it's his mother hanging in the middle of his room, sometimes it's the eyes that speak to him or people standing behind him watching him. They used to freak him out, they still do, but he’s adapted. When he sees them in front of other people he doesn't jump anymore. It's his mom that scared him the most, she usually just hangs there in his room when he’s in there alone. Sometimes she says stuff that makes Technoblade feel bad for being selfish.

They started even before Tommy went missing, but since they were rare Technoblade just thought it was a dream or he was imagining it. After Tommy left they were worse, and even worse after Mom died, but he never told anyone about them. His issues weren't as important, Schizophrenia wasn't as important as his family. He doesn't like to admit it's Schizophrenia, it sounds too real. Like a real disorder. Not just a small side issue to the rest of his life.

He didn't want to be selfish, but he often was. Mostly in his thoughts though. Does thought selfishness count as being selfish?

“Hell yeah it does.” Technoblade approached the entrance of the hero tower, scanning his key card at the front door. The tower was only open for pedestrians during the day, only people with special key card access could enter at night. Those people usually are high members and people that live upstairs. Technoblade takes the elevator to the 24th floor, the doors open to his front room that connects the living room to the kitchen. There are four bedrooms down the right hallway. His, Wilbur's, Dad’s, and a guest room.

He knew something was off the moment the elevator came to a stop, he heard the yelling already. It was the middle of the night. Why were they awake? Better yet, why are they yelling? Technoblade steps into the front room, throwing off the big pieces of his hero costume and stomping into the living room. The carpet was trailed with blood, Dad’s window open. Wilbur was standing in front of the couch angrily, Phil across the coffee table with a tear stained face. He began to listen to what they're saying.

“I AM RESPONSIBLE!”

“Clearly not?!”

“What’s going on? Dad? Wil?” Technoblade stares between his family, dread pooling inside of him.

“Tech, what're you doing home so early?” Phil wipes the tears from his face, Wilbur doesn't even look at his brother yet. His chest heaves as he stares in rage at his father.

“That doesn't answer my question. Wilbur?”

Wilbur refuses to admit what he’s done to his older brother, it's the one time he truly feels guilty for going to that bar. His brother was always so proud of his sobriety, and now he ruined it.

“He relapsed.” Phil blurts out, averting eye contact from his eldest son. “Got drunk off his ass.”

“What. The. Fuck.” Technoblade speaks slowly, his voice rattling. He was genuinely angry, genuinely upset. The eyes surround him, whispering at him. No one else can see the eyes, but he knows they're there. They told him things he didn't understand or could decipher through his anger, but they only fueled his rage.

“It’s none of your business, Technoblade. This is between me and Dad.”

“None of MY business? This is more my business than Dad’s.” Technoblade’s upper lip curls, twitching through his jagged front teeth. “You broke your sobriety, you broke the sobriety you told me you'd keep. Do you remember the deal we made, Wil?”

-

“Wil?” A 20 year old Technoblade turns the wheel of the car on the ride home. He offered to drive Wilbur home from his first court mandated AA meeting. The 17 year old boy sits in the passenger seat staring out the window, his hair shabby and face drained. He only got out of the mental hospital just a few weeks ago.

“What? Gonna lecture me again?” Wilbur spits, never turning to face his older brother. He doesn't know that in just a year he’ll be rising through the ranks of being a hero with his brother, for now he just thinks he’ll never make it out of the awkward ‘just nearly died’ phase of his life.

“I want you to make me a promise.”

“That what? I’ll never drink again? I’ll never do drugs again?” Wilbur scoffs.

“Clearly that won't work though. How about this? If you EVER break your sobriety, other than a small minor relapse, I will break your guitar.” Wilbur's face falls, he finally turns to look at Technoblade.

“Mom’s guitar?”

“Mom’s guitar.”

“You can't do that!”

“I will, unless you promise me you’ll never get drunk off your ass again. You can drink when you're older, smoke even, but under a controlled environment with a slow ween into it. Never drunk, got it?”

“You’re a fucking monster.”

“I don't care, she was my mom too. I have the right to her things. Do we have a deal?”

“Fine! I’ll never get drunk, just stay the hell away from Mom’s guitar.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

-

“Oh come on, Techno! I was a teenager when I agreed to that, you can't hold up on it.”

“But I will.” Technoblade couldn't think anymore, he couldn't have reason. He turns around and stomps down the hallway to Wilbur's room. He can hear the sounds of Wilbur screaming for him to come back. He doesn't listen. He grabs the beautiful guitar propped up in the corner of his room. Wilbur runs down the hallway, standing heavily breathed in the doorway.

“Technoblade, please, put it down.” Tears drop down Wilbur's face. Technoblade holds the guitar over his head by the skinny part, he doesn't know the name of the guitar part, but it doesn't matter to him. He can see a small signature on the back from his mother. “Please!”

“You promised me!”

“I’m sorry! Please, I'm sorry, Techno.” Wilbur falls to his knees, bowing in front of his brother begging for the life of his guitar.

“You got drunk! You didn't ween into it, you fucking fully broke the sobriety.” Technoblade’s hand shakes, ready to smash the guitar to bits. He can see Phil peering around the corner in horror at his eldest son preparing to smash his wife's guitar and his younger son begging for it. “I will smash it to bits Wilbur, I swear to XD!”

“No! No no no no.” Wilbur sobs, hitting his carpet. “I won't do it! Never again, not even a drop! I promise!”

“How should I believe you?”

“Don’t smash it!!!” Wilbur screams. “I’ll be sober for the rest of my life. Not even wine or a painkiller at the hospital! I swear.”

Technoblade stares down at his brother on the floor, he can barely hear what he is saying over the sounds of the hallucinations in the room telling him to smash the guitar and keep slamming it into the ground until it becomes dust.

“Technoblade.” His father interjects, not able to enter the room. “Put the guitar down.”

Technoblade wavers, his arms slightly going down. But he sees Wilbur again, he sees the man below him with a red drunk face and gets angry. So horribly angry. Angry about his brother, his Tommy, his father, his hallucinations. He raises his arms again and brings the guitar down onto the ground. It makes a loud bang, folding in half and breaking horizontally at the center.

“NO!” Wilbur screams, crawling forward and grabbing the broken bits of the guitar with his shaking hands. Technoblade takes a step back, his crimson eyes glaring down at Wilbur with no remorse.

“Next time I’ll break you in half, Wilbur, and you’ll never see me again.” Technoblade spits, stepping over the broken guitar and out the room. He slams his shoulder into Phil’s on the way out, he nearly throws his bedroom door shut.

His mother hangs from his ceiling again, Technoblade stares at her in digust and sorrow. “I don't want to talk to you right now, Mom.”

“Why’d you do that? Why'd you break his heart like that? Are you that unsympathetic?”

“Fuck off.” Technoblade pushed past her, not that there was anything there to push past, he flops down into his bed, burying his face into his mattress.

“You’re a true monster, Techno. You are selfish for doing that, for breaking that. You didn't even break it because he broke his sobriety, did you? You broke it because you are destructive. A piglin without love. A selfish, angry piglin.”

Technoblade holds his hands over his ears, but a hallucination doesn't mind the property of plugging your ears. He can hear her voice echoing in his head, and he continues to hear it. All. Night. Long.

Chapter Text

“Hello! Welcome back to Hero - Villains news! It's your good host, Conner, with another episode. Yes, we are a podcast now as well as a news channel. Let's get on with today's news.”

“There have been countless strikes from the growing Dream Organization, better known as Dreamers, or hilariously known as Nightmares. Everyday there's more and more deaths, the fatality rates are rapidly climbing with each passing week. Now, here's a short history lesson about the Dream Organization.”

“Dream made his first appearance over 9 years ago. He was a petty criminal, robbing shops and committing muggings on random innocent passersby. He rapidly grew a following from there, expressing his horrid beliefs and found many resonated in them. He has since grown a community of hero haters that work under him in a now large organization. It's been just 9 years since he started villainy, 7 since he became an organization leader.”

“I warn you, listeners, stay away from anyone with the white smile tattoo. They are all dangerous and should be reported immediately. That's all on today's news, be safe my friends.”

-

“Got that right, Dream fucking is a dangerous prick.” Tommy rolls his eyes, flicking off the podcast. He heard about it on the news and thought to listen in for any surprising news on his enemies, but only learnt what he already knew. He shoves his earbuds into his pocket, walking to the tower from the bus stop. He was just a few paces aways from the door.

Before he can even make it into the elevator he is intercepted by Phil.

“Hey there, kid.” Phil smiles. Tommy jumps, looking up at the man. His eyes were puffy and red, face sunken. Tommy knew it was from last night, but Phil doesn't know he knows because he doesn't know he’s Theseus. It makes his job a bit more awkward.

“Uh? Phil, what are you doing down here? You’re usually in the office by now.”

“We have a meeting on the 9th floor, you as well. I came down to bring you up.”

“A meeting?”

“Yeah, on the prison visit yesterday? Technoblade hasn't told us what happened yet.” Tommy looks away, shame filling his eyes. He knew what this'll be about. Their Tommy.

“Oh… that.”

“What happened?” Phil whispers, looking between Tommy and the opening elevator. The two steps inside, Tommy doesn't even make sure to jump the gap anymore.

“It’s probably best if you hear it during the meeting.” Tommy sighs, hanging his head.

“Uh oh. That doesn't sound good.”

“It isn't.”

The two enter the conference room, the table already filled except for two seats. Technoblade, Wilbur, Puffy, Fundy, and a few other top heroes sit around the table. Tommy takes the seat on the left of Technoblade, Phil takes one away from both his children. Tommy can feel the tension between the Craft’s. Mostly between Wilbur and Technoblade, who both refuse to make eye contact. Technoblade looks tired and honestly out of it, Wilbur looks a mix of hung over and angry. Not a good combo.

“You alright, man?” Tommy whispers to Technoblade, looking around to assess who else is there.

“Not really, but oh well.” Technoblade whispers back, clearing his throat to start the meeting. “Thank you for coming everybody. As you all know Mr. Watson and I visited Slimesicle in Pandora's Vault yesterday to collect some crucial information.”

People nod around, but it was pointless other than to show they're listening.

“What we heard rattled me, and honestly, was nearly unbelievable. Tommy?” Technoblade turns to the boy, gesturing for him to continue. Of course this quiet ass man was going to make HIM be the one to announce to a room of family and friends (powerful heroes as well) that Thomas Craft is alive.

“Uhm- yes. It was extremely shocking. Slimesicle told us a bit about Dream and the organization, not much helpful information though, before revealing something.” Tommy takes a deep inhale. “Thomas Craft is in the captivity of Dream.”

Gasps sound around the room, eyes widen and faces tighten. Wilbur looks up for the first time since the meeting started, he looked angrier than before.

“What?” He breathes, hand falling from under his chin.

“Thomas Craft, Tommy, was kidnapped by Dream and his men and is being held by them still today.” Tommy repeats, the name sour in his mouth. He didn't like saying his own name, nevertheless saying it in regards to someone else. It rang warning bells in his head that just felt so wrong. “Slime claims his capture is all part of a plan they named Mission Phil.”

The room is silent, face twisting and minds reeling in everlasting shock. Most of the people in this room that were close to that child have recovered, they have accepted their life without him despite wanting to or not. This just brought everything back to the surface. All the pain, all the helpless hope, all the anger. Especially Wilbur, who was already in such a bad mental state.

“He’s alive?”

“As far as we know, yes. He is.” Tommy nods. Technoblade didn't seem to be in the mood to be the one to answer questions or support this meeting. Tommy takes that weight off his shoulders and onto his own, it's the least he could do after having seen Technoblade’s reaction to hearing the news the first time.

“And he’s with… Dream?” Wilbur stammers, Phil finally looking at his remaining children with something other than disappointment and concern.

“Slimecicle claims tha-”

“Shut up!” Wilbur shouts. “I was just processing.”

“Okay…” Tommy clicks his tongue, looking away and down.

“Wilbur, don't project your anger on Tommy.” Technoblade finally interjects.

“Or what? Gonna smash ANOTHER guitar? Gonna blackmail me?”

“Wilbur… not in front of people. C’mon, be mature.” Technoblade sighs, rubbing his temples. Tommy didn't know what was wrong with the man, he assumes that it entailed Wilbur's relapse, but he didn't know who was standing in the conference room with them that bothered Technoblade so horribly.

“Be mature? Like you are the person that can talk about maturity.” Wilbur rolls his eyes. Phil groans, clearly annoyed at his children's petty arguments when his youngest son is now revealed to be well and alive.

“Techno, why didn't you tell us sooner?”

“In case you had a lapse in memory, DAD, I was a little preoccupied after my patrol last night.” Technoblade clears his throat.

“This… is amazing!” Phil begins to laugh nearly manically, pure bliss and hope fills his rather neutral tone. “My son is alive! My son is alive!”

“Before you cheer in joy, note that he’s with Dream. Dream as in the killer villain.” Puffy points out. No one in the room seemed all that happy, especially after what Puffy brought to their attention.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” Wilbur stands up violently, the rolling chair flying out behind him and gliding across the room. He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and storms out, Puffy and Phil following quickly with a shout. Tommy turns to meet Technoblade’s eyes.

“I think that went well.” Tommy jokes.

“That’s one way to put it.” Technoblade groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He seemed absolutely exhausted, pained even.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asks defeatedly, if it weren't for his own exhaustion he probably would've assisted in Wilbur's pursuit. Then again, Technoblade seems to be quite overlooked currently. This might just be better.

“Let’s not talk here.” Technoblade sighs. “Meeting’s over, guys. Go to work, think up a plan to target Dream, do whatever.”

The remaining heroes and employees in the room trickle out of the room, collecting their thoughts and things. It was quite the damaging blow, knowing Dream has Father Crow’s beloved youngest son in his captivity. Technoblade and Tommy are the only two people left in the conference room.

“I know this is really hard for you, Techno.”

“Yeah, it is, but it's even harder for Phil and Wilbur.”

“How come? You lost him too, you all have an equal burden.” Tommy turns his head to face him. He didn't know why the words he’s speaking are exiting his mouth, but what he doesn't know is that it's all due to how truly similar he and Technoblade are. Their guilty consciousness, forcing themselves to get hurt because they don't wish to be selfish. Technoblade doesn't want to conform to a stereotype or be worse than his family. Tommy doesn't want to admit that his life isn't what he thinks it is, he doesn't want to see the truth of what his father does. Together they're two hurt kids that don't want to admit they're hurt.

“I guess uh… maybe I wasn't as close to him.” Technoblade stumbles on his words, trying to find a logic behind his own thought process other than that they suffered more afterwards.

“That still doesn't take away from your own pain.” Tommy scoffs, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he pushes up to a stand. “I have work to do, c’mon. Let's walk.”

Technoblade follows Tommy out of the conference room, their eyes twins with their heavy bags and unappealing features such as tusks and large scars. They were one in the same in more ways than they knew. They were blood, they were friends, they were partners in crime.

As the day goes on tensions only thickly fill each room, Wilbur rarely making his appearances and Phil tense whenever near Tommy or Technoblade. He didn't get his lunch today though, which caused some rumbling. Technoblade speaks with Tommy often during the day, they even spend some time sifting through documents together on the lounge room couch. They felt at peace with one another, a peace they didn't feel with their own families at the moment. And as their day ends and all their issues go unsolved they find themselves sitting in their own bedrooms with nothing but their thoughts. Technoblade pushing out the voice of his mother and Tommy trying to think of something to think about other than his day.

-

Tommy

The boy relaxes against the pillows lining his headboard, knees up but not against his chest. He wasn't expecting Clay to get home today, he hasn't been home much while Tommy is home as of late. Not that Tommy is complaining about that, he rather enjoys having the house to himself nowadays. He could wander around without issue, sneak food and do his laundry without being interrupted or nagged. Not that he’s complaining about when Clay IS home, but sometimes he gets things done better with him away. That's not bad to feel towards your father, right?

Tommy was just staring at the ceiling when he heard the sliding of a car as it pulled into a parking space, the doors slamming open and closed. Tommy always had a great sense of hearing, he can tell the difference between breathing and different cars. This car was more familiar than any other, his father's car. Clay was home.

The front door unlocks and clicks shut, keys clank into the glass bowl by the door. Shoes slide off feet and get tossed into the broken rack, socks slide across dirty tile. Tommy hopes that if he just stays upstairs and quiet that Clay won't even notice him tonight, that he’ll just eat and go to bed and Tommy to go to work the streets of the city by saving the helpless. This was not the case tonight, in fact Tommy won't even make it to a patrol.

“Tommy? Are you home?” He hears Clay's voice call from downstairs as he wanders into the kitchen. His voice was weirdly friendly, was he in a good mood?

“Yeah!” Tommy calls back, louder than Clay's shout as he didn't have the ears that Tommy does.

“Come down! We’re going out to dinner!” Clay sings. Out to dinner? When did they get the money to have dinner, let alone go out?

Tommy grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and leaps down the steps on his socked feet. Clay was standing by the kitchen counter sipping a glass of water, his green eyes bright and maliciously happy. He looked well, he looks like he’s slept a lot recently and cleaned up. Tommy doesn't know where Clay currently works, or if he works at all, but he looked mildly fancy.

“Why are we going out?” Tommy asks, tilting his head by instinct.

“I got a bonus at… work and wanted to treat my hard working boy to a nice meal.” Clay smiles. Some days Tommy looked so much like his baby sister, other days he looked nearly identical to Phil. It irritated Clay, honestly, seeing his little sister and worst enemy in one person. Tonight Tommy was Drista's replacement. Tonight he’ll take the young boy out to Drista’s favorite restaurant and ask him questions about his work. If he finds out some juicy information on his rivals then that's just another bonus.

“Really?”

“Are you doubting my love, Tommy?”

“No! No… I’m just a little shocked we have the money.”

“Good.” Clay puts his glass in the sink. “Let’s get going, they're open all night but they get especially busy in an hour.”

“Where are we going?” Tommy asks as he grabs his shoes from the broken plastic rack and slides them onto his feet, the creases dirty and white long gone.

“It's called Logstedshire.”

-

Technoblade

“Is this a good thing?” He asks the room of people. He can't help but talk to his hallucinations, they were the only people that couldn't tell anyone else about what he said. “Is Tommy being alive a good thing?”

Of course this time they all have nothing to say, for once in his life they're silent without a single comment to make.

“Fuck you guys.” Technoblade scoffs, leaning his head against his headboard to look at the ceiling. He hasn't shared many words with his brother or father since he lost control. He doesn't really want to speak to either anyway. “Can’t answer my questions now? Just fu-”

“Techno?” A knock beats onto his door, his father's voice projecting into his son's room. Technoblade curses under his breath, he really wasn't in the mood to be scolded.

“What?” Technoblade spits, unmoving.

“Can I come in?”

“Don’t let him in! He’s annoying.” One of the eyes whines behind him.

“Let Papa in! He could hug us!” Another, more high pitched voice, rings. Technoblade holds back the urge to tell the voices to not call themselves a part of him, words like 'us’ make him uncomfortable. He makes a quick decision, Phil didn't do anything personally to him. He doesn't know why he’s even mad at his dad.

“Come in, Dad.”

Phil pushes the door open slowly, closing it behind him with his mouth downturned. He wasn't on patrol, which is weird since neither is Technoblade nor Wilbur.

“How’re you doing kid?”

“I’m alright.” Technoblade sighs, sitting up higher in his bed. “What are you doing here?”

“Straight to the point.” Phil breathes out from his nostrils, taking a seat at the end of Technoblade’s bed. “I came to talk about a few things, I guess.”

Technoblade nods, knowing exactly what he meant by that. Tommy and the guitar. Two of the most awkward topics of the recent time period.

“Let’s start with last night.” Phil clicks his tongue, his left wing twitching. “About Wilbur.”

“What about it? What happened has happened and I can't change it.”

“You went too far, Technoblade.” Phil blurts out. His voice was soft, but stern. “You went way too far. Kristen's guitar was what Wilbur had left of his mother. It's what she left for him.”

“She didn't specify that it was for Wilbur in particular.” Technoblade argues. He didn't want to feel more guilty than he already is. “I know I went to far, but he made that agreement with me and has to face the consequences of breaking it.”

“He was a teenager.”

“A teenager that drank.”

“A kid.”

“A kid that told us he wasn't a kid anymore after being caught with drugs for the first time.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It matters!” Technoblade shouts, lip quivering. “He made those choices, he made that choice last night. He has freewill and I acted upon the mistakes he made.”

“Kristen would've been disappointed in the way you turned out.” Phil shakes his head.

“Don’t say that.” Technoblade spits, shaking his head with as much denial as he can muster.

“It’s the truth. Would you rather be lied to?” Phil turns his head, much like Tommy does. Like father, like son, I guess.

“That’s-”

“Y’know.” Phil begins, standing up off the edge of the bed that he had been lightly sat upon, his feet itching closer to his eldest son. “I suffered a lot, after my Kristen died, after my son was taken from his own bed. I had to nurture my addict son back to health, what did you do? Nothing. You've done nothing except make things more difficult for us. We’re supposed to be here for Wilbur in his time of need, in his moment of weakness, but all you're doing is making things more difficult for him.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do.”

“But it's what you did.” Phil was right beside Technoblade now, looking down at Technoblade. “We’d be better off if you were dead.”

-

Tommy

Clay breaks, coming to a stop in a small parking space in front of a decent looking diner made of wood logs bare or any paint. The ride had been slow and quiet, they sat in each other's company grateful for who the other is today. For Tommy he was glad Clay was a father today. For Clay he was glad Tommy was his sibling today.

“Here we are!” Clay shuts the car off, turning the key and placing it in his pocket. This was his shittiest car, the one he owned before he became a villain. He prefers any of his three others, but days like today he’s stuck with the shitty one. Being a famous, rich villain had its perks. “Logstedshire.”

“Are we still in the city?” Tommy asks, he could've sworn seeing a Goodbye L’manburg sign on the way there. This restaurant seemed pretty secluded, there weren't many places nearby except for a campground and a gas station.

“No, we’re right outside the city. This place opened up out here to be a little… fresher than the big city. It's right in between this city and the next.” Clay smiles up at the log building, it looked like something someone built by hand “Y’know, I used to come here with your aunt, she loved it here as a kid. We lived in the city, but we always loved the secludedness of the wilderness out here. We always wanted to move here, but she died before I could lay down a payment on a house.”

Tommy doesn't know what to say to that. Clay seemed so happy, but his story was so sad. “I bet it's still amazing inside there then.”

“Oh yeah, the owners aren't keen on changing their ways.” Clay chuckles, turning to Tommy. “Let’s head in.”

The two slip their buckles off, exiting the shitty vehicle and turning to the log building. Clay takes the lead, walking the same steps he would've with Drista all those years ago. It felt so nostalgic, walking up the same path late at night with a kid in tow. The smell of cheeseburgers and beer and cheesecake wafted out of the building, chattering loud behind the pure wooden walls.

Tommy found just the aroma warm and happy, but dread sunk in his stomach as they pushed open the glass doors and waltzed into the restaurant-bar. It was filled with red pleather booths and plastic silver chairs and a long bar with filled barstools. It didn't seem like the type of place to bring a kid, but the restaurant part seemed friendly enough.

“Welcome to Logstedshire! How many?” The bitchy looking lady in the restaurant uniform chews gum as she looks up from the tablet on the stand.

“Table for two.” Clay smiles, normally he’d be angry at just the slight hint of irritation and brattiness in someone's voice, but today he was at peace. It was probably the restaurant.

“Follow me.” The woman grabs two menus from a small container beside her stand and guides them with quick feet through the booth's. They are seated at a booth beside the log wall, the booth's on either side are full. Speakers played soft music above them with an upbeat undertone, it added a noise to fill in the gaps of loud laughter and chatter. Anyone could say anything in this room in a mild range that only the people very close by would hear. “Your waiter will be right out.”

And with that the lady leaves, sashaying away.

“I already know what I’m going to get.” Clay doesn't even open the menu, he just pushes it to the side. Tommy opens his own, scanning the words and titles and pictures.

“I think I’ll get the pot pie.”

“No, you're getting the mushroom burger and coke.” Clay doesn't speak angrily or demanding, his tone more casual as if that were something anyone would hear. For Tommy, it made him afraid. He didn't like Clay controlling him in a happy tone, it was too contradictory.

“That sounds good…” Tommy murmurs, setting the menu down. It's not that the order sounded bad, but it was more the principle of the change.

“H-”

“Hi! I’m your waiter, call me Ghostbur, what can I get you two as a drink?” A ghostly man in a yellow sweater floats up right at the side of their booth, cutting Clay off.

“We’re ready to order everything.”

“Well that's good! Go ahead.” The ghost prepares his pen and pad.

“I’ll have a liter of beer and the tater tot and dog dish. He’ll have the mushroom burger and a coke.” Clay grabs both the menus to hand to the waiter. Tommy hasn't really ever been outside the house WITH Clay, he hasn't even been in his car before until today, let alone to a restaurant.

“Coming up!” The overly cheery ghost man floats away, leaving Tommy with his dear father. Not so dear, but his father by blood anyway.

“As I was saying, how’s work been, Tommy?” Clay puts his hands together in a camp in front of him. He wasn't even mad about being interrupted.

“It’s uh… It’s been pretty good.” Tommy nods, unsure of what to talk about.

“Oh come on! You can give me more than that. I’m sure working for those three can be hella entertaining.” Clay insists, his tone loosens Tommy's walls.

“Well I guess there has been a lot of stuff going on recently. I went to Pandora's Vault yesterday.” Tommy begins.

“Really?” Clay's interest is peaked, that's how Tommy knows he is doing something right. When that gleam flashes across Clay's eyes he is happy, or at least curious. “Who’d you visit?”

“Some guy by the name Slimesicle? I don't know, he seemed a little weird to be honest.”

“Slime?” Clay’s eyes raise, remembering his old prisoner that he molded into the perfect little worker bee. He doesn't like that the man was visited, especially by a SBI worker. There are probably so many secrets that fucker knows that can be wiggled out of him the same way Clay was able to wiggle his manipulations into him.

“Yeah, some type of gooey hybrid.” Tommy shudders, remembering the way that eccentric prisoner spoke and added locations to everyone's names. Tommy from Craft instead of Tommy from L’manburg. It rubbed him the wrong way. “Blood God and I went to collect some information, that entrance process was hell I’ll tell you. So many searches.”

“What information did he have?” Clay asks, not seeming to be that intrigued by the tiresome searches and brutal checkpoints.

“Well… I really shouldn't tell you, it could hurt the investigation.” Tommy looks down, the back part of his mind urging him to talk about it to keep Clay’s interest. To keep his attention.

“Tommy! You got me all invested for nothing.” Clay whines. “Come on! Tell me.”

“I shouldn't…”

“I’m your Dad, don't you trust me?”

“I do-”

“Then trust me enough to tell, unless you don't trust me at all and you're a liar?”

“Fine!” Tommy shouts, a different waiter comes by to place their drinks at the table as he does so. He gives him a weird look before handing him a coke and Clay a liter of beer. Once the waiter is away Tommy turns back to his father. “He overheard that villian, Dream, talking to NotFound about something HUGE. Like, it changes everything about one of the bigger investigations of the city.”

“Dream you say?” Clay asks, Tommy ignoring the worry that laced his voice. “And… what did Slimesicle overhear, might I ask?”

Tommy looks around to make sure no one is listening in. “Thomas Craft is alive and was kidnapped by Dream.”

-

Technoblade

“What?” Technoblade murmurs after some time, his voice felt like it echoed through his bedroom. What did Phil just say? Phil would never say that. But was it false? Maybe it wasn't…

“I said Wilbur and I would be better off if you were dead, Technoblade. We wouldn't suffer at the hands of selfishness. Can you not see anyone other than yourself that you’ll let us suffer?” Phil’s voice twists, a pounding headache beginning to form in Technoblade’s temples, fogging his thoughts and blurring his logic.

“No no no! Don't say that!”

“Technoblade.” Phil sings, reaching forward towards his son. “An angry piglin with zero empathy. Even your name has the word ‘blade’ in it, such a violent man. Tell me? How many people have you killed under the mask of being a hero? How many times have you been just let off the hook because you're favored by the Hero Council?”

“No- no.” Technoblade breaths, his lungs aching. He couldn't move as Phil’s hands began to wrap around his neck slowly, he was paralyzed. As those slim fingers began to squeeze, limiting the small amount of oxygen that Technoblade already had, words echo through his mind.

Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
DIE.
DIE.
DIE.
DIE.
DIE.
DIE.
DIE.

“Die!” Technoblade screams, body flinging to a sitting position. His room was dimly lit, his lungs heaving greedily for more oxygen. There wasn't any Phil standing over him pressing into his neck. Was there even any Phil at all?

These weren't the thoughts that clouded Technoblade’s mind, however. His mind was reeling with what Phil said and what was being ingrained into his skull. He didn't stop to think as to why Phil would make an attempt on his life or why he wasn't on patrol or why he woke up. To him, it was just a blip in time.

Technoblade tries to catch his breath, but can't seem to. He rolls out of his bedsheets, sweat dripping from every bare surface. His air was razzled in its braid, sticking to the back of his neck. Words take over his brain, Phil’s words. That three letter word echoing over top of it.

D I E. Three letters, one constant and two vowels. A simple word with a meaning many overlook. Sometimes it can be a playful shut up or fuck off. Sometimes it's used to describe what will happen to someone, both sorrowful and threatening. Sometimes people use it to hurt someone else, telling them to do what the word tells them to do. In this instance it represents a need. A need to follow in suit of the word and do as it means. Do Die.

Technoblade falls onto his floor, chest heaving and burning. His throat was unbearably sore. He pushes himself to a stand as he stumbles to his personal bathroom, flicking the white light on. It was terribly bright, but he paid it no mind. His hands grasp the handle of his medicine cabinet, scrummaging around for the old sleeping pills he was prescribed without Phil’s knowledge. He didn't like taking them as they made his hallucinations worse, hallucinations that his doctor didn't even know of and wouldn't have prescribed if he did.

His hands fumble to twist the cap as he slides down the wall, messy hot tears streaming down his sweaty face and joining in pools. He needed to do die.

-

Tommy

Clay’s silence isn't subtle after Tommy spit those words out, regret seeping into his veins and mind. It was loud, it was troubling. It was silent. Not that the room was all that quiet, it was still just as loud, but Tommy's little pocket of security was silent. It was nearly driving him bloody mad.

“Dad?” Tommy almost whispers, tensing in his seat. Clay is still for a moment longer before grabbing the beer from the table and chugging long gulps down his throat until a third of the drink is gone. He sets it down with a slam, chin wet with dripping golden beer.

“Well I’ll be damned, that's a shocker for sure.” Clay coughs, looking away at the bar. “Do they have a plan set in motion yet or…?”

Clay’s voice sounded nearly hopeful at that question, but yet again Tommy pays no mind. He doesn't let himself notice a lot of things about Clay. Fun fact: if Tommy just let himself think about Clay’s actions he’d
very easily be able to piece together the truth in minutes. But he doesn't, so for now he sits in ignorant nothing. Not ignorant bliss, ignorant nothing.

“No, not really. They kinda freaked out just hearing the news, today's meeting ended a little short.” Tommy shrugs.

“Well, keep me updated, son.” Clay smiles awkwardly, a hue of oddity layered on the final word. He was desperate to keep his operation going, even if they knew about it already.

“Oh… sure!” Tommy smiles back, anything for his Dad. Anything.

“Y’know what, let me tell you a little something Tommy. The whole reason I brought you on this little outing.” Clay regains his composure, grasping at straws to keep his plans afloat. George will be able to help, George will fix this. He just needs to remain calm. “I have planned a vacation for us!”

“A vacation?!” Tommy chokes on his coke, spitting it over the table in pure shock. Clay laughs, happily cleaning the mess surprisingly enough. “How can we even afford one?”

“You! I’ve been putting aside a bit of money from your paychecks and gained enough for a mini vacation in four months.” Clay cheers. It wasn't going to be the vacation Tommy thinks it's going to be, but it’ll certainly be fun for SOME parties involved. His party, his Dreamers. “It’s just a hotel stay in Arctic, but I wanted to do something special for my special boy.”

“Aw.” Tommy’s face melts, he has to hold back breaking down into tears of relief. He has his Dad back, the good part of Dad. Not forever, but long enough that soon enough there will be a vacation together. This is the biggest thing Clay has ever done for him. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. I am so excited.”

-

Technoblade

As Tommy feels his happiest with his father, Technoblade hits an all time low that is struggling to even kill himself.

“This is so fucking stupid.” Technoblade groans, banging the side of the pill bottle against the countertop, hoping that by some magical force it will open. Like, come on! The man has super strength and can't even open one lousy bottle. What did they make these things out of? It didn't help that his hands were unbelievably clammy.

Technoblade twists with as much strength as he can, desperation pouring down his face in salty tears. It doesn't work, just like it hadn't worked for the past few minutes. He uses a last resort, the god awful tusks.

He brings the bottle up to his mouth, placing his tusk in the little grove between cap and bottle. With a breath he pulls down on the bottom piece of the twist bottle, the force sends the cap cracking off the bottom and flying across the room. It hits the mirror and clatters into the sink. Finally, his mission would be complete. He could leave, he could escape the pains of the world and go home to Mama. He could be happy again, just maybe. He could be free.

Free. What a sad word. It means everything anyone ever wants but never has. It's what is desired when in captivity and what people want to be. People want to be more free, live life loosely without the bounds of poverty or others. Technoblade wants to be free of his endless loop of trapping himself in his agony to give his family their freedom from him.

Maybe this is the way to go. Not only will his father and brother have less to worry about as they focus on finding Tommy, but they also won't have a Schizophrenic piglin to bother their life. Not that they know he’s Schizophrenic, but it still has the same effect on them doesn't it?

Mama won't be happy that he followed the same path as her, but she will get over it with time. She doesn't have much of a choice over what Technoblade does tonight, sitting on the bathroom floor with his bottle of high strength sleeping pills. Or does she?

-

Tommy

“This is delicious!” Tommy cheers, but it wasn't all that much of the truth. The food was decent, but it wasn't amazing quality. Clay wasn't here for the ‘good food’, he was here for memories. Tommy just had to respect that and play along.

“I know, Drista loved that burger. It was her favorite.” Clay smiles, biting into a french fry. His beer was nearly empty at this point, which raised a few red flags in Tommy's mind about the drive home but he didn't make any negative comment about it. “I’m glad we came here, Tommy. This has been nice, productive, but nice.”

Tommy tilts his head a bit when he says it had been ‘productive’, but his instinctual reaction to anything weird Clay says it to push it to the back of his mind and ignore it.

Clay does however notice the slight head tilt. It brought back some sour memories for the man. Memories of being with his cousin, memories of the man tilting his head whenever confused or curious. Clay used to find it endearing when they were younger, but he grew to hate the small tick. It disgusted him and he wasn't going to allow the boy he raised to pick up on that little habit that his true father had.

“Don’t do that with your head, Tommy. It's disrespectful.” Clay orders, sipping the last of his liter of beer.

“Sorry.” Tommy mumbles, straightening his head. A small headache was beginning to form in his temple, which wasn't out of the ordinary, but it did feel different compared to other headaches. It was more behind his skin than usual.

“No need to be, but just try not to do it again.” Clay signals for the waiter to grab him another, the empty liter being carried away. “Anything else going on at work? Make any friends? Do anything special?”

“Uh…” Tommy stammers, his mind wasn't thinking that well through the distraction that was his head. “This guy, the tech guy, and I have lunch together. He seems pretty neat. Fundy, but I call him Fun-Man.”

“Fundy?” Clay echoes, the muscles in his face relaxing. It was a weird reaction to hearing about someone you supposedly had never met, but it was just another thing Tommy attempts to ignore.

“Do you know him?”

“No! No- no I was just thinking about how weird that name is. People name their kids weird things nowadays. Technoblade, Fundy, Puffy. Such odd names huh?” Clay chuckles nervously. It felt like every second he was with Tommy his masks were falling and soon the boy would see him for who he really is. A villian. George would know what to do. “I have to go make a call, Tommy. I’ll be back.”

Without another word Clay stands up and storms out of the restaurant. Tommy hopes to any existing god that he comes back and doesn't just drive away. He doesn't have enough money to pay for the meal nor does he know the way home.

The headache burns in his mind, he pushes the burger away and leans his arms on the table to hold his head in. It was a high pitched head ache, if that made sense. If this headache were a noise it’d be a screeching mouse. He felt the need to do something, something big, but he doesn't know what it is.

“Tommy-” A voice whispers silently beside him, a voice familiar yet abnormal at the same time. The woman from his dreams.

Tommy couldn't handle the pressure anymore, he grabs his bag and rushes to the bathroom. They were empty, each stall open wide. Tommy leans against the shitty counter, breaths heavy and sweat begins to pool on his skin.

He looks up into the mirror, not wanting to but knowing he must. The area behind him flickers between the tile bathroom wall and the train station. The woman with a beautiful voice stands on the platform, he still can't see her face but knows it is crying. His heart aches for her, instantly terrified as to what could've made her so sad. He is also heavily confused as to why his dreams are visiting him in real life. Is he asleep?

“Lady?” Tommy whispers into the cold bathroom air. He turns to look at the station, but it doesn't appear behind him. He can only see it through the mirror. “Why can I see you? Is this a dream?”

“I have no time to explain, Tommy! But I promise I will soon, I need a favor.” The woman spills quickly, the train coming to a stop behind her. Tommy can see a dark looming figure inside the car, not able to exit yet because the train hasn't come to a full stop yet. Tommy knows that this figure is after the lady, but he doesn't know why.

“What is it? I’ll do it.” Tommy felt the need to help her no matter the request. The station was already beginning to fade away in his reflection.

“Call-” Her voice glitches, if that's a good word for it. “Call him!”

“Call him? Call who?” Tommy shouts, panic setting in. His vision fogs through the pounded headache.

“Call Te-” The figure closes in behind the woman, the station cutting out suddenly. He didn't get the final answer he needed, squeezing his eyes shut to try and regain the connection with that woman. So many questions.

Who was she?
Who did he need to call?
Why does he need to call him?
Who is that figure?

Tommy slams his fist down onto the cracked marble, his hand makes a crackle noise at the impact. He’d have to deal with that later. Right now he needs to figure this out.

“Call Te… te….” Tommy groans, feeling an overwhelming sense of fear pile into his chest, rattling his bones. Te… Tech. Technoblade.

“Fuck.” Tommy grabs his bag from his side, ripping it open and dumping its items into the sink. Paper. Concealer. Tylenol. Bandage rolls. Key card. Phone.

He reaches in and grabs his shitty phone with rhe damaged screen, his sweaty fingers struggling to unlock it. When it finally does he scrolls through his contacts until he reaches the T section. Technoblade was the only one there. He clicks the contact and presses the call button before he can even think of what to say or make a theory. He just knows he HAS to call the man right now.

It rings. Every second that goes by without an answer is another second that Tommy has to fight the urge to whip his wings out and fly to the tower. He still doesn't pick up.

-

Technoblade

Finally, the bottle is open. He holds a handful of the pills in his hand, ready to drop them into his dry mouth. Was this the right decision? Is this the easiest course to take? It's definitely the coward's one, but Technoblade doesn't care if he’s being a coward. So what if he is scared of life? He can leave it, he has free will. He can make that choice. Phil would be better off. Wilbur better off. Right? RIGHT?

Technoblade brings the hand to his mouth, mind reeling and body shaking terribly. Did he want to do this? No! He has to do this, he can't be a coward in his own cowardly decision. That would just make him a coward squared.

Technoblade opens his mouth, tilting his hand to drop the pills in when a vibration sounds from the bathroom counter. His phone on the charger was buzzing up there, his body still. Who would be calling at this moment? The phone buzzes and stops. Technoblade, still frozen, goes back to what he was about to do when it begins to buzz again. Who would be calling a second time?

Thoughts begin to cloud his mission to die. What if it's Phil in trouble? What if Wilbur needs help not falling further into his relapse? So with those worries in mind Technoblade scoots across the floor to grab the phone, one hand reaching for it the other holding the pills.

He wasn't expecting the caller id to be ‘Tommy’, but it definitely was a wake up call.

The Tommy calling isn't his little brother, but he’s the most understanding person he’s met in his entire life. Technoblade is glad to have met this Tommy, but he also DOES want his Tommy back.

How would his little brother react to being saved only to find out his big brother killed himself along the way? How would his father react to finding his dead body right after having the relief of knowing his youngest is alive? How would Wilbur EVER recover from his addictions if his brother was found dead?

No, it isn't selfish to want to die. It isn't selfish to leave your family behind. But it is selfish to think you wouldn't be missed or mourned. Technoblade doesn't want his family to fall, so he has to be a strong wall. He wants to be able to hug his little brother.

The phone falls silent again only for another call to hurriedly replace it. Technoblade tosses his sleeping pills into the toilet and leaves the bathroom. He finally presses the little green button on his screen.

“TECHNO WHY WEREN’T YOU ANSWERING??? ARE YOU OKAY???” Tommy shouts from the phone, Technoblade has to hold the screen away at the high pitched scream from the young man.

“I’m fine, Tommy.” What Technoblade wanted to say was ‘You saved my life’, but that would raise too many questions that he didn't want to answer tonight. If Tommy hadn't called and given him that realization he needed, one that he didn't know about, then he would've died on that cold tile floor to traumatize the first person that lays their eyes on him, which would've been Philza. “Why are you calling? Is something wrong?”

“Yea-” Tommy begins to shout in his own public bathroom miles and miles away, but someone swings the door open to use the restroom and stares at him. weirdly. It would be extremely difficult for Tommy to explain that the woman in his dreams told him he needed to call Technoblade and that something was most definitely wrong so he didn't say that. Though he doesn't fully think he was being delusional, Technoblade’s voice sounds tired and hoarse. “I just had a bad feeling and wanted to call. Are you sure you're okay?”

That's odd, Technoblade thinks, but it wasn't wrong. He was just about to die so maybe Tommy has really good intuition. “Yes, Toms,I’m fine.”

“Toms? The fuck?”

“Oh.” Technoblade chuckles dryly, running a hand through his damp hair. It had come almost all the way undone from it's long braid and needed a desperate washing. “It’s just what I used to call my kid brother, sorry man.”

“No.. No, it's fine.” Tommy sighs, waving awkwardly at the guy that exited the stall to wash his hands. Tommy scrambles to shove his items into his bag as he holds his phone between his neck and shoulder. “Well uh- be safe, Technoblade.”

“I will.” Technoblade smiles on his side. “You too.”

“Bye.” Tommy hangs up the phone, leaving Technoblade in his own silence. Technoblade tosses the phone onto his night stand, grabbing his stuff for a shower before he goes back to sleep. Now that he thinks about it, he was really stupid. He literally woke up from a dream and said ‘Yup. That was real, time to commit suicide!’.

-

Tommy

Welp, that felt absolutely pointless. Why insist he call if Technoblade was just going to be fine? Damn that lady really makes no sense! And where'd she go?

“Why the fuck am I talking about her like she's real? She’s clearly just a figment of my imagination. Maybe it's my whole motherless childhood thing and it's finally catching up to me.” Tommy mumbles under his breath as he heads back to the booth.

He knew he was just lying to himself. She was more than just something made up, she meant something that he desperately needed to figure out.

Clay didn't seem to be at the table, but neither was their food. In fact, nothing was at the table except a waiter wiping it down.

“Excuse me?” Tommy asks the man, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Uh?” The man turns around. “What can I do for you, sir… kid?”

“Not a kid.” Tommy blurts out instinctually. “My father and I were sitting there, do you know where he went or what he said if he came by? Tall guy, green eyes, dirty blonde?”

“Oh yes, that guy. He came in from the outside a few minutes ago, paid the check and left.” The waiter shrugs, going back to wiping the table.

Tommy sighs, heading to the front door. He REALLY hopes the car is still parked out there or he is royally screwed.

“I’m screwed.”

The car had vanished with Clay, stranding Tommy alone at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere outside his city.

“Fuck me.”

Chapter Text

“Fuck me.”

He was stranded in the middle of nowhere in the middle of fucking night! How the hell was he supposed to get home now? Here's the options he’s come up with so far-

1. Walk
2. Hitch Hike
3. Uber
4. Fly
5. Call someone

Number seems tiresome and dangerous. Who knows what type of creeps lurk in the dark of the night, especially on the very outskirts of L’manburg dressed the way he is.

Number two is also dangerous, do you know how many people drive around JUST to kidnap hitchhikers? A lot.

Number three is pointless, he doesn't have any money with him so that is entirely ruled out.

Number four is risky, if someone sees him and his red wings they’ll very easily associate him with Theseus. He doesn't have any masks on him either so at least conceal his face.

Number five is the best option, but who can he call without feeling guilty or it being weird? He already got off the phone with Technoblade, and that guy did not sound mentally stable.

So for it's between shame, danger, and risk. Tommy doesn't want to die tonight by the hands of some L’manburg mugger, he doesn't just carry weapons around with him to fight with nor does he have the flight advantage with binded wings. He doesn't want to be caught as Theseus and thrown in jail or investigated for lying about his status. Humans and Avians are entirely different things. So shame it is. But who to call? Tommy likes his lists, so here’s one of his possible call options.

Nick (Clay’s mean friend)
Fucking Wilbur
Philza
Old Bitchy Boss
Dad

And yes, those are his contacts for all of them. Dad is the one who stranded him so Tommy is sure he would just drive back to give him a ride. His old boss sucks and has probably forgotten about Tommy at this point, plus that's just hell of a lot of awkwardness. Wilbur was just drunk last night and Tommy doesn't want to burden the guy any further. So it leaves him with Nick and Philza. Guess which one he’s gonna pick?

That's right! Philza, the all mighty dad of all children under the age of 25. Tommy trusts Phil, for the most part. He seemed like a good dad, a good man. He helped Theseus when he had that panic attack during their fight and has always been kind to Thomas. Tommy knows the man would definitely pick him up, even if he was busy, something he is unsure that Nick would ever do.

But that's also why he worries about calling him. The man has a lot on his plate. His wife is dead, which sucks, but he also has a lot currently going on that he has to handle mostly alone. Wilbur’s broken sobriety, Tommy C’s investigation, Dream, Technoblade and Wilbur’s tensity. Tommy feels like he would break under that pressure, but somehow Phil still smiles and makes sure to check up on Tommy throughout the day without a single hint of malice. He was a perfect guy with such an imperfect life.

But Tommy trusts him, and right now? He kinda needs him. So if calling his boss is what he needs to do then he’ll do it.

Tommy slides his phone out of his pocket in the dark of the parking lot, the screen lighting up a little pocket around him. Damn this place really needs to start putting street lights in it's parking lot it's dark as fuck. His battery was pretty low, but it would be enough for a quick call. He just hopes that Phil answers.

Phil’s contact is in his pinned contacts along with Wilbur, Technoblade, and Clay. It's sad that they're the most important people in his life when he literally works for three and was created by the latter. Damn that's a weird way of speaking about your father. What's funny is that Tommy is related to every single person in his pinned list, just not in the way he assumes.

Tommy presses the contact, much like he’d done with Technoblade just with a whole lot less panic, and the phone rings for a few beats. Instead of ringing to a decline Phil picks up within the first four rings.

“Tommy?” Phil’s voice cracks from the phone's speaker, confusion and a bit of sleepiness in his voice.

“Did I wake you?” Tommy panics.

“No, I’m in my office. Just a little tired, kid. Why are you calling so late?” Phil asks, setting down his reading glasses on his desk. He hasn't left his office since he got back from patrol, he’s barely seen any of his children today after calming Wilbur down from his anger. Tommy rarely ever called any of his employers, let alone a nighttime call from his personal phone. Tommy is now realizing he had way too many phones. Personal, work, and burner. Holy shit he led way too many lives.

“I uh-” Tommy stammers, hesitating to ask. He regretted even calling in the first place when he heard this man’s tired voice. All it did was drain his battery and strengthen his guilt. “Nothing, I just clicked the wrong contact.”

“I don't think that's the case, Tommy.” Phil sighs, leaning back in his black office chair. He’s raised two children into adulthood and one until he was 8, he knew kids. He knows when they lie and when they're afraid. Though Tommy isn't his son, or supposedly a child, he's a young boy anyway with a lot of child-like qualities. “What’s wrong, kid?”

“Uhm.” Tommy taps his foot on the gravel parking lot ground, looking around to make sure no one is lurking in the darkness. “I’m kinda stranded outside the city right now…”

“Stranded?” Phil sits up higher although he had just relaxed, his back aching. He’s been getting olding, the area of his back around his wings has almost a constant ache, especially when he flies. “What do you mean you're stranded?”

“I mean I’m outside the city in the middle of nowhere without a ride.” Tommy blurts out, there's no going back now that he’s said it. It didn't feel good to say he’s stranded without a ride when it's his own father that stranded him, but then again he probably had a good reason. He needed to make a call, maybe his work needed him, and when he came inside Tommy was in the bathroom. That's what happened. That's what Tommy will let himself believe.

“What the fuck!?” Phil shouts, pushing himself to his feet. He was still fully dressed from the day, with the exception of a jacket, and just needed to grab his car keys from his drawer. No questions asked, he is going to pick the boy up, ‘without a ride’ was enough for him to know he’s already on the way. “Where are you?”

“Some place called Logstedshire.” Tommy looks behind him at the busying restaurant, cars quickly fill the parking lot, taking spaces in the grass and gravel. It was mostly grown men hobbling out of large trucks in overalls or jeans heading into the restaurant, but Tommy suspects most of them are there for the bar portion. Why else would someone go to an out of nowhere pub at eleven pm?

“Logstedshire…” Phil breathes, remembering too much yet too little at the same time about that place. He remembers his cousin and his cousin's little sister going there often, he even drove them sometimes. He never understood why either liked it, it was a loud pub filled with obnoxious drunks and L’manburg outsiders. By a certain point in the night the place was just wall to wall bar-hoppers and men that left their families for the night to get drunk. Why the hell would Tommy be THERE of all places? “I know where that is, I’ll be there soon. Wh-”

“Phil, my phone's about to die.” Tommy feels bad for interrupting Phil, but if his phone died mid-sentence he has an inkling that Phil would either freak out or just not come. The latter might just be his guilty conscience, but it still popped up. “Thank you.”

“Please, be saf-” The phone cuts off as Tommy's screen turns black with the little empty battery photo on it. He didn't even have the flashlight aspect to light his way in the dark, and he was too prideful (nervous) to go back into the restaurant to await his ride.

So instead he walks to the parking lot entrance and stands just outside it by a tree, watching each car roll in. His eyes glance into the windows of every car hoping it’s Phil, it's stupid hope though. Phil lives in Artic, not just Arctic, the deep Arctic. It already takes a while to drive to L’manburg, let alone outside of the city. It could be an hour until Phil arrives, but walking could take Tommy multiple hours to arrive home. Plus, he can't see where he’s goibg until he gets back into the city. Why is he still trying to defend calling Pbil to himself?

He’s used to being alone, he’s used to Clay wronging him, but he’s never been left somewhere like this. Well, Clay’s never taken him anywhere before so this couldn't have happened before. It still stung.

“Why am I even surprised?” Tommy scoffs, his voice sounds weird in the quiet night. The only sounds come from passing cars and the faint shouting and music from the restaurant. No one would hear him unless they were walking by, which no one was, so did his voice even exist? If no one is there to hear it, did it ever make a noise?

Tommy's mind spirals, not in a bad way, but he feels extremely curious as to the way things can exist when no one is there to prove their existence. It was a good distraction from sitting alone in the dark under a tree. He wasn't aware of his surroundings or who was in passing cars, he was just bored.

Tommy used to be bored constantly and he got adjusted to having an empty, understimulated mind. When he was stuck in his house all the time without anything to do he was always bored. However, when he started going outside for work and patrol his under-stimulated mind began to get very overwhelmed by all the new sounds and feelings. He wasn't bored anymore and rarely felt bored. Most people get bored by simple work like signing forms or writing emails, even riding the train, but all those things almost made Tommy stressed.

Now that it's been years, two or so?, since Tommy was introduced to the world and he’s no longer overstimulated by everything he does find himself feeling ACTUAL boredom. He is patient, but he does start seeing himself with a shrinking attention span. If he had to sit under a tree waiting for a ride two years ago he would be able to sit there staring into space for two days straight without feeling too bored. But today he can't help but feel antsy to do something.

Though he will say, he is absolutely exhausted. He doesn't sleep often, to say the least, as most nights are filled with flying the city saving people instead of sleeping. His days aren't him sleeping from the night they're filled with work. Y’know when you eat a bunch of candy or drink a shit load of caffeine and after the high you get a major crash? That's what Tommy is starting to feel. He’s been riding through life on coffee and distractions, and now that he has time to just sit someone without coffee or something to fill his mind? He is tired.

That's all that needs to be explained as to why this boy stupidly fell the fuck to sleep sitting against a tree in the middle of no where outside a bar of drunks. That sentence is scary. Sleep plus bar plus night time equals danger. He might've been safer walking along a road in the dark. Thankfully Tommy is our main character.

As Tommy relaxes into a light sleep Phil exits the city, only a little over ten minutes away from the restaurant. Fear and worry causes him to just maybe go over the speed limit, the law doesn't matter when your s- assistant is stranded at a bar. He felt like he won't make it there in time, in time of what he doesn't know. He regrets not flying to the restaurant, but a part of him knows that if he did he might not have been able to fly the entire way with his back pain.

Tommy tucks his knees up to chest, head against the tree, the bark digging into his forehead. A few 21 year old drunks from the edge of L’manburg stumble out of the bar laughing loudly holding their leftovers. They shout and jump as they run through the parking lot to their car which is parked in the grass beside the entrance, which is close to Tommy's nap tree.

“C’mon Tracey! Don't be a pussy!” A man laughs, knocking his shoulder into his friend. There's about seven of them.

“We have work in the morning.” The girl that was lightly pushed laughs, she seemed the least hammered.

“Oh boohoo.” Their car beeps, unlocking. They go around the back, popping the trunk to put their leftovers in. The light from the car brightens the area which reveals Tommy sleeping under his tree to the group. A few snicker, pointing the boy out to each other. The main guy, the one that called ‘Tracey’ a pussy, seemed the most intrigued. Also the most drunk.

“Yo, guys, look at this homeless kid.” The guy points like an idiot, staring down at the little blonde kid. Tommy looked younger than he actually was, and much younger than his legal age, so to an outsider in messy clothes in the middle of the night Tommy does look like a 13 year old boy.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Fucking hell how old is he?” Tracey grimaces. “Should we call someone?”

“Shut up, Tracey.” The main guy demands, grabbing his leftovers from the truck.

“Aw, are you going to feed him?” His girlfriend giggles, rubbing his bicep awkwardly.

“Something like that.” He walks over to the tree, squatting in front of Tommy. The boy was still asleep, lightly, but asleep. “Yo, wake up.”

The man reaches forward with the hand that isn't holding his room temperature spaghetti in a to-go box to hit the top of Tommy's head. Tommy, of course, wakes up with a surprised jump. His friends snicker, leaning against the car as they watch the situation unfold.

“Wh-” Tommy begins, confused. He was still a bit dazed from his sleep, eyes having to adjust to the now light shining on his face from the trunk of the nearby car.

Before he can finish his sentence a pile of spaghetti is dumped over his head, the sauce pooling into hair and noodles down his face onto his clothes. He was more than just shocked, he was flabbergasted. He barely got the chance to put his legs away from his chest before he was covered in spaghetti.

“What the fuck?!” Tommy shouts, pushing noodles off his body as he pushes himself to a stand. “Asshole!”

The man just laughs, standing from his squat. One of his friends grabs their own leftovers and throws the open container of salad covered in dressing at Tommy, which he didn't have the chance to dodge.

“C’mon guys, leave the kid alone.” Tracey sighs, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“Don’t be a goody two shoes, Trace.”

Tommy stands horrified, covered in disgusting food, sauce dripping down from his hair onto his forehead and cheeks.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” Tommy shouts, again, backing up closer to the tree with his feet ready to book it. He knew how to fight, but he kinda sucked at it when it came to not having his wings. 7 vs 1 doesn't sound like a good battle to have without his wings or his Theseus confidence.

“Aren’t you hungry?” The man teases in the type of voice someone would sarcastically use on a dog. “We’re doing you a favor.”

“No the hell you're not, ugly ass motherfucker.” Tommy spits, grabbing a handful of pasta off his head and throwing it back at the man that poured it on him. It splats onto his white t-shirt, staining the white into red. He looked terribly offended as if Tommy had just stomped on his cat, which is extremely hypocritical as he had literally just done that four times worse to Tommy.

“How dare…” The man scowls, looking up from his shirt. “I’m going to fuck you up.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Tommy grins, but he quickly closes his mouth so sauce doesn't slip into his mouth. He didn't want a stranger’s pasta sauce from his hair in his mouth, too many germs for his already sensitive immune system.

He steadies himself on his feet, curling his hands into knuckled fists at his side. The man’s friends close in, circling around him with their arms crossed. The only one who doesn't snicker and get closer is Tracey, but Tommy isn't really focused on who isn't getting ready to drunkenly jump him and rather on who IS.

The man pounces, reaching to grab Tommy's head. The boy doges, ducking low to not get grabbed. While he was down he threw a quick punch to the man’s groin. He stumbles back, crying out in pain and holding his groin. Tommy can't help but let himself smile at the hit, his eyes trailing up to the man’s as to see them cloud with pain and anger.

He didn't see the two men creeping up behind him, but he did notice them when two hands fell onto each of his shoulders as they pulled him backwards. They wrapped around his arms, holding him back by the shoulders and elbows. He’s dragged to his feet, he wasn't even able to kick them away. He has to hold back the urge to curse under his breath.

“Little asshole.” The man he hit in the groin groans as he straightens up, glaring at the boy he assumed was 13 and still attacked. “Can’t get out?”

“Fuck you.” Tommy blurts out, trying to rip his elbows away from the men holding him back. The man, he’ll just call him ‘asshole’, walks up close to him. Asshole doesn't hesitate to throw a hard punch to Tommy's face, striking him in the jaw. It caused his head to snap to the side, a cough mixing into his pained groan. He didn't notice a car pulling into the parking lot with a familiar man sitting inside.

“You should find somewhere else to loiter and sleep, homeless trash.”

“That’s what this is about?” Tommy bursts into laughter, shaking his hanging head. “XD, you're stupid.”

Asshole throws a second punch, this one hitting him in the nose and causing a trickle of blood pouring down his face and over his lips. He seems annoyed, frustrated at Tommy's sudden laughter. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Just laughing at your own idiocy.” Tommy’s laughter fades away when he gets fucking punched again. “You went all the way out of your way to not only waste time, but also waste food to just pick on some guy you think is homeless.”

“Oh shut the fuck up.” The man rolls his eyes, reaching forward to grab the front of Tommy's shirt, holding the boy up to him. “You’re a piece of dirty trash.”

“Let me go.”

“I’ll fucking kill y-”

“What’s going on here, kids?” Phil’s voice interjects, the crow looming behind the group with his wings spread wide and intimidating. He has his arms crossed, eyes narrowed in the dark.

“Fuck off old man, mind your business.” Asshole speaks without turning to face the man. The people holding Tommy let go so quickly Tommy stumbles onto his knees. They recognized the wings of Father Crow, the number one hero of the city. “The h-”

“Guys we gotta go!” One of the men shouts, sprinting over to the car. Asshole turns around, spotting the large black wings.

“Shit!” Asshole runs to his car, jumping in the passenger's seat. The not-so drunk lady takes the driver's seat, skidding out of the parking lot with a shout and a screech of their tires.

Tommy holds his jaw, trying to shake the red sauce out of his hair and into the grass. Phil folds his wings, rushing over to his assistant. He reaches out and helps pull Tommy to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks, trying to look over Tommy's face but can't see much through the night sky.

“Uhm- yeah.” Tommy wipes the blood from his lip with his thumb. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“It’s fine, kiddo.” Phil sighs, grabbing Tommy by the shoulders. “Let’s get to my car, I’ll drive you home.”

Phil pats the kid’s arm, feeling lettuce. “Why are you covered in food?”

“They thought I was homeless so they threw food at me.” Tommy chuckles, walking with Phil off the grass and to the car. Phil parked literally right in front of the entrance, almost blocking the way inside the lot. His car doors were wide open as if he ran from it the moment he spotted the scenario, which isn't that far from the truth.

“Some people.” Phil shakes his head, stepping forward to open the door for Tommy. The boy slides into the car, glad the seats were black leather instead of the more common white rich people go for. Phil walks to the other side; hopping in quickly and flicking the car light on to look at Tommy. His eyes trail from the pulsating redden jaw that will form a bubbling bruise, his beaten nose dripping with blood, the spaghetti sauce soaking his bright blonde hair, and the salad mix covering Tommy's shirt and the noodles hanging from every edge of his body. His gaze softens from angry worry to pitiful concern. He pops the center console, handing Tommy a random tissue from within. He has kids, kids are messy in cars, he always makes sure to have napkins and wet napkins in his car along with a plastic cup in the case of puking. “You poor thing.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, grabbing the napkin and shoving in against his nose. It soaks up the blood, but it does add a pressure that sends a new wave of pain through his now swelling face. Seeing Tommy's stubborn distaste Phil sighs, putting the car into drive. It takes the man a bit to wiggle out of the parking lot, on the edge of hitting every car nearby as he tries to escape the building maze of crowded cars. He’s shocked the young adults that were attacking Tommy managed to zoom out so fast without getting into a wreck. He manages to get turned around to the exit and able to go back onto the main road. The dark road is a breath of fresh air as it’s drastically more open and empty compared to the parking lot.

Tommy leans back against the seat, a deep rooted part of him truly doesn't care if he ruins the pure leather with the oily pasta sauce and salad dressing. His eyes glare out the window. He doesn't want to explain anything or talk about what happened, but he owes Phil more than just using him for a savior and a free Uber. He would answer questions if asked, which he will be in just a minute, as long as they don't shine Clay in a bad light.

Phil glances over at Tommy over and over again, hesitant to say something but worried at the same time. “Why were you at Logstedshire?”

“I went there for dinner with my dad.” Tommy shrugs, refusing to make eye contact.

“Hm.” Phil nods. “And why were you stranded again?”

Tommy pauses, wringing his hands in front of him. “He kinda drove away while I was in the bathroom…”

“Really?” Phil tilts his head the way Tommy often does, and did in the restaurant, except he isn't ashamed of doing it. He is very expressive in his head tilts.

“It’s no big deal.”

“I never said it was.” Phil glances over. Tommy immediately said it was a big deal without Phil ever having to say anything. “But I will now. It’s a really big deal, kiddo.”

“Not a kid.”

“Close enough to one, but even if you weren't it's still an asshole move to abandon someone in the middle of nowhere without a ride.” Phil sighs, gripping the steering wheel tighter subtly.

“Dad’s not an asshole…” Tommy mumbles, crossing his arms. He knew Phil was right, more than right with what Phil didn't know about Clay, but he didn't want to think of Clay like that. Clay raised him, he loved Tommy. He was even taking him on a vacation in a few months, Tommy had to be respectful to his name.

“I’m sorry I said that, but I find it true.” Phil glances over with a slight smile, glaring at the darkening patch on his jaw.

“Last time we talked about him you called him a smart man-” Tommy points out, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“Well I didn't know him yet, and I still don't, but I’m basing my opinions on what I know so far. This might've been a one off, it's still bad, but it could just be a one time thing. Is this a one off, Thomas?” Phil asks seriously, using Tommy's actual name. It scared Tommy honestly. Phil has always been light and calm, Tommy rarely sees the man this serious. Even during a fight Phil isn't this serious.

“Y-yeah.” Tommy lies, nodding unnecessarily. “He’s never done anything like this before.”

“I don't believe you, but I won't pry.” Phil assures, curling his fingers around his steering wheel. He turns left after slowing for a stop sign, the drive to the city felt a lot longer than it did coming out. Then again, he WAS speeding on the way there and is now just gliding on the speed limit.

“Why ask if you're not going to believe me?” Tommy asks, a tad annoyed.

“Because I wanted to see how you’d respond, it tells me all I needed to know for the time being.” Phil breathes out, letting one hand off the wheel to push his hair back from his face. “Can you grab my phone from the floor? I tossed it there when I got in my car.”

Tommy leans forward, looking around the open leg space in front of him. A small black rectangle sits between the wall thing farthest away from the door and the seat. He wiggles his fingers into the small crack, grasping the phone and pulling it up to hand to Phil. It was weird, to say the least.

Clay never allowed Tommy anywhere near his phone. It was like a relic that would explode if touched by someone other than its owner growing up. Tommy grabbed it one time when he was 10, he was curious and bored. It went very wrong, broken arm wrong. He learnt to not even look at Clay's phone for too long whenever he ever sees it sitting around or beside Clay from that day.

“Here.”

“I don't like touching my phone when driving.” Phil shakes his head, putting his hand out to push the phone back towards Tommy. “Can you open it and put your address into the gps?”

Uh… sure.” Tommy turns the phone over to look at the screen. It lights up when it gets turned over, a photo on his lockscreen. It was a younger Phil holding a baby with blonde hair and blue eyes wrapped up in a red blanket. Beside him was a woman looking down at the baby. A woman Tommy knew very well. The woman from his dreams? Her hair was long and a blackish purple color, her eyes dark and face pale. Her features were beautiful, they finally came together in Tommy's mind. “Who is she?”

Tommy blurts out, pointing at the lady on the screen next to Phil. He turns to screen to face Phil, the man’s eyes darting between the road and the screen. His face saddens, softening in an endearing yearning.

“My late wife, Kristen.” Phil smiles sorrowfully. “Technoblade took that photo of me, her, and our baby boy without us knowing on my phone.”

Tommy feels bad for asking, but he got the answer he’s been needing for weeks. Kristen was who was talking to him in his sleep, but how?

“Did she have an ability?” Tommy asks. It was a weird question, but Phil answers it anyway.

“Yeah, but I don't exactly know what it was. I think… Limbo?”

“Limbo…” Tommy echoes, remembering his train station. That made sense, but it also only led to more questions. So his dreams weren't just dreams then? Was dead Kristen visiting him in his… Limbo? “Uh- Sorry for asking.”

Tommy swipes the screen up, the unlock screen popping up with the numbers 0-9.

“Do you want to unlock it?”

“No, you can. The password is 44673.” Phil tells him casually. Tommy nods awkwardly, typing the numbers on with shaky fingers. The phone unlocks to his home screen of Technoblade and Wilbur standing together with their Hero Certificates stiffly in front of a random ass door. Phil seems to care about his family a lot.

Tommy swipes through his apps, finding the gps. He clicks on it and rapidly types in his address into the search bar. He starts the path there, the estimated amount of time to get there reads 24 minutes from their location. He sets the phone down into the cupholder, it felt weird to be holding it any longer.

“Thanks.” Phil smiles, the phone's automated voice tells him to make a right in 3 miles. “Are you okay? No broken bones?”

“No broken bones.” Tommy shakes his head, his nose has ceased bleeding. “Just a few bruises and spaghetti hair.”

“I’m sorry I didn't get there quicker, kiddo.” Phil sighs, clicking his teeth together.

“Don’t apologize, Phil. You didn't even need to come if you didn't want to.”

“I needed to, Tommy. I wouldn't sleep well knowing you're off somewhere alone without a way home.” Phil reassures, rolling his sore shoulders. His big wings were folded behind him. Tommy didn't realize how beautiful they were until today and how ugly his truly were. Phil’s feathers were preened and soft, each one long and healthy. His wing color was dark and deep, nothing like his bloody red. Phil’s wings were wide and not balding in random spots. Phil’s wings were beautiful and Tommy couldn't help himself but stare. Unfortunately Phil is very aware of his surroundings and notices the staring.

“Neat, huh?” Phil chuckles, letting his wing unfold a bit to let Tommy see his feathers better.

“They’re gorgeous.” Tommy breathes, unable to control himself.

“I keep good care of them.” Phil smiles widely.

“I can tell! The feather to wing bone connection is so sturdy, and all your feathers are perfectly shaped and preened. How the hell do you get them to lay that evenly?” Tommy rambles off. His wings were always losing feathers and the feathers grew back like crooked teeth, his feathers always laid overcrowded and in jutting directions like messy hair.

Phil wasn't used to people genuinely complimenting the TRUE beauty of his wings. Most only saw the large feathers and wide wingspan, not many saw the little things. A lot of people called winged people beautiful for their wings when many don't take proper care of their wings. It's like seeing someone with gross teeth and bad breath knowing they don't brush but everyone says they're teeth are beautiful. That's just the avian world, though. But Tommy? He saw the wing to bone connections and feather laying and shaping. It's abnormal, but refreshing.

“Thank you, that’s one of the best compliments I’ve ever gotten on my wings. How do you know so much about avian wings?”

The worst question Phil could ask. Tommy may be a master liar, but Phil was hard to lie to after knowing him this long. Especially since Technoblade already knows about Tommy's wings.

“I just do.” Tommy shrugs. It was a defective method of answering a question you need to lie about, a classic tactic but a cowardly one.

“Alright.” Phil doesn't really believe him, yet again, but he doesn't want to insist on an answer for such a small thing. “I bet you're excited for a shower, huh?

“Hell yeah, I need one, badly.”

-

“We’re here.” Phil slows to a stop in front of a house he can only see due to the headlights. Man was it dark outside, no street lights either. L’manburg was a pure shithole. Tommy could see Clay's car parked outside, but the house was dark and still other than the slight shift of a curtain by the living room. “Are you alright to go inside?”

“Yes, Phil, I’ll be fine.” Tommy unbuckles, a sense of dread digging into his deep stomach. “It’s not like we’re fighting or something.”

“Alright…” Phil murmurs nervously. He reaches over as Tommy cracks the door open, holding the boy's shoulder. “Stay safe, kiddo.”

“I will.” This time Tommy isn't cut off by his phone dying, he’s able to hear Phil’s full endearment and respond.

Tommy slides away from his grasp and out of the car. He slings his bag over his shoulder and shuts the door gently. The space where he sat was covered in sticky sauce, but it would hopefully be easy to clean. As Tommy walks up to his house he waves to Phil who didn't drive away yet. Just as Tommy reaches open the door he hears Phil’s car shift into drive and slowly inch away.

The door was unlocked so he didn't have to dig for his key. His living room was dark and bare, he shuts the door quietly behind him.

“Tommy.”

Shit.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Dad.” Tommy turns, facing his father who sits in the dark of the living room. He sounded mad, as if he wasn't the one that left Tommy behind.

“Who drove you home, huh?” Clay asks, his green eyes almost glow in the dark creepily enough. Tommy almost felt… mad? Was he mad at Clay?

He’s never been truly mad at his father, only ever irritated or displeased. It doesn't often escalate into anger, but for some reason it does today. Maybe it was the refresher of seeing Phil, a kind father, or maybe it was the exhaustion of the night wearing down on him. Though it very well could just be the frustration of having dried pasta sauce in his hair.

“My boss, since you thought running off in the middle of the meal was a good idea.” Tommy fights, he feels like a teenager from a book going through a rebellious phase.

Except he wasn't a teenager, was he? Nor did he exist only inside a fantasy. Life isn't going to go his way because he’s a main character, this is real life. And in real life people throw punches and they hurt you without it turning into a wonderful story to tell to future grandkids.

“Cut the attitude, Tommy. I had a work emergency.” Clay scowls, leaning back against the cushion of the couch. “Father Crow?”

“Yes.” Tommy nods, trying to keep the anger from lacing his voice and tongue. He knew how BAD Clay could get, he was already past the point of a broken limb if this were any other day. It's not any other day though, Clay has been acting weird for the entirety of it. “I had to call him for a ride.”

“And tell me, how did he react? Did you tell him it was me that left you there?” Clay asks. Tommy could feel Clay’s eyes narrow on him even through the dark of the living room.

“I did.” Tommy couldn't lie well to Clay, it felt impossible almost. “He wasn't happy.”

Clay clicks his tongue disappointedly. His shadow grows as he pushes himself into a stand, his walk slow and predatory. “Now that's where YOU went wrong, Tommy.”

Tommy's tongue catches in his mouth, his wings twitching in their binding to escape the situation. He hated Clay’s voice when it was like this, it ripples through his mind and freezes his movement without Clay even having to use his powers. Clay is usually… loud when he’s angry. Not quiet and slow, he’s quiet and slow when he’s truly enraged. It's been a long time since he’s been like this.

“I’m sorry, b-”

“Are you trying to make excuses for speaking bad about me in front of a hero? The number ONE hero?” Clay spits, closing in on the boy.

“No.” Tommy shakes his head, biting back his words. It wasn't his fault, was it? It couldn't be his fault. But it was. It had to be. He can't blame Clay for his own decision to call Phil. Tommy could’ve called Nick, that would've hurt Clay less.

Clay lifts his hand, grabbing Tommy's chin tightly. His fingers press into his jaw, piercing pain into the forming bruise from the fight with the spaghetti assholes. He holds Tommy's face up towards him, his brightly lit green eyes sending daggers of hate into Tommy. Tommy wasn't Drista tonight, Tommy is Phil.

“Do you know how much I hate you, Tommy?” Clay’s voice is smooth with venom, low but loud in the silence of the room. “You ruined me.”

“I-”

“Don’t speak out of turn.” Clay demands. “I could've been a successful man if it weren't for you, I could have ruled this city and swam in my own cash. But no, I’m stuck in this shitty house with you.”

Clay blames Tommy for the life he’s led, even if the boy was barely a toddler when Clay destroyed his own life.

He was going to be a hero, he had just been accepted into an academy the day before his sister died. Phil let her die, that's what Clay believes. He dropped out of academy and used his hate to hurt Phil, but it hasn't gone how he wished.

Instead of his original plan he got attached to the boy, he was so similar to his sister some days that he couldn't help but keep him longer than he meant to. If Tommy is Phil today, then today he’s the reason for his pain. That's how it works in the great mind of Clay.

“Don’t speak to Phil about me again or you're not going back to that tower again. Hell, you're not leaving this house again.” Clay pauses. “Maybe you weren't ready in the first place.”

Tommy's eyes widened. No. No. no… he needs this job. He needs to be able to leave this god awful house for the majority of a day or he’ll go insane. He swears he’ll go crazy.

“This is your only warning, Tommy.” Clay leans forward, whispering it into Tommy's ear. “Talk badly of me again and I’ll rip that quick tongue straight from your dirty mouth. Okay?”

“Mhm.” Tommy nods his head, barely even able to make the sounds to agree.

“Good.” Clay makes up with his sly smile, pushing Tommy onto the floor in front of him. Tommy stumbles onto his ass with a thump, hands going out behind him to soften his fall. It was such a familiar feeling.

-

Tommy had recently got his wings, he was around 11 at the time. They were still white, almost with a slight pink hue. He didn’t learn to keep them bound all the time, he hasn't even been outside his house yet either. So for now they were just… out.

His wings were pretty small, they reminded him of a chicken's wings with their stature and twitching. Tommy liked them a lot, they felt like a part of him that would make him special. They made him more than just a boy stuck in his house with his father who went through crazy mood swings. They were beautiful to him.

Clay didn’t find them beautiful, though. He found them disgusting, at least that's what Tommy saw. Clay refused to speak to him most days after they sprouted, there's still a fading blood stain on the carpet in the corner of their living room from the growing.

But we aren't here to speak about the ACTUAL wing sprout or how much Clay hated them. Today we’re learning why Tommy hates them, even if they're gorgeous and a whole part of his vigilante persona. Today we learn how he broke his wing.

It was a gloomy day, as any other. Clay was home, watching something on the television in the living room. Tommy was in the kitchen eating a microwave dinner, some soggy ass pasta with dry chicken in it. Shitty food, but food he was used to at the time.

His chicken wings were folded behind him, the little things flapping randomly. It wasn't a loud noise, but it definitely made a small little whooshing whenever they did. They were constantly ansty, for what? Tommy at the time didn’t know, but after researching he learnt that they needed to fly.

Newly winged Avains can't REALLY fly yet, but they're always itching for the sky. Their avian parents take the kids on flights so the children can uselessly flap their wings to cure the urge and strengthen the wing muscles.

Today they were incredibly antsy, almost constantly breaking their fold to do a little flappity. It was annoying, to say the least, but not as annoying as it was to Clay could just slightly hear from the room over. It was bad enough that Tommy had wings, the extra noise wasn't a great bonus for the man.

“Tommy! Shut those fucking wings up or I’m going to snip them off!” Clay shouted from the living area, his hands curled into reddening fists. Tommy was used to his angry threats, it barely even caused him to jump a bit.

“I’m trying.” Tommy murmured as he shoved a spoonful of shit pasta into his mouth.

He tried his absolute best to hold his wings back, but no matter how hard he gritted his teeth or forced his wings down they just wouldn't keep still. It wouldn't have been a problem if Tommy was home alone or in his bedroom, but neither were the case. He was downstairs with Clay home.

Sometimes he thinks he wasn't all that hungry that day, he should've just skipped dinner like he was planning to instead of going downstairs with his wings while Clay was home.

Of course Tommy blames himself for what Clay did, that's how an abused child WOULD think when trapped in a situation like this. One day he’ll be able to look back and know he truly did nothing wrong, but for now the guilt still lies.

“What did I say Tommy?!” Clay shouted, just growing more and more irritated by the second. He couldn't stay focused on the television. Despite the flapping being so quiet, it was just loud and inconstant enough to bother him. Honestly the sound brought memories back for Clay of hanging out with his older cousin when he was a little one. “Just make them stop!”

“I’m trying!” Tommy shouted back, setting his fork down on the counter. He was trying his absolute hardest to keep his wings in line, but no matter how hard he tried they just got worse and worse until Clay snapped.

“I said-” Clay shut the television off. He slammed the remote onto the cracked coffee table and stormed into the kitchen. “SHUT THEM UP!”

Tommy stared at Clay, cursing his own body and instincts for putting him in this goddamn situation.

“Loo-”

“Zip it.” Clay blurted out, his eyes darted between Tommy's wings and his face. Even if they momentarily ceased their flapping, they were still annoyingly twitchy and perked up. “Make them stop moving, right now.”

“I- I can't.” Tommy stammered, the stress only caused further twitching as his wings could feel fear through his mind and give him the need to fly away.

“You need to!” Clay shouted. He reached forward to grab Tommy by the wing, his fingers curled around Tommy's right away. He squeezed it, but even through his tight grip did it move. “These stupid fucking wings!”

Clay screamed. Tommy felt tears begin to run down his face, he was significantly shorter compared to his father at the time since he was 11. The grip on his wing pulled him up a bit, pushing himself to his toes to keep from it just ripping from his back.

“Dad!” Tommy cried, holding back the urge to grab Clay's arm and pull it away. That would only hurt him more even if it ceased the pain in his wing.

“Shut up! Why are you so fucking loud?!” Clay grumbled, gritting his teeth.

Clay couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take having to remember his cousin everytime he even heard Tommy walking around. It's bad enough seeing the man in the kid’s face.

These stupid wings were just like Phil’s when they were younger, he was so proud of them. Phil would show his small little white wings to all his family members, even Clay. Now those memories, which used to be good, left a sour taste in his mouth. Tommy only soured them even further.

“You disgust me.” Clay whispered. He went from loud and expressive to almost… emotionless in the matter of seconds. His face numbed, his eyes went blank. There wasn't even a determined spark left behind them, that gleam was gone.

It was the first time Tommy ever saw Clay like this, and trust me when I say it scared the absolute crap out of him. Tommy froze, he couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could barely make a coherent thought.

Clay pushed Tommy, letting go of his grip on Tommy's wing to let the boy fall to the tile floor on his ass much like he does now. Instead this time he didn’t put his hands out to catch himself, this time his wings fluttered to try and steady him. But they were too small and weak, they only succeeded in being a burden.

Tommy landed with a thump, almost hitting his head on the fridge in the process. Clay squatted, grabbing Tommy by the head.

“I hate you.” Clay spit familiarly, but back then it was a shock for Tommy. He’s heard I love you, Go away, You’re disgusting, but never ‘I hate you’ from Clay. He couldn't help but cry. “Stop being a baby.”

Clay pushed Tommy's head, forcing the kid to slip onto his chest instead of his ass. His fingers grasp the wing again, slowly twisting the weak muscle bone until it snaps.

Tommy's screams were loud and high that night and they didn’t stop until Clay used his powers on him, even after Tommy sobbbed on the tile floor. Clay broke his wing, and at the same time he broke Tommy's mind. Tommy binded his wings, hating them.

The pain of a broken wing is unbearable. It ripples through your body, everlasting pain. Even in the current time does Tommy occasionally feel a bit of an ache in the wing bone since it never had the resources to heal properly.

Tommy hates what Clay did to him, he hates remembering the sounds of his own screams and the snapping of his wing. Man did that hurt, that really fucking hurt.

-

Tommy rubs his jaw, the ache seeping into his gum within his mouth. Clay kneels in front of him, again. It was like that moment five years ago all over again, except this time he didn’t have his wings out. If his wings were forced to be revealed, which he doubts but it's possible, it would ruin everything. He has no doubt that Clay would connect him to Theseus in a heartbeat.

“It’s like you never learn, Tommy. Do you even remember my rules anymore? Did I not plaster them into your brain?”

“I know the rules.” Tommy looks down, eye contact is the last thing he’d want with those empty green eyes.

“Yet you keep breaking them.” Clay whispers. He knows Tommy has good hearing and he doesn't have to speak loud to be heard, but his whispers are never for the sake of Tommy's ears. They're always intimidation tactics. “Repeat them to me, if you remember so clearly.”

“Never leave.”

“You never leave.”

“Never speak ill of you.”

“And you did today.”

“Don’t talk back.”

“You’ve been ever since you got home.”

“Don’t eat your food.”

“I’ve noticed the missing snacks.”

“Don’t touch your phone.”

“You’ve actually listened to that one.”

“Be respectful.”

“You’ve been slipping.”

“Never tell a soul what goes on here, others don't understand what you've had to do to survive in life and they won't take it nicely.”

“You got close today, Tommy. You’ve been so bad lately and I’ve just been letting you go off the hook. My food’s gone missing, you're talking poorly of me, you talk back.” Clay grabs Tommy's right wrist. “I think you've been influenced too much by those sappy heroes.”

“No- no I haven't.”

“Back talk.” Clay sings, bending Tommy's wrist a bit. “I think you have. Maybe it's time we start learning again, you've clearly memorized the rules but don't truly understand them anymore.”

“I u-”

“Shush, Tommy.” Clay adds more pressure to Tommy's wrist, starting to bend it past its limit. “I know it's been a while, but I think we’re going to resort to old punishments now, boy.”

“Dad pl-”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Clay spits, snapping Tommy's wrist in half breaking the bone within. Tommy bites back a scream, he would only be puppeted if he did. Instead he hisses loudly through his teeth, slamming his eyes shut. “You’re such a spoiled brat. I gave you too much growing up, I should've been harsher.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s a start.” Clay sighs. “Go to your room, be up in time for work.”

With that Clay drops Tommy's now broken wrist, standing up from his squat. Tommy stumbles up and runs up the creaking stairs, holding his limp hand with his other. Clay stands in the living area, his mind returning to him. Fuck did he lose his sanity sometimes, not that he ever regrets losing it after, but sometimes it could be a bit irritating.

Clay grabs his car keys, slamming the front door behind him. Although he was still intoxicated from the beer at the restaurant, he felt surprisingly sober. Plus, he wanted to go have a conversation with George about the new advancements in their plan.

-

“Fuck me.” Tommy groans, wincing at the loud noise from the front door slamming downstairs as he enters his bedroom. He held his terribly bent wrist, it wasn't as painful as having a broken wing but it definitely hurt.

Tommy trips over to his desk. It was a plan wood desk he found on the side of the road and brought home. It held his shitty laptop and some random trinkets along with a white framed dirty ass mirror. He does keep a bandage roll or two in the drawer along with some gauze pads. He needed to grab some before heading for a shower to clean the pasta sauce from his hair and the salad dressing off his skin.

So he very slowly grabs what he needs. A towel, some fresh work clothes, bandages, and a washcloth. He has a feeling he won't be sleeping tonight so he’ll just dress for the work day, it's only in a few hours anyway.

He holds all his stuff with his left arm and hand, tossing the clothes and towel onto the floor in front of the shower. He turns to the mirror to check out the condition he’s in.

His nose was beginning to purple, it was swollen but didn't appear to be broken. His jaw held another bruise, but it wasn't that bad. His hair looked sticky and gross.

“Asshole did a fucking great job at fucking me up, huh?” Tommy asks the air, laughing dryly down at the sink. He looked back up at the mirror, but this time the reflection changed. Instead of just him in the mirror Kristen was there next to him. He could see her full face this time, it was so beautiful yet sad.

“Yes he did, so did Clay.” She spoke, looking down at Tommy's bent wrist.

“Kristen…” Tommy greets, the name felt wrong in his mouth. It felt like he wasn't supposed to call her by name, another name would've sounded better but Tommy doesn't know what it would be.

“Looks like you saw my photo from Phil the?” Kristen smiles. Tommy knows she isn't REALLY beside her, he can't see her in his peripheral vision. She’s just there in the mirror, which is a weird way to look into the afterlife? The dead? He doesn't know what to call it. “Thank you for saving Techno.”

“What happened to him?”

“It’s not my place to tell, I already got into enough trouble trying to stop it.” Kristen sighs. Her voice was so smooth and comforting. “Thank you anyway.”

“I don't understand what's going on.” Tommy almost whispers, trying not to cry at the simple sight of her. It was like her presence just resurfaced all his pitiful emotions.

“I know, hon. I know.” Kristen defeats, looking away. “It’ll all make sense with time, I hope. I just need you to keep digging, keep pushing your mind past that scar on your head. Remember what has been forgotten.”

“What’s so important about those memories?! A lot of people don't remember being a toddler, so what if it was 8 for me?!” Tommy shouts, growing frustrated.

“Tommy, it wasn't just not being able to remember stuff from that time period. It was you waking up not knowing who Clay was, not knowing where you are or who you are much more than just your name. It isn't a fleeting of memories with age, it's pure amnesia.”

“Fine, I’ll try to remember.” Tommy grits his teeth, but he couldn't be mad at her. Another thing he doesn't know, but he couldn't be mad. “I’ll try.”

“Good, honey. I just hope you can in time.” Kristen relaxes.

“Wait-” Tommy had a feeling she was about to leave again. “Why me?”

“What?”

“Why are you talking to me? And how? If you have that ability even in death then why not talk to your family?” Tommy asks.

“Even if I wanted to I wouldn't be able to speak to my husband or other kids, it isn't in their blood. You have that blood, Tommy, the connection to Limbo.” Kristen fades, her voice echoing quietly in Tommy's head.

He missed the little details of her words, the small things that he if he picked up on might've helped to start his questioning of his life. The fact she used ‘other kids’ and not ‘her kids’ or that he has the blood, meaning her blood.

But no, Tommy is stupid and he just lightly punches the countertop with his left hand. Frustration and confusion.

-

“George.” Clay greets, closing the office door behind him. “Did you get my voicemail?”

“I did. I gotta say, that's some valuable but disheartening information to find out.” George sighs, setting down his work. He was sketching out a map of the city currently, giving them some upper hands in battle when it arrives. “Four months…”

“It needs to be soon. We were planning on 8 months, but halving it would be best. Y’know how Phil can be, that man is determined. He’ll get a hold of Tommy and us if we don't act fast.” Clay paces.

“I know, Clay, I’m not stupid like Nick.” George scoffs, facing Clay as he leans against his own desk. “Are you sure you’ll be able to do it?”

“What do you mean? Of course I’ll be able to.” Clay huffs, quick to defend himself. He didn't like looking bad in front of George.

“What I mean is this little liking you’ve taken towards our prized possession.” George’s voice is low and almost taunting. “Don’t deny it, I’ve seen the way you look at him. It's the same gaze you had whenever little Drista walked in the room.”

“Tommy is nothing like Drista.” Clay was still in his Phil hatred, but even if he was seeing Tommy as his sister he’d still deny it.

“Sure he isn't, except for his boundless energy and bright eyes.” George teases. “I just want to be sure you’ll go through with our plan. I’d hate to do all the work just for you to back down.”

“I won't back down!” Clay shouts, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Hurting Phil matters more to me than anything.”

“So you’ll kill him?”

“I’ll kill him, I will.”

“Good.” George smiles. “We’re going to destroy those hero scumbags.”

“Yes we will.” Clay smiles back.

“Now, let's go have a little discussion with Sapnap. We still haven't caught that little birdie yet and our numbers are starting to drop.” George stands straighter.

“Fucking Theseus.”

And with that the two set off to find their friend, unaware of the fact that Tommy will soon be remembering past the wall they made when they hit him over the head or that a new organization is forming. Theseus alone is the least of his worries when he’s part of a team of some of the most dangerous people in the city.

The Dream Organization has too much confidence, they’ll be hit very, very soon with something they might not be able to just bounce back from easily.

Theseus, Quackity, Blood God, 3D, Kinises, and the Captain will only be a part of their downfall and they don't even know it.

Chapter Text

“Morning, Wilbur.” Tommy greets as he walks into the office that morning. He was kinda shocked to see Wilbur back at work so soon after his relapse, but he assumes the whole Tommy C. ordeal put a bit of a buffer in the way of focus on recovery. Not that Wilbur knows he knows, it's not like he can just outright say it was him that flew Wilbur home from the bar.

“Morning Tom-” Wilbur's voice cuts off, but what Tommy did hear of it was low and hoarse. “What the fuck!?”

“Huh?” Tommy stops walking for a moment, turning his eyes towards the kitchen area table. Wilbur sits there, phone loosely held in his hand, staring in utter shock at Tommy. It takes him a moment to piece it together, but he can assume Wilbur was staring at the very large and swollen bruises on his face. “Oh.”

“You get beat up?” Wilbur stammers, looking Tommy up and down. His eyes land on the limp arm at Tommy's side, the edge of the wrapping shows at the palm of his hand. It was meant to be a semi-sarcastic joke, but by the looks of Tommy that isn't impossible.

“I mean… sorta.” Tommy shrugs. He knows he looks pretty fucking bad, his nose large and purple and jaw blackening.

“Holy shit.” Wilbur whispers, jumping up from the chair and bouncing across the room to Tommy. He looked honestly exhausted, deep eye bags that twin Tommy's and pale skin. It's like the whole Craft family had extremely horrible sleep schedules, even the one they don't know is their family. “That’s bad, Tommy.”

“Eh- it's alright.” Tommy shrugs, feeling awfully awkward with Wilbur's fussiness over his bruises.

“Not really,” Wilbur grimaces. “Who’d you even fight?”

“I honestly don't know, just this asshole outside this bar-restaurant.” Okay. That did sound A LOT worse than it actually was, a bar and asshole? Definitely didn’t sound ‘alright’. Tommy tries to defend it, but he just digs a deeper pit for himself. “Don't worry, they all ran away after a bit.”

“They all?” Wilbur narrows his eyes, picking up on the little slip up. “Bar? What were you doing outside a bar?”

“Uhm…” Tommy nervously rubs the back of his neck with his left hand, sweating a bit. “For the second question I was getting dinner there.”

“And the first?”

“There were like- seven of them…” Tommy chuckles, clicking his tongue on the top of his mouth. Wilbur very audibly gasps, it almost felt too loud to be a real gasp. It honestly sounded more like a sarcastic dramatic gasp instead of a true shock.

“Holy shit squared…” Wilbur grabs Tommy's face, inspecting his nose and jaw. “Man they fucked you up.”

“I got a few hits!” Tommy defends himself, but it wasn't the full truth. He only really got one hit in, one in the balls at that, but Wilbur doesn't need to know that. It's better for him to think he got into a fight than to think he got practically jumped and was beaten up by a group of drunk adults.

“And your arm!” Wilbur shouts, gently grabbing Tommy's wrist. His touch was calm, it didn’t send too much extra pain through his bones but it definitely made Tommy a little scared. He didn’t like the feeling of someone else's fingers wrapped out his wrists. Woohoo! More trauma. “Fuck is this broken?”

Wilbur hisses through his teeth, careful not to spend the poorly wrapped wrist. “Uh- maybe? I’m not too sure.”

“Tommy! Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” Wilbur asks, dropping Tommy's wrist. He didn’t want to hurt the boy, adding pain to what he already felt.

“I don't have hospital money, Wilbur. I do your hospital bills at work, I see how much even going in for a scrape costs. I don't have enough money to buy over the counter allergy medication.”

“Oh… yeah.”

That's the big difference between Tommy and his bosses. While they're all so similar in the way they blame themselves and not other's for their shitty situations, and fucked up mental states, Tommy has suffered in a way they haven't.

The Craft family has always been well off. Phil grew up in a sweet suburban town in Kinoko and raised his kids for most of their life in a pretty nice house on the edge of Arctic. Their pantries were always full, they always had unlimited hot water and electricity. They got awesome phone plans and birthday gifts. Not that they were extremely wealthy back then, but they weren barely middle class. Lower upper class if anything.

Tommy grew up deep in L’manburg where he’s been mugged multiple times. His power got shut off at least once a month and his water rarely ever got warmer than lukewarm. His birthday barely existed, most years he didn’t even get a cake. From what he knows he doesn't have medical insurance, life insurance, not even a phone plan that gets him decent data.

Neither of these situations are either kid’s fault. Wilbur doesn't know the struggles of poverty, and he shouldn't have to, but it is good to be understanding. It isn't Tommy's fault that he didn’t get enough food as a kid, and he doesn't have to make anyone REALLY understand it. They can still be friends without knowing what the other went through on a personal level, and that's alright, but there will always be some mishaps between two people from opposite childhoods.

Wilbur will never understand true fear towards his father. He will never understand absolute loneliness or isolation. He will never understand going hungry without being able to do anything about it.

Tommy will never truly understand what a father's love is. Tommy will never understand what it feels like to have a children's birthday party. He will never feel full after every single meal.

They're different, yet so the same.

“C’mon, kid. We got a miniature medical unit downstairs for situations like this.” Wilbur sighs, spinning Tommy around by the shoulders and shoving him back out the door he just came in from.

“It’s really fine, Wilbur!” Tommy protests, but deep down he knows he won't refuse in the end. A broken wrist won't heal well without proper care, that's one thing Tommy's smart about.

“No the hell it's not. Move it.” Wilbur demands, slamming the office door. He seemed a bit mad, but Wilbur was a Craft. Craft’s are good at bottling emotions until they pop and something explodes.

“Fine.” Tommy grumbles, walking to the elevator. He was honestly just going to have Tubbo fix it later tonight, his friend keeps making more healing potions now that Tubbo has been using them, and forget it even happened. He hasn't been in a medical wing before, not even a hospital. “Where is it? I haven't seen it before.”

“Ground level.” Wilbur slides into the elevator, pressing the button and scanning his key card.

“Huh? That's where the lobby is.”

“The lobby isn't THAT big, Tommy.” Wilbur laughs. “There’s an entrance on the left side of the back wall, nothing too special but we have a team of specialized doctors down there.”

“How do you guys still have thousands of dollars in medical bills from regular hospitals if you literally have your own doctors?”

“Our medical wing is for any hero that works or lives in the tower, so the nurses are usually busy. We also don’t have the special hospital equipment like x-ray machines, CAT scans, narcotics. It’s mostly for small injuries.” Wilbur shrugs. He has used the hospital area countless times, bullet scrapes to dislocated shoulders. “Your wrist will be easy to set.”

“That’s uh- that's good.” Tommy nods along. He did feel a little awkward, to be honest. It's not that he’s ungrateful that Wilbur is giving him the resources to fix his wrist, that would never be the case. But, he is scared. He’s scared as to what Wilbur thinks of him now. He’s scared as to what the nurse would say. He’s scared to be fussed over.

“I’m curious, what was the fight about?” Wilbur lets the blaring question that entered his mind the moment he let his protective worry smooth out pop out verbally.

Tommy pauses. Honesty or lie? He’s always lied, ever since the moment he got here has he lied. His whole identity is a lie. Why just add more for something so mediocre compared to the rest of his secrets? “It’s kinda a longish story.”

“Well, tell it. This elevator is slow as fuck.”

“Okay-” Tommy glances up at the screen above the elevator door. “I was taking a nap outside the bar-restaurant waiting for my rid-”

“That’s stupid.”

“I know, but I was tired so shut the fuck up. “ Tommy glares playfully at Wilbur. “As I was napping these seven guys came up to me under the impression I was homeless. They had leftovers from their meals and poured it ALL over me, which was a pain to wash out by the way. I fought back and the fight broke out.”

“Assholes.” Wilbur scoffs.

“Exactly what I said!”

The elevator dings, jolting to a stop on the ground floor. Wilbur guides Tommy out the sliding doors and around the room, giving Alyssa a quick wave as he does so, and to a double door on the other side with a red cross plastered on the front. The lighting and smell was drastically different compared to the lobby.

The lobby had warm colors and decorations, usually smelling of ink and cold plastic. It was a friendly place, a welcoming lobby that perked you up but relaxed at the same time.

However, the medical wing was the exact opposite. White walls, cold white lighting, minimal decoration. It reeked of chemical alcohol and hand sanitizer. Gross.

“Mr. Hypnosis! Welcome back, what can I do for you today?” A woman in a nurses uniform seated behind a white front desk with a large computer sat at it with hundreds of files stacked upon the sides.

“My little assistant here has got a wrist injury, mind having Punk handle him on my behalf?” Wilbur leans against the counter, very familiar with the people and the area of this place.

“Of course sir, bring the boy to room 23 and I’ll have Punk down in a jiffy.” The nurse points down the hallway, grabbing the telephone.

“C’mon.” Wilbur places a hand on Tommy's back, pushing him along the hall to a small room with a bed, chair, counter, and a disabled heart monitor. He shuts the door behind him, flopping casually down into the chair beside the freshly made bed.

“Uh.” Tommy pauses, looking around. Deciding to say fuck it he climbs onto the bed and sits looking towards Wilbur in it. He WAS the patient, he could sit in the damn bed if he wanted to.

“Dr. Punk will get you right patched up, Toms. You’ll be in and out in no time.” Wilbur reassures.

“I know.” Tommy nods. He wasn't really worried aboit THAT part of being here.

They sat in silence for a bit, both their minds wandering. Tommy enjoyed the silence. Though he was bugged by the terribly loud ticking clock on the wall. Why does it have to be so damn loud? He decides to sadly fill the peaceful silence by asking a question that's been bugging him for a bit.

“So- what's been up with your family lately?” Tommy blurts out. He knows what kinda happened, Wilbur broke his sobriety of course, but he only knows his perspective of it. And his perspective isn't one to start talking about. Tommy knows nothing. Theseus knows a lot.

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asks, knowing full well what he meant.

“I mean the tension, Wilbur. You and Techno couldn't go five minutes in that meeting yesterday without bursting into an argument, and everytime I see one of you I never see another. Phil was staying late in his office last night, which I know is weird because you told me how he makes you two dinners most nights.” Tommy rambles out. He really was quite the observant kid when it came to things that didn’t entirely involve him.

“He stayed late last night?” Wilbur whispered, feeling guilty. Phil wasn't one to be away from their floor at night if he wasn't on a patrol. He liked to be near, he never said why but Wilbur has been comforted from a nightmare by his father too many times to NOT be able to connect the dots.

“Yeah. He was my ride at 2 in the fucking morning.” Tommy grumbles. “So you gonna tell me or is it too much to pry into?”

“Uhm…” Wilbur stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. Should he tell Tommy? Tommy wasn't exactly family, but he was starting to get close to being one. Plus, Wilbur couldn't help but look in Tommy's eyes and see HIS Tommy.

Tommy always made things better back then, whenever Wilbur had a bad day he’d tell his little brother. This isn't any different, right? Not the same kid, but Wilbur can pretend he is.

“Sure.” Wilbur lets out a deep breath. “There’s a lot of shit about me you don't know, Tommy. Bad stuff.”

“What? Like you used to do drugs?” Tommy blurts out before he could think.

“The fuck? How'd you know?”

“I…” Tommy cursed himself out in his head. “I saw the needle scars on your forearm. They were scattered and jagged, so unless you have an inexperienced and careless nurse, it's drugs.”

“Oh wow. You're pretty smart.”

“I am a child prodigy, Wilbur. 19 and already been through multiple years of college.” Was that a lie? Yes. Was Tommy an actual child prodigy? Kinda. Did he feel bad about it? No. It just made him look like a big man.

“I forgot about that.” Wilbur chuckles. “Well that makes the big reveal a lot less dramatic and stressful. Anyway, I used to also be an alcoholic and I had a recent… lapse in judgment when it came where to go while upset and had a little relapse.”

Little? Tommy knows full well that relapse was nowhere close to being little, that was shit faced drunk. But this was a story he’s not supposed to know yet so he just nods along.

“Of course my dad and brother found out about. Phil was angry, a little overdramatic, but rightfully angry. But Techno? Technoblade went berserk. He smashed my mother's guitar in front of me without remorse. We've been fighting about it now.”

Okay. That was a lot of information to take in, but Tommy has a feeling some of it was missing. He knows Technoblade, and not that Wilbur is bad he’s just a little blind, and that man wouldn't do that for no reason.

“Why your mother's guitar in particular?”

“Well we kind of made this deal YEARS ago that he would do that if I relapsed, I didn’t know he’d actually do it.”

Tommy had to take a few minutes to think, gather his points and emotions in his head like a google slideshow.

“Everyone sucks in this story.”

“What…?”

“Everyone has a side, Wilbur. You might only see it as people being mad at you and hurting you, but you need to look through their eyes. Maybe Phil should've handled things with a bit more fragility, but he also just found out his son started drinking again. He was reasonably mad at you, and it might not have just been anger. It was probably fueled by concern.”

“I didn’t really think of it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Tommy holds back the need to scoff, but he’s trying to be sensitive here. “The same goes for Technoblade. You guys made a deal, from what you said, and you broke it. It doesn't matter if it was years ago, it was still broken and it obviously mattered to him way more than it did you. He didn’t break your guitar just for the sake of breaking it, he didn’t do it out of spite. From what I've heard he did it because he cares.”

“I g-”

“The Doc is in!” A man with a white coat and orange mask pops in, nearly slamming the door behind him. “Hey there, little man. You must be my patient.”

“Not a ‘little man’! I’m literally 19.” Wrong.

“Oh… wow you look young.”

“Stunted growth.” Tommy mumbles defensively.

“Hey there, Wil. How've you been?” The man, Dr. Punk was it?, reaches forward and shakes Wilbur's hand in a friendly fashion.

“Good. You?”

“Been alright.” Punk lets go, turning back to Tommy. “My nurse told me you're suffering from a wrist injury? How'd you sustain it?”

Punk speaks as he slides up his white sleeves, stepping closer to the bed.

“Fight.”

“Ooh! Spicy.” Punk jokes. “Which arm?”

“My left.”

“Do you mind rolling your sleeve up so I can check it out?” The dreaded question. Roll the sleeve up. Fuck him.

Tommy sighs, rolling his red sleeve up slowly to the middle of his forearm. Even the bare minimum amount of rolling up still showed more than he’s ever wished to show. Just the very end of his bubbling scar, which of course is all Wilbur will stare at for the rest of this visit.

Punk carefully unwraps Tommy's wrist of his sloppily tied bandages, which he didn’t hide his judgment towards. What he reveals underneath is ugly and big. His entire wrist is purple and swollen beyond belief.

“Holy shit.” Wilbur breathes behind Punk in his chair, audibly gasping a second time.

“Looks like you got yourself a bad one here.” Punk whistles, feeling along the bone. He presses the swelling, which is painful but Tommy handles it well enough.

“Minor fracturing, major dislocation.” Punk diagnosis’. “I just need to reset the wrist and put it into a cast and you’ll be free to go.”

“Fuck! Do it.”

The relocation of Tommy's wrist hurt more than he expected, he couldn't hold back a small shout, but apparently he did better than most heroes would have so Tommy calls that a win.

Punk wraps Tommy's hand in a soft, but itchy, casting and prescribes him some random medication for the bruising before heading on his way. The doctor has other, far more valuable, patients to attend to. Though he did give Tommy a lollipop which he is now sucking on as he and Wilbur walk back to the elevator.

“Now that wasn't too hard, now was it?”

“I never said it was going to be.”

“You seemed resentfully aggravated when I made you come down.” Wilbur teases, but Tommy could tell what they were speaking about earlier hadn't fully left his mind.

“Touchè.” Tommy rolls his eyes, looking down at his cast. “This thing is gonna suck.”

“Just for a few weeks, don't fucking take it off.”

“Jeez! I wasn't planning on it.” He totally was.

“Sure you weren't.” He was.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you too.”

Silence for a few moments feels peacefully calm, much like how it is with Technoblade.

“I don't think you were a bad person just for relapsing, Wilbur. I still think you probably had a reason and it's valid, but I just wanted you to know they had one as well.”

“Thank you, Toms.”

Tommy has a bigger impact on the Craft family than he realizes sometimes.

Chapter Text

“Tubbo!” Theseus calls as he bounds down the steps of the bench base, which is just a homeless child’s home but it works.

He hasn't been on patrol in a few days, he tried the day he got his cast and almost got himself killed so he took a small break. He feels antsy when he isn't working at night, he hasn't even been sleeping. Just staring at the ceiling.

“Over here!” Tubbo calls back from the small kitchen area that was left in the basement by whoever owned it in the past. Tommy hops down onto the ground, fluttering his wings to keep his balance, and turns to Tubbo.

“Holy shit man!” Tubbo has finished his vigilante costume by the looks of it, and boy did it look fantastic. Since the kid had so much stuff hoarded in the bins in the basement he had a lot of options for his signature outfit. Tommy's gotta say, Tubbo definitely took inspiration from Tommy's own get-up.

Tubbo, who chose his hero name to be ‘Nuke’, wore flexible black pants with fire resistant material, a green sleeveless zip up turtleneck, and a navy blue long coat which honestly resembled a trench coat. It was layered in pockets within, but Tubbo also had a small bag at his side. His eyes were covered by these gold goggles that had a hexagon pattern to them, almost like a honeycomb.

Now the star of the show. His mechanic bee wings. Attached to his back by straps is a metal box with these iron bee wings sprouted from them. Tubbo has been working on them for close to a month, and by the looks of it they're finally completed.

“You look fucking awesome.” Tommy grins, holding his hand out for a high five, in which Tubbo reciprocates with a fingerless gloved hand.

“I know.” Tubbo brags, sliding his goggles up to the top of his head. He looks proud, and he is proud. He can finally make a difference in the world, be something more than just a homeless kid. “I even got a few bombs premade.”

“Bombs?”

“A few smoke bombs, homemade tear gas, and a few explosives.”

“Why did it have to be bombs?” Tommy groans.

“Because! Bombs are cool.”

“Oh well.” Tommy rolls his eyes, digging the ear piece Tubbo gave him out of his pocket. Seeing him, Tubbo does the exact same, both vigilante's sliding them into their ears. “Are you ready for your first appearance, Nuke?”

“Almost, I actually have a little something for you.” Tubbo smiles, bouncing over to his work station and grabbing something. He carries it back, holding it out to his partner in crime.

It looked simple. A four inch metal stick. “A baton?”

“No.” Tubbo stands back, whipping the stick in front of him. It clicks and extends into a 4 foot pole. “You don't have any weapons, this is figured is compact enough to carry around but also goes along with your fighting style. Whenever you fight you try to stay a decent distance away, only getting close for fast hits.”

“It’s fucking awesome.” Tommy's eyes gleam over it, already imagining himself whacking criminals over the head with it. He’s used random pipes in alleyways in battle before, this'll be no different. Except it's cooler that is.

“Take it.” Tubbo pushes the stick back into its small size, tossing it to Tommy who shoves it into his jacket pocket.. “Now we’re ready, Tommy.”

“It’s Theseus, Nuke. We have to use fake names or our identity will be discovered.” Yeah, this guy will need a bit more training before Tommy FULLY trusts him in battle, but at the moment he’d trust him more than anymore even still.

“Right… sorry.” Tubbo murmurs nervously, sliding his goggles back down his face. “Let’s go!”

“Yeah, fine. Let's get going.” Theseus sighs. He pushes his own goggles down, followed by his mask. He was excited to get back out into the world as Theseus, he’s even heard news channels lately talk about the lack of Theseus around the city at night. With Nuke he’ll be able to fight even with his injured wrist.

Theseus takes to the night sky, his large red wings flap behind him as he flies higher. He spins around, facing down towards the abandoned building. Within a few seconds a small figure rises, coming up right in front of him. Nuke’s mechanical wings whir, almost a buzzing sound, keeping him afloat. Theseus was mildly impressed by his handiwork.

“I was kinda expecting them to blow up, but I don't think they will now!” Nuke cheers, doing a little spin to show off his wings.

“WHY USE THEM IF THEY COULD'VE BLOWN UP?!” Theseus shouts, mentally face palming.

“Why go on patrol with an injured wrist?” Nuke fights, crossing his arms midair.

“Fine. We’re both reckless idiots, let's get on with this.” Theseus defeats, rolling his eyes behind his goggles. “Fly with me.”

Theseus turns, flying low altitude at a slow pace as the buzzing mechanical bee flies beside him a little wobbly.

“Vigilante’s are some of the most hated people of the supernatural world. Heroes hate us because we are technically doing something illegal. Villains hate us because we take down their drug rings and reveal their crimes.

“Citizens are divided, some hate us but some think we are a need of the system. We work without rules, unlike heroes, but we also do good, unlike most villains. We're in a gray area.”

“Why is being a vigilante illegal?”

“Because we aren't controlled by the Hero Council. We can kill or use excessive force or take down people they don't want taken down.”

“Isn’t that what heroes do anyway?”

“Some, but they do it within the Council’s control.” Theseus sighs. “But as vigilante's we are free of their reigns. Now, you can be a hero anyway you want, Nuke. You can fight people how you’d like, you could even kill if you feel it necessary, but I do things a certain way.”

“Save first, fight later.” Nuke had heard his mantra before.

“Civilian’s safety comes before your own, that's how I work. But please, do it how you wish. But here’s one rule, don't get caught. Heroes will be after you, but refuse arrest and fight back. If you are caught, don't say a word.”

“This feels like a cult.”

“You don't have to do this, Nuke. You can turn back now.” Theseus turns towards Nuke. Once he started patrolling today he would be on the news, especially since he’ll be seen with Theseus. There would be no going back.

“I don't want to turn back, I want this.”

“Good. Let's get started on what we do then.” Theseus speeds up, Nuke rushing to keep up. “Look out for ANY criminal activity. Minor crimes like a bar fight, mugging, stalking, and harassment are hard to spot so keep your eyes and ears peeled to alleyways and dark corners. Even so, look out for bigger villains if you spot them. Dreamers especially.”

“I have zooming abilities in my goggles!”

“Perfect, I have advanced hearing.”

“Theseus and Nuke, the perfect combo.”

Theseus and Nuke fly the city, mostly the L’manburg side, watching for crimes. Theseus takes down a few criminals, attempting muggings and a bar fight or two, without needed assistance from Nuke who watches to make sure nothing goes wrong. Nuke takes over one mugging himself after a few, which goes almost smoothly minus the fact he tripped over his own feet while running after the guy.

There's not much Nuke can do yet, especially on a first day, to really spread his name to the world. That's at least what the two assume, they don't know what type of trouble they’ll run into together.

“I hear something.” Theseus tells Nuke, focusing his ears into the quiet night. A gunshot.

“What is it?”

“Gunshot, nearby to the left. Look around.”

Nuke buzzes to Theseus’ left side, reaching up to zoom his goggles in on the ground. He scans the streets and alley's looking for anything mildly suspicious. Nothing in the street. Nothing around the sidewalks. Nothing in that alley, nothing in the next alley.

“7th street, alley between the closed CVS and an apartment complex.” Nuke spots something. A man holding a gun at someone, a body lying beside that person covered in blood. His zoomed in vision isn't perfect, but he can make out some of the details.

“On it.” Theseus swoops, knowing exactly what he meant. The CVS is easy to spot, and the apartment complex is much taller than most buildings around it. Nuke can't swoop down as quickly, but he is close behind.

Theseus stumbles into a land at the front of the alleyway, steadying himself as fast as he can. Inside the alleyway is a Dreamer, the guy had a tang top on with the familiar smiley face tattoo on his shoulder. His back was to Theseus, in front of the Dreamer was a sobbing woman kneeled over a bleeding man.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Dreamer shouts, waving the gun erratically at the woman.

“Hey buddy, what's going on here?” Theseus steps into the alley, hand curling over his stick in his pocket cautiously. He didn’t like being overly serious during a battle, it made it a little too real.

Dreamer turns his head to look at Theseus behind him, a sly smile appearing on his face. “Theseus! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Mind dropping the gun? I’m sure the poor lady hasn't done a thing to you to deserve getting shot.”

“Should I join?” Nuke speaks in his ear piece, keeping a decent distance away.

“I’ll distract him, you get the lady and the guy out.” Tommy mumbles under his breath, pulling his stick out and holding it in his sleeve.

“I’m good.” Dreamer turns around, facing the gun towards Theseus. “I was hoping you’d show up, actually. My boss REALLY wants you dead.”

“What a shocker.” Theseus deadpans, voice heavy in sarcasm. “You shot that guy to get me here or was it just for fun?”

“A bit of both.” Dreamer grins widely, manically. He looked absolutely deranged. Theseus has learned over the years that crazy opponents are both the easiest and most dangerous to fight. They're careless with their lives because they're so crazy, which makes it easy to weaken them but also harder to defeat. They will fight to the very end, but they don't care who they hurt and what they have to do. They won't give up until they are physically forced into surrender, one way or another.

“Come on then, let's not waste any time.” Theseus flicks the pole, it instantly extends into its full length. Holy shit did that feel badass.

Dreamer stares mockingly at the stick before pulling the trigger on his gun. Tommy can't tell if it was the man’s aim or Tommy's reaction speed while focused that allowed for him to narrowly dodge the bullet, but he won't complain either way.

“That's all you got?” Theseus teases, slashing the pole out in front him. It nearly smacks into the gun, but the Dreamer was just able to jump backwards.

Theseus spots Nuke silently dropping down from the CVS roof onto the alley floor beside the two victims. He pulls the sobbing woman into his arms, checking the man’s pulse with his free hand. Nuke looks up at Theseus, who was pretty distracted, shaking his head. The man is dead.

While Nuke tries to assure the woman everything will be okay and get her away from her husband's dead body, Theseus barely dodges a bullet. His shoulder gets scraped by the speeding gold bullet, but it doesn't lodge into the skin thankfully.

He holds his pole, he genuinely doesn't know what to call it, with his right arm as his left is a little out of commission. His gloves and cast look pretty much the same, except his jacket sleeve is a little puffier than usual.

“Ass.” Theseus murmurs under his breath, slamming the pole into the Dreamer’s arm, the one that holds the gun. The small black L flings across the alley and onto the ground a few feet away. Theseus peeks to the back, Nuke is now gone with the woman. Thank goodness.

“I can still kill you with my bare hands!” Dreamer shouts, eyes darting away from the gun on the floor. He pounces, arms outstretched. Theseus flaps his wings, flying just right over his head. He kicks midair, his boot landing at the back of the man’s head and sending him tumbling forward.

Dreamer is quick to recover, which isn't shocking for a crazy person. They don't seem to ever stay down.

Theseus lands again, tapping his pole against the ground teasingly. Man he loves pissing off criminals. “Come and get me, Nightmare.”

“Fuck you! I’m a Dreamer!” He shouts, yet again, running at Theseus. Tommy jumps to the side, expecting the man to keep stumbling forward. However, this time the guy is able to spin quickly to actually grab at Theseus’ shoulder. He manages to pull the vigilante forward and land a fast punch into his chest.

Theseus, being in close distance makes it so he isn't able to use his new weapon, brings his knee up hard into the Dreamer's lower stomach. It sends the guy wheezing back for a moment, but yet again he quickly recovers. He jolts forward, swinging. Theseus uses his weapon to smack the man’s arm to the side. He nimbly hops over to the left, hitting the man again but in the side this time.

“That must've hurt, huh?” Theseus taunts, going in for another hit. This time the Dreamer is able to dodge, the pole smacking into the concrete instead.

“I’m not surrendering. Dream doesn't make cowards! He creates power vessels!” The Dreamer scowls, running straight at Theseus.

It seemed like a stupid plan of attack, Tommy didn’t see much of it. Theseus just flaps his wings, flying just high enough to float above the guy’s head. Dreamer used his running momentum to increase his jump altitude, hands up. He manages to grab onto Theseus’ calf, holding onto tight to the fabric and straining the leg muscle.

“Hey! I don't give free rides.” This guy clearly didn’t think this through, Tommy assumes. He begins to fly higher, but his leg begs him to kick the Dreamer off.

Once he reaches 17 feet in the air he feels a piercing pain in his upper leg. He looks down, spotting a fucking butter knife sitting in it with the Dreamer's hand on it.

“Got ya, motherfucker.”

“Is that a butter knife? Man what the hell.” Theseus almost chokes on his need to laugh. He wiggles his leg, using his other to kick the hand that holds onto his ankle.

The Dreamer goes falling, screaming. Right before he hits the ground Theseus swoops, grabbing the man by the ankles and slamming him into the concrete CVS outer wall.

The Dreamer slides down with an audible groan, sirens ring in the distance. He wasn't knocked out yet, but he was definitely injured. Without waiting another second Theseus walks up to him and places his boot on the man’s face.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure prison paper is free. Send your boss a letter for me.” Theseus leans down to whisper in the panting man’s ear. “Fuck you, Dream.”

With that Theseus raises his foot and kicks his head, it flings back and smacks into the wall. Finally, the Dreamer was out cold. He folds the stick, shoving it into his pocket.

“Nuke? How close are the cops?” Theseus speaks, adjusting the ear piece.

“Not far, I sent out the ping a few minutes ago. I’ve got the woman in front of the CVS, should I leave her?” Nuke replies back, looking down at the sobbing lady. Theseus flies around the building, landing beside Nuke. It's easier to talk in person.

“We can stay until the cops come, I have some friends in the department.” Theseus pats Nuke on the back. “You did good, man.”

“I’m just sad I didn't get to use my bombs yet.” Nuke sighs. It was kinda funny they were having this conversation just feet away from a woman that just lost her husband in a very violent attack.

“You’ll get a chance soon.” Theseus didn't know just how soon it actually would be.

“Is… is that guy dead?” The woman cries, looking up at the two vigilante's.

“No, but he’s incapacitated for the time being. The cops will be here soon to take care of you, alright?” Theseus speaks slowly and softly. Y’know how people have a voice for cats or kids? Tommy has a voice reserved for victims of crimes.

“Who are you guys?”

“I’m Theseus, this is my partner Nuke. We mean no harm.” Theseus smiles under his mask, kneeling in front of the woman. “Are you injured anywhere?”

She shakes her head, Tommy could see a lot of blood on her but it's safe to assume it's her husband's.

“Everything will be alright.” Theseus comforts as a black and white car with flashing lights slides to a stop in front of a CVS. Theseus recognizes the officer that exits the vehicle as the one from the dead cop crime. “Officer! Long time no see.”

“What’s the situation, Theseus?” The cop asks, sauntering over. Theseus stands from his kneel, turning to the guy. Nuke remains next to the woman.

“Dreamer, again, attacked this woman and her husband. The husband is dead in that alley, the Dreamer knocked out inside as well.” Theseus describes. “Follow me.”

Theseus guides the cop, who just then pulls his gun out just in case, into the alley way between the CVS and apartment complex. It looked like a horror film within. A dead body near a dumpster, oozing blood, and a greasy man knocked out near the front of the alley with a gun strewn a few feet away.

“Dreamers are becoming such a massive problem.” The cop shakes his head, kneeling next to the Dreamer. He pushes the man, inspecting the branding on his shoulder.

“Yeah. They really are.” Theseus sighs. “But don't you worry, Officer. We’re taking care of them.”

“You’re doing better than our rotten heroes, for sure. Who's your friend?” The officer asks, standing back up.

“Nuke. He’s new to the vigilante world, but he’s my new partner.”

“Huh. You always seemed like the lone-wolf type to me.”

“Some people are worth breaking that for.” Theseus can't help but smile under his mask, ears perking up to the sounds of more sirens approaching. “Look-”

“I know. Get out of here, I can handle the rest.”

“Thanks.” Theseus salutes, jumping into the air. “C’mon Nuke!”

Nuke looks up, giving the woman one last word before taking to the sky as well. He buzzes up next to Tommy.

“Is that a butter knife?” Tubbo asks, looking at the silver knife sticking out of his upper thigh.

“Uh- yeah. I guess so.” Theseus laughs, reaching down and ripping the thing out of his leg. He tosses it down, hearing it cling as it drops into a random roof.

“Holy shit! You don't just rip those out like that.” Tubbo shouts, digging around in his trench coat inner pockets. He pulls out a mini potion bottle, almost the same size as a travel shampoo. Travel potions. “Drink up.”

Tubbo tosses it over, Theseus was barely able to catch it in the air. With a stubborn grumble he pops the cap and chugs it, the liquid salty and thick.

“Ew. What was that?”

“A condensed healing potion, focuses on open wounds but it should help your wrist a bit as well.”

“Oh… thanks.” Tommy winces, the after taste was significantly worse than the straight up taste.

“So, sh-”

Before Theseus could finish his sentence a high pitched zooming noise whooshes past ear. He can see what it was as it arches and drops. A dart. Fuck. Hypnosis.

“Look around! Hypnosis is nearby.” Tommy shouts at Nuke, spinning in midair to search rooftops. Another dart whooshes past his head. Theseus spots the little fucker on a tall roof in the distance along with Father Crow. Crap.

“Should we run?” Nuke asks.

“You run, I’ll fight.”

“Fuck no! If you're fighting I’m fighting!”

“Nuke! Listen to me, I’m immune to Hypnosis’ powers, you might not be. One word from him and you're caught.” Theseus tried to reason, but it felt pointless. Nuke just digs back into his pockets, pulling out two little nubs.

“Noise canceling earbuds. I figured this would happen at some point. I’ll put them in below the earpiece and we’ll still be able to talk to eachother without me being able to hear Wilbur's siren fucking thing.” Nuke gives him a sly grin. Of course he’d think of that.

“Fine. Just be careful.”

Another dart whips past them. Damn, Wilbur has a bad aim. Guess they're doing this. They give eachother one final look before swooping down and towards the building. Tommy had a lot more flexibility and speed in his flight, but Tubbo blended into the night a lot easier.

Theseus heads straight for the heroes while Nuke decides to take an alternate route. He wanted to perform a surprise attack. At least this time Theseus had the same numbers as Hypnosis.

Theseus approaches the roof, rolling down on top of it. He stands a few feet from the edge, Father Crow and Hypnosis across the distance from him.

“That’s so rude, Hypnosis! Shooting at me for no reason.” Theseus whines, slipping his hand into his pocket and wrapping his hand discreetly around his new weapon.

“Just surrender, Theseus. Aren't you tired of always being chased by us?” Wilbur was a whole hell of a lot more annoying when he’s in hero gear, but Tommy still felt a small pang in his chest at the thought of having to battle either. He doesn't want to hurt his friends.

“Nah, I’m actually pretty well energized. I will say, you two are extremely irritating. Can't we all just share the hero space without fighting each other?”

“We are heroes, Theseus. You're a criminal masquerading around as a hero. Big. Difference.” Wilbur spits, holding his arm out. Theseus loves the advantage he has from being friends with Fundy. Accelerated jump boots and poison darts.

Hypnosis fired a dart, one that Tommy very easily dodges. He still has bad aim even up close.

“Y’know, why have darts if you're just gonna miss every time? It feels super wasteful of the materials used to make them.” Theseus taunts, hand still in pocket. He didn't want to pull out all his cards too soon in the game. That would just be stupid and overconfident.

“Just shut up and fight us.” Hypnosis fires another, which is another miss. Father Crow takes action, running into flight at Theseus. Theseus was younger, and a lot more flexible, which makes him able to not only duck but take flight behind Phil.

He whips out his weapon, instantly flicking it into it's length and giving Phil a whack to the back of the knee.

“What the fuck is that?!” Wilbur shouts, trying to fire another dart but again misses.

“My new toy. Do you like it?” Theseus laughs, spinning it in his hands.

“It looks stupid.” Hypnosis rolls his eyes, looking up at Theseus. Behind him appears Nuke. Tubbo slides his foot out under Wilbur, tripping him.

“Perfect timing, Nuke. He was just making fun of the weapon you made me.” Theseus grins as Nuke buzzes up beside him. The two vigilante's stand side to side right above the rooftop facing their opponents.

“Fuck! Who the hell is that, Dad?!” Wilbur groans, hopping back to his feet as his hero father slides over beside him.

“This is my new friend, heroes. Meet Nuke. Nuke, say hi to our little pests.” Theseus glances over at his friend, his voice hinting at something. Nuke catches on easily, digging into his trench coat pocket and pulling out a small green grenade type of ball.

“Eat shit!” Nuke shouts, pulling the pin and aggressively tossing the grenade at the ground in front of Father Crow and Hypnosis. The two heroes don't get the chance to jump out of the way before it explodes in a burst of green color. A gas bomb, but what type is what Theseus doesn't know.

“What is it, Nukey?”

“A bomb infused with a decay potion. They’ll be coughing their lungs out for a bit.” Nuke grins like an insane person, already hearing the sounds of violent coughing in the smoke.

“You’re a psychopath.”

“I know.”

Theseus lands out of breathing distance of the smoke, Nuke landing a few feet away. Father Crow emerges from the green gas, holding his cape over his face as he coughs lightly into it. It seems he’s much smarter than Wilbur, who is still heard coughing inside the smoke.

“Good trick, Nuke. I hope your name doesn't have a literal meeting.”

“Oh it definitely does.” Theseus replies for Nuke.

“I hope you understand the consequences of being a vigilante, we’ll arrest you sooner or later.”

“My bet goes for never, but if those are the two options I’d say later.” Nuke already had the quip-attitude Theseus always went with, it makes sense that they get along so well. Tommy assumes he actually heard that from Phil from the ear piece, but he isn't sure. He just hopes the boy still has his buds in.

“So be it.” Father Crow sterns up, spreading his wings and charging like an elegant bull towards the vigilante friends. Nuke pops into the air towards the left, Theseus towards the right. The green fog was clearing as Hypnosis began to stumble out of it.

The fight ensues. Father Crow chases the boys around the rooftop, changing directions rapidly as each slip and slide around. Hypnosis finally rejoins the battle, using his hop boots to try and grasp the tail ends of each vigilante's feet, but he keeps missing. Tommy can't blame him though, this was his first day back out into the city as Hypnosis after his relapse. However, the Theseus part of Tommy truly just wants to make fun of Wilbur.

“C’mon heroes! Can't keep up with two lousy vigilante's?” Theseus teases, spinning out of the way of Father Crow.

“Just shut up and stop resisting arrest!” Wilbur shouts, coughing once more as he jumps up. This time he actually is able to barely hit Tommy's ankle, which did absolutely nothing.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.” Theseus laughs, turning his hand to his ear piece. He spots Nuke dodging an attack from Father Crow. “Hey Nuke! How about we finish this?”

“I like the way you think, Theseus.”

“Don’t! Stop flying!” Wilbur tries to use his smooth voice on Nuke, but it doesn't work. Thank XD.

“Have a fun night, heroes.” Nuke grins, pulling two grenades from his pocket. One is yellow, the other orange. He tugs on both the pins, tossing each one a different direction. The orange to Wilbur, the yellow to Phil.

The yellow bomb explodes midair, right in front of Father Crow’s face. It covers the fellow avain in yellow powder. The effect took instantly, Phil’s body goes rigid and he stiffly falls to the roof in a numb lump. A numbing bomb?

The orange bomb bounces onto the concrete before exploding at Wilbur's feet, the orange powder swarms the man and grows into a larger and larger cloud by the second.

“Let’s go! That cloud isn't going to stop growing for a long while!” Nuke shouts, spinning around to fly away. Theseus is quick to follow, leaving the two in the distance. Once they're a decent length away Theseus bursts into laughter.

“Man! You should've seen Father Crow’s face when he went rigid!” Tommy chuckles.

“I know! It was hilarious. I knew those two potion bombs were going to be absolutely hilarious to use.” Nuke laughs along, pulling his earbuds out of his ears.

“What even were they?”

“Potion of Blinding mixed with an expanding gas formula and a potion of numbing condensed into powder form.”

“Why the hell did you make those weird ass bombs?” Theseus’ laugh slowly fades into the occasionally snicker, but his face still felt wide with a smile.

“Ranboo was experimenting okay! They messed up a few times and I used his scraps.” Nuke rolls his eyes.

Theseus didn't realize just how fun being a vigilante could be until that night. It WAS fun before, but he didn't have anyone to truly laugh along with about the events of his nights. Nuke was his friend, both as a person and as a partner in crime. They will rock this city, they will defeat who needs to be defeated and mess with the heroes. They will go down in history.

“Don’t you have work in the morning with those two?” Nuke asks as they fly through the night sky in peace with one another.

“Yup.”

“Goodluck, dude. If I had to work for the exact people I fight at night I would either be a laughing or nervous wreck.”

“I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Of course you have.”

And as the two spend the rest of their night battling criminals and blowing shit up, which Theseus didn't approve of but it happened anyway, they began to see just how much they appreciated the other's company. It's crazy how saving one person from a mugging could lead to such a friendship.

-

“Welcome back to Hero - Villain news with your boy, Connor! I’m here this morning with some crazy, brand new news. This will air now, 9 am, 12 pm, and 4 pm so if you miss it now listen later!”

“Last night our well known, controversial vigilante, Theseus, was seen in battle with Father Crow AND Hypnosis. But here’s the catcher, folks. He was with a new vigilante! That's right! You heard it here on Hero - Villain news. Theseus has a sidekick.”

“Now, we interviewed a few witnesses from an event a few minutes prior in which Theseus and his new sidekick saved a woman from a violent Dreamer attack about the new vigilante.”

“We hear his name is Nuke, a what appears to be human with mechanical bee wings. He was seen using different types of grenades in battle! Folks, what do we think of this new vigilante? Is he to be almost cherished the way Theseus has been? Or do we think he’s too violent for our city's liking?”

“I’m sure a vigilante that uses GRENADES isn't a calm or safe hero, I feel things will soon begin taking some damage. Will Theseus face consequences for what Nuke will do? Is Theseus turning down a dark path?”

“Leave your thoughts down in our google forms! I personally don't like the sound of a ‘Nuke’ going around without control. See you next time on Hero - Villain news! Now to Barry with more information on the Dreamer attack last night.”

Tommy shuts off the radio, flopping his feet onto the table.

“That’s fucking stupid. You're awesome, Tubs.”

“I know.” Tubbo clicks his tongue.

“Wow. So humble.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur has been thinking, which usually isn't a good thing. But this time was different, this was an awakening in a way. He’s spent almost every night in bed with his girlfriend thinking of what Tommy said to him.

He might've been a bit stubborn at the start, trying to deny the kid’s point. But now that he’s thought about it for a while? Tommy was one hundred percent right.

Technoblade and Phil had a right to the way they reacted, and honestly Wilbur is starting to see just how self-centered he’s been. He isn't the only one hurting, he might not even be the one hurting the most. But it doesn't matter who has been hurting the most, that's something he needs to keep reminding himself.

Today he is spending the night at his own home instead of Sally’s, he doesn't want Phil to think he’s doing anything he isn't supposed to (aka getting drunk or buying drugs). Phil was in his bedroom, presumably sleeping but he probably wasn't doing that. No one really actually goes to sleep when they say they are in this house.

Wilbur feels bad, mostly, for how he’s been acting around his brother. A part of him desperately wanted to know Techno’s side of things, how he feels and what led him to do what he did. That's what he needs, that's what he wants.

And that's what he’ll try to get, even if it's not really for the right purposes. He isn't doing it to learn more about his brother and his experiences, but more about getting his own closure for how selfish he’s been lately. It's still growth, a path of growth started by Tommy's words.

So, much like Technoblade did months ago, Wilbur walks down his hallway in the middle of the night towards his brother's bedroom. His sock feet slid along the wooden floor, the apartment like home was quiet. They had amazing buffers between the floor and the next home for heroes, but sometimes things could get through. Tonight it was silent, absolutely silent.

Wilbur walks up to the door, hesitating for a moment. He heard some noise from within, a bit of talking. Who was Technoblade talking to? Was he on the phone?

He pauses, raising his hand to knock slowly. He just says fuck it, tapping the white wodden door. “Techno?”

It goes silent, minus a hushed whispering for a moment.

“Come in!” Technoblade’s voice calls back, it was low and disappointing. He didn't sound happy that Wilbur was knocking upon his door, and he honestly wasn't. He didn't want to have this conversation, and a part of him worried that he might just be asleep again.

Wilbur sighs, opening the door into his brother's room. Technoblade and Wilbur had extremely different bedrooms and aesthetics. Wilbur’s bedroom was cluttered and decorated with music, posters, clothes, and various trinkets.

Technoblade’s room had a plain bed, nightstand, and a desk with a laptop and a single book on it. His had a large bookshelf with perfectly color coordinated books lined on the rows. His walls were bland except for a single painting. His desk was empty of anything else except for a framed family photo from before everything bad happened.

“Hey…” Wilbur murmurs, looking around the bedroom. It was grossly plain to him. Technoblade was a minimalist, Wilbur was a maximalist.

“What do you want, Wil?” Technoblade turns in his desk chair, slowly closing his laptop. He was pretty annoyed, and it definitely shows.

“I wanted to talk.”

“Can we not do this tonight? I know I fucked up.” Technoblade leans back, rubbing his hand over his face. He hasn't got much sleep in two weeks, but then again it isn't easy to jump back fast from almost attempting suicide.

“This isn't about that.” Wilbur protests. “Please.”

“Fine.” Technoblade sighs, crossing his arms. Wilbur seems significantly less angry at him right now, which was a solid surprise, but it was hard to believe. He couldn't help but pinch himself to try and make him feel like this was real. “Sit.”

Technoblade waves over at his bed, the corner closest to his desk in specific. Wilbur does what he said, relieved that he can stay. He shuts the bedroom door and slides onto the pressed, tightly made bed spread.

“What do you want to talk about then?” Technoblade asks, already done with the conversation before it even began. Wilbur didn't exactly know how to start it either. What could he ask? What could he say?

“Tommy made me realize something the other day.” Wilbur begins, slow and hesitant. “I’ve been so mad at you that I couldn't think about what YOU were going through.”

“What is this, Wil?”

“Just… listen for a bit, okay?”

Technoblade nods. This didn't feel real to him, it felt like another dream. Except… why would a nightmare be something like this? Wilbur isn't angry at him, he’s being apologetic.

“I know I have a lot on my plate, between my unborn child and Tommy and recovery, but I never stopped to remember you and Dad also have a lot. I want to hear your side of things, Techno. I want to hear about you.”

“No.” Technoblade shakes his head, a hurt scowl forming on his face. “That’s not how we are going to go, Wilbur. You aren't going to ignore my feelings for your whole life to just spin the moment you start to feel bad.”

“This isn't t-”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Technoblade snaps, standing up from his chair and beginning to pace in front of the bed. “I have spent all my life protecting YOU, worrying about YOU, and all you EVER cared about was Tommy.”

“How could I not?! Tommy is my little brother.”

“And he was gone! I was here! I’m also your brother, aren't I?”

“Of course you are, Tommy just was more on my mind because he could've been anywhere! He could've been in a ditch for all we know!” Wilbur protests.

“You’re unbelievable.” Technoblade scoffs, shaking his head. “You came in here begging to know more about ‘my side of things’ but you don't listen to what I’m saying!”

“I am listening! It's hard to be happy about what you're saying when you're speaking ill of Tommy!”

“That’s not what I was doing!” Technoblade shouts, he wasn't even surprised this is how this went. He’s disappointed, but not shocked.

“Sure it was.” Wilbur huffs, gritting his teeth. “Maybe you were hoping he was dead.”

Technoblade falls silent, scarily silent. His chest rises and falls, his eyes torn away. “Fuck you, Wilbur. Fuvk you.”

“Lo-”

“No. Don't fucking defend yourself or try to change it, you said what you said. It tells me all I need to know about what you truly think of me.” Technoblade clenches his jaw, holding back his rage. “It won't matter what I tell you, if you don't like it you're going to make me out to be the bad person.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No you're not.” Technoblade spits. “I never said my words were going to make you happy, Wilbur. Whatever made you think that was stupid, my side isn't a prissy clean slate.”

“I know…”

“You better.” Technoblade sighs, sitting down on the edge of his bed a foot away from his brother. He didn't care if he was being selfish right now, he was done caring for everyone else and ignoring himself. Look what that got him, a bunch of flushed pills on the bathroom floor is all.

“I cared about you, Technoblade, even if I seemed more focused on Tommy.”

“It’s not just that you seemed more focused, you were completely ignorant. Never once did you stop and ask about me.”

“I’m asking now.”

“It’s too late to undo that damage, Wil.” Technoblade sniffles.

“Can we start again then?”

“What do you mean start again? We aren't a couple that can just break-up and get back together, we’re brothers.”

“I know, but maybe we can start talking again like brothers. We can try and push the past behind us, learn from our mistakes.” Wilbur reaches over, grabbing his brother's hand. “How are you?”

Technoblade laughs, the words Wilbur spoke felt so out of place in his mouth. Only Tommy asked him how he was, which is sad since Tommy isn't even his brother, but he’s glad that Wilbur has seen sense. Tommy really has changed his life.

“I’m feeling shitty.” Technoblade says with a small smile on his face, but he wasn't being sarcastic. Wilbur can't help but smile back.

“When is anyone in this family not?” Wilbur jokes. “But go on, tell me about your shit.”

“Well it was about fou-”

“I meant what's making life shitty, Techno!” Wilbur laughs, flicking his brother's hand. Even so they don't let go of one another, Technoblade still hasn't pushed Wilbur's hand off of his.

“I guess there's a lot making things shitty right now.” Technoblade sighs, his demeanor softening. “I mostly miss Mum.”

“Mom…” Wilbur breathes. They all lost a major part of themselves the day their mother died, but Technoblade lost the most. “You were the one that found her.”

[warning! Next part includes graphic scenes of suicide. Please skip ahead if you wish not to read that]

-

Two months after Tommy C. was taken from his bedroom, still no sign of the boy. Father Crow searches the city endlessly, he’s rarely ever home with his family. Technoblade is 16, Wilbur 13. Their brother will forever be 8 years old in their heads.

Wilbur never leaves his bedroom, he spends his nights and days inside rotting away. Technoblade brings him food and water, but it rarely gets eaten.

Technoblade has become the only standing foundation in the house. With Phil gone most days, Wilbur hiding away, and Kristen depressed beyond belief, Technoblade is the only person there to take care of himself and his family. He spends his days making meals that will go uneaten, answering the house phone to calls, and crying himself away.

Everytime the phone rings Technoblade jumps to grab it, hoping with every ounce of his body it's news about his brother. Yet every time he finds himself disappointed. It's usually either a family friend checking in or the detective on the case calling to ask if they know anything more.

Everyone is stumped, not a soul knows where Tommy is or who took him. No one even has a single lead except for the broken window, and even that gives them nothing evidence wise.

Technoblade has also been trying to keep the masses at bay. Some days he’ll wake up to the sounds of people outside his house, a brand new news station each time trying to get the scoop for their channels.

In the beginning he’d answer a question or two taking out the trash, always wearing a mask to hide his face. But the more times they came back the more aggressive Technoblade got. Until one day he snapped.

He ran out of his house, maskless, screaming at the people to leave. He threatened them with cruel words and brutal descriptions until they went running from the property. The next morning he was plastered over every news station, the clip of a violent piglin son of a top hero was certainly an entertaining story.

But that's not what we’re here to speak about today, although the story of why he is insecure of his face definitely matters to his life. Today we talk about the death of Kristen Craft, a wife and mother.

It was a day like any other, Technoblade brought a plate of bacon and eggs to his brother's room.

“Hey there, Wil.” Technoblade sigh as he sets the warm plate down on the tenn’s night stand, grabbing the dinner plate from last night that went untouched. “I need you to eat.”

“Go away.” Wilbur demands, his voice hoarse and low.

“Tommy won't be happy to come to his brother wilting away from starvation.”

“GO AWAY!” Wilbur shouts louder, burying his head deeper into his pillow. Technoblade knows it's a lost cause at this point, Wilbur is too damn stubborn, but he leaves the plate just in case. He hates seeing his brother this way, pale in skin with sunken, puffy eyes. He feels like he’ll lose him soon if he doesn't eat.

Technoblade takes the dinner plate back downstairs, throwing the discarded food into the trash and the dish into the piling sink. He can't bring himself to do many chores, it's already hard enough for him to even make the meals. He hasn't even showered in a week.

Though he is glad this happened after he graduated, Technoblade was ahead a few grades and graduated early. Wilbur was still in middle school, but he only missed the end of his 7th grade year and it's summer now. Tommy loves summer.

Technoblade grabs another plate of food, some eggs and toast, to bring to his mother. Once the plate is loaded he carries it up the steps and down the hallway. At the very end of the hall is his mother's and father's bedroom, though it's become more of his mother's than his father's at this point.

Technoblade reaches forward, going to turn the handle. Except it doesn't turn, it's locked. Kristen doesn't lock her bedroom door, she rarely even gets out of bed for anything other than the bathroom anymore.

“Mom? I have breakfast.” Technoblade knock, setting the plate down on the hallway table to have both hands free to try the door. “Mom?”

She doesn't call back, but Technoblade can hear the faint sounds of creaking from inside.

“Mom!” Technoblade shouts louder, rapping his hand against the door and jiggling the handle. He felt a sinking sense of dread in his stomach. Something bad happened. “Mom! Answer me!”

Still nothing, Technoblade grows increasingly panicked. He needs to get inside.

Technoblade, despite being a teenager and not yet having gone through the hero training, was still incredibly strong. He had piglin strength of course.

That's why he ran down the length of the hallway to the staircase. That's why he turns to face the door. That's why he sprints down the hallway at full speed. That's why he rams his shoulder into the door.

The door cracks, bending in half. Technoblade sticks his arm into the crack, reaching around and unlocking the handle. When he rips his arm out of the crack he scratches a thin line down his arm, but he doesn't care much for it since he could smell blood before that.

Technoblade flings the broken door open, rushing into the room. He froze in his tracks, and what he saw would rattle through his bones and plague his mind for the rest of his life. It's the reason he might seem so heartless to some.

The room was dark, it still had the disgusting scent of sweat since Kristen hadn't showered for a long while. Not a single light was on, but the hallway gave just enough for the perfect view.

Hanging from the ceiling fan was his mother, the same mother that cherished and loved him for 16 years of his pitiful life. Her skin was purple and pale, lacking oxygen. Her neck tied around by a noose, her feet dangling beside a strewn chair.

The carpet below her was soaked in red blood, even some parts were beginning to dry. The source was clear. Her wrists were slashed until you could barely see any skin left untouched, the red smeared over to her biceps. Her deep purple nightgown held blood stains at their sides.

Technoblade was horrified, absolutely horrified. His mother had killed herself. He will never be able to unsee what he saw that day, never.

“Mama!” Technoblade screams, his feet finally regaining their muscle movement. He runs over to the hanging woman, hoping to every force in the world that he isn't too late. Hoping and praying that she can still be saved.

He pulls her by the stomach, trying to release her head from the noose. He moves his hands to her arms, pushing up to wiggle her out. All he ends up doing is squeezing too hard too close to the cuts, fresh blood spraying out from the thin razor slashes and onto Technoblade’s face and shirt.

Technoblade wipes the blood from near his mouth, going back to erratically attempting to pull his mother from the ceiling. He pulls too hard, breaking the ceiling fan and his mother falls on top of him.

Tears streamed down his face, dropping into the already soaking wet carpet. He flips his mother over, kneeling beside her dead body. Blood seeps into his sweatpants from the knees, his hands painted in the sticky red substance.

“Mom! C’mon, please!” Technoblade shouts, checking her pulse. Nothing, not a single thing.

It's a lost cause, just by the looks of her she’s been dead for hours. But even still, Technoblade bangs her chest in a messy CPR. All the while sobbing, screaming his lungs raw.

“Techno!?” Wilbur calls his bedroom door, weakly standing in the doorway. He could only see Technoblade’s back in the dark room and the faint outline of his mother on the floor.

“Go back in your room and call an ambulance, Mom’s been in an accident.”

“Do you need-”

“GO BACK IN YOUR ROOM, WILLIAM!” Technoblade shouts, he didn't want his brother to see more than he needed to. Wilbur, hearing his full first name, instantly slamming his door shut and grabbing his phone.

Technoblade pants, staring down at his lifeless mother. He saw how hopeless it was, there's no way she can come back to life after this. She’s dead.

“Mama…” Technoblade cries, laying down beside her body. He doesn't care if he gets covered in blood or how bad it looks if Wilbur walks out of his room. He just wants one more moment with her, he wants his Mom.

Technoblade sobs into the carpet, laying next to his mother's body. Wilbur hears the crying, the emergency operator orders him to not leave his room and he listens. Not to the operator really, but to his brother's prior demand.

Technoblade remains beside her even as the ambulance and police roll up. He stays there even as his front door is busted open and a few EMS workers climb up their stairs. He stays there even as the workers enter the bedroom, gasping at the mess.

“Kid.” One of the EMS workers kneels next to Technoblade, trying to pull his arms off the dead body. The other one goes around, checking her pulse. “It’s time to let go…”

“NO!” Technoblade cries, grasping her tighter. “NO PLEASE!”

Technoblade is ripped away from his mother, pulled away from the room. His mother is covered by a sheet, carried from the bedroom and down to the ambulance.

Technoblade doesn't say a word for a long time afterwards.

He doesn't speak when the cops bring his brother out of the house and onto the curb. He doesn't speak when his brother sobs beside him. He doesn't speak as officers ask him questions. He doesn't speak when his father’s car pulls up. He doesn't speak when his father runs up to him, shaking him and hugging him.

Technoblade didn't speak for three months straight, not a single word, he didn't make full sentences again for five months after the incident, and he didn't speak regularly again for a year. Even now he goes nonverbal sometimes.

-

“I did.” Technoblade sighs, pushing the memory from his head.

“Techno?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For protecting me.” Wilbur smiles sadly. “I think you not letting me see her probably saved me from a lot of trauma. I mean… I saw how you reacted after it. You didn't say a word to us for months, Phil genuinely considered putting you into speech therapy after you refused ACTUAL therapy.”

Technoblade chuckles dryly. “Well I spoke at some point.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I’m sorry I got so mad about your relapse.” Technoblade admits.

“It’s okay, it makes more sense now.”

“I’m not trying to excuse my actions.” Technoblade pauses, scratching his arm with his short fingernails. “But I… got scared. When you almost died a few years ago, I thought it was going to be Mom all over again. It almost was Mom all over again. Hearing that you relapsed scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” Wilbur feels immense guilt, more guilt than he had before.

“I shouldn't even be talking.” Technoblade laughs, holding his head in his hands. “I was almost Mom.”

“What?” Wilbur understood, but he didn't want it to be true. He didn't want his assumption to be right.

“I was almost MOM.” Technoblade reiterates. “Just a week ago, I was SO close.”

Wilbur feels a lump forming in his throat. He finally understands what Technoblade has felt this entire time. What it feels like to worry so horribly that you feel almost violent. So worried that you can't handle it, the building weight in your chest.

Wilbur jumps across the bed, grabbing Technoblade by the shoulders and pulling the older man into his arms. Tears run down his face onto Technoblade’s shoulder, Wilbur's grip tighter than he ever would've believed.

“Never! Never do that again, Technoblade!” Wilbur demands, hitting his back with weak fists.

“I’m sorry, Wil.” Technoblade’s voice quivers, his own eyes pooling up.

“You should be.”

The brothers sit in each other's arms, feeling like little kids again after so long. Technoblade feels a weight lift from his chest, Wilbur feels a new one pile onto his chest. They are evening their heavy loads, sharing their trauma.

After a while they pull away, wiping their tears and puffy eyes.

“How about this? We make a new deal.” Technoblade begins. “This time the stakes are less… damaging. I’ll come to you whenever I feel like killing myself instead of attempting. You come to me whenever you feel the need for an alcoholic beverage or drugs.”

“I like this deal more.” Wilbur smiles. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

The brothers join hands, shaking them as if they were completing a business deal. Technoblade leans his head on Wilbur's shoulder, feeling at peace.

“So when are you going to tell dad you had sex and now have a baby forming in a woman’s stomach?”

“Ew. That's a disgusting way to put it.”

“So???”

“Soon… soon, Techno.”

“Good, I’d like to meet her. She IS going to be my future sister-in-law.”

“You two will get along well.”

Chapter Text

Tommy wants to remember.

He doesn't know what there is to remember, but he knows has to remember it. Kristen has insisted in every dream and mirror visit that he break the ‘wall made in his brain’ and remember the truth.

But what is the truth? He can't remember something he doesn't know. It's easy to try to remember where you placed an object if you know what the object is. It's hard to remember something with no subject matter.

Honestly, the issue has been plaguing his work demeanor. He’s been distracted, his work quality going down. He looks at everything with the question ‘Is that something connected to my lost memories?’. He searches for any deja vu, hoping it’ll lead him closer to the truth. It never does.

Tommy sits at his desk, laptop open but hands away from the keyboard. He leans back in his chair, his eyes on the screen but not exactly focused on anything in particular. He has too many questions.

Why Kristen?
What does he need to remember?
Why?

Why is a big one. Nothing seems to make sense at all, and everytime he pushes his mind deeper he gets a striking headache.

The Craft’s have certainly noticed the change, they whisper to one another when they think Tommy can't hear about it. He sometimes worries he’ll lose his job, but he’s still turning his work in mostly on time so that's all that matters.

A knock bangs on his office door around four pm, not out of the ordinary. Phil likes to check in periodically throughout the day to make sure Tommy is doing well, it's a sweet repetition.

“Come in!” Tommy snaps from his thoughts, sitting up so he doesn't appear lazy or tired. He will never NOT look tired though, it's reasonably impossible with how little sleep he truly ever gets.

Phil opens the door, popping into the room. He was in a casual turtleneck and jeans, odd because he’d usually be in his hero costume at this time of day.

“Hey there, kiddo.” Phil smiles. Tommy's bruises have faded away, though he still has the cast sadly enough.

“Good afternoon, old man.” Tommy rolls his eyes playfully. If Phil could call him kid despite him NOT being a kid then Tommy could call Phil an old man, though Phil IS an old man.

“Haha. Very funny.” Phil jokes sarcastically, still in the doorway.

“Do you need something?” Tommy hops straight to the point.

“Not exactly, but I was wondering if you’d like to join my sons and I for dinner in a few.”

“I wouldn't want to intrude.” Both a lie and the truth. He didn't want to awkwardly be the employee at a family dinner, but he alsl desperately wanted more down time with the Craft’s. They were such a… normal family. Especially since his home situation hasn't exactly gotten better.

“It wouldn't be an intrusion, we want you there.” Phil assures. It was sometimes hard to look at his assistant without seeing his son, but that wasn't a bad thing at times.

“If you insist.” Tommy grumbles, closing his laptop. “Would you like me to make any arrangements?”

“No thanks, we already have the car and reservations settled.” Phil smiles, glad Tommy is agreeing to join them. He’s been worried about the boy ever since he had to pick him up from that bar his father stranded him at, which is perfectly reasonable. “Come on, I’ll walk you down. The boys should already be out front in the car.”

“Alright.” Tommy mumbles, throwing his bag over his shoulder and pushing his rolling chair into his desk. Phil guides him out of the office and towards the elevator.

“How’s working here been so far?” Phil asks. Such a basic starter question, but one that's easy to answer.

“I’ve enjoyed it immensely. I have a routine down already, routines are always nice. How about you? How's having me as an employee been?” Tommy retorts back, even if the question sounded more like a joke coming out of his mouth he is genuinely curious as to what Phil thinks of him.

Phil laughs a little at the question. “It’s been spectacular.”

Spectacular…

-

“That’s spectacular, Tommy!”

Tommy's vision shifts into the memory, the word echoing in his mind. He opens his eyes, looking around. He was yet again in a tiny body.

A daycare, that's where he is. He’s never been to one before, but even that assumption he made about himself was wrong. The place was decorated with vibrant colors and toys, every child had somewhere to go and something to do. Tommy was sitting on the floor with some building blocks. Someone was sitting in front of him, Tommy assumes it's whoever said spectacular.

“Septackyler?” Tommy feels his voice mispronounce, his children's mind not comprehending the word spoken. Tommy's head looks up from his toys to the child, one with white and black hair and duel colored eyes. A peculiar look, but oddly comforting.

“Spectacular, it means beautiful or awesome.” The boy explained, Tommy doesn't recognize him in his mind yet but he knows this is a friend.

“You’re stupidly smart, Boo.” Tommy feels his eyes roll in their sockets. Even as a kid did he have an attitude.

“I can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult from you, Tommy.” The boy laughs, not making much eye contact with Tommy. He sat with a pile of building blocks at his feet.

“Good.” Tommy's child lips curl into a mischievous smile. He wasn't surprised that even in the past, a child version of himself acted this way. It's almost no different to today.

Though he is confused. What happens between whenever this is and when he wakes up without a single memory that forces his father to never allow him outside the house? What type of tragic accident occurred? This is getting a lot more sinister than he expected.

-

“Tommy? Are you alright?” Phil asks as Tommy fades from the flashback.

“Oh uh… yes, sorry. I zoned out there for a second.” Tommy chuckles nervously, the elevator was almost to the ground floor at that point. This is awkward.

“You sure?” Phil tilts his head, Tommy catches the small turn and recognizes it as his own. He tries his best not to do it anymore, but seeing someone as perfect as Phil doing it is such a comfort. He doesn't connect it though.

Tommy nods, wringing his hands in front of him as the elevator comes to a stop with a chime. The sliding doors part, allowing them to walk out into the front lobby. Tommy felt almost happy that he finally regained a memory, but the joy was soured by the realization that it was such a mediocre memory that only led to more confusion. The only important thing he saw from that memory was the boy he was with. Maybe that kid, Boo was it? Could help him remember more.

Tommy and Phil walk out the building and to a large black SUV with the same male driver as last time. Phil heads straight to the passenger seat, Tommy hesitantly hops into the back. Technoblade sat in the very back row, Wilbur and Tommy in the middle row.

Tommy felt conflicted. For one, it felt nice to be in a car of people he trusts more than most. On the other hand, it felt like a betrayal to his father. He felt horrible that he felt safer and happier with another family rather than with his ACTUAL Dad.

“Are you alright, Toms?” Wilbur asks, turning to the boy in his seat. Man, just everyone wanted to ask how he was today, annoyingly enough. Although, there was something familiar about the endearing nickname Wilbur keeps using. A familiarity Tommy didn't notice before he started pushing his mind past its memory limit.

“I’m FINE.” Tommy reiterates, looking at Phil as he does so. The older man smiles guilty.

“Are you-”

“Oh my fucking hell, I said I’m fine didn't I?” Tommy snaps, crossing his arms. He was already irritable enough, a bunch of sappy heroes asking him if he’s fine doesn't exactly boost his sour mood. Why'd he even agree to this?

The car falls silent, Wilbur leaning back in his seat with a defeated expression. Tommy feels just a bit regretful, but he had far more important things to think about rather than how he treats his employers.

The rest of the ride is painfully long and quiet. Technoblade sits in peace, not even a hallucination bugging him today. Wilbur literally doesn't stop glancing over at Tommy the entire ride. Phil tried and failed to have a conversation with the driver and just decided to watch traffic. Tommy spends the ride ignoring Wilbur with all his might and thinking about Kristen.

Is she really Kristen or just a part of Tommy's imagination? If she is… then should Tommy tell them about her? He doesn't want to sound crazy or insensitive, but he does believe letting the family of the dead woman he talks with know he is talking to her. Though, he DOES feel insane just for that sentence. He’s literally (friends?) with a dead lady. What the hell is up with his life?

The vehicle comes to a sudden stop, Tommy didn't realize they had already arrived at the restaurant. He looks up from his lap, glancing out at wherever he was taken. It looked fancy, beautifully trimmed bricks and gardens and a small waterfall stream surrounding the building between the outer wall and sidewalk. It was WAY above his price range, but he couldn't back out now. That would be more awkward than scrambling for his change.

Phil thanks the driver, hopping out of the car. His sons, including Tommy, all follow suit. He guides all three up onto the sidewalk. They looked like a real family, even if Tommy wasn't a true part of it in their knowledge. If anything, Technoblade looked like an outsider.

“I love this place. I took Kristen here on our first date.” Phil smiles, looking up at the architecture. It wasn't poorly made in any way.

“Oh yeah! I remember mom telling us that story. You ate something that upset your stomach and she held your hair as you threw up in her bathroom.” Wilbur giggles. The man was looking healthier, his eyes less sunken and face more full of light. Some may say it's knowing his brother is alive, but the truth comes in the Tommy they know now. That boy has changed their lives.

“Remind me not to order anything with grilled pineapple.” Phil laughs alongside his son. Technoblade and Tommy fall behind them, both in path and in conversation. Tommy enjoyed hearing stuff about the woman, though it was a little awkward knowing what he knows.

“Noted.” As Wilbur and Phil continue joyful conversation, finding peace in each other once again, Technoblade and Tommy start their own.

“How’re you?” Technoblade asks, but the question from HIS mouth felt less like a bother and more of a casual question. Tommy didn't feel like he had to say he’s doing fine around Techno.

“Eh. Been better.” Tommy shrugs, knowing Technoblade won't make a big deal out of his answer. “How about you?”

“I’ve been better than usual.” Technoblade answers, also with a slight shrug. As much as Tommy was curious about what happened a few nights ago, he isn't going to pry. Prying isn't in his nature.

The group enters the restaurant into a small waiting lounge. A podium stood at the archway a few feet ahead of them with a lady in a formal black uniform standing behind it, writing something in a small notepad. She looks up as the group walk up, instantly recognizing 3 out of 4 as top slot heroes, and as a known frequent customer.

“Oh my! Mr. Craft, welcome back once again!” The woman stammers, almost looking a little flushed. “These must be your sons, correct? Technoblade, Wilbur, and… is that Tommy? Has he been found?”

“Huh? Me?” Tommy spits out, both shocked and not surprised that someone has mistaken him as the lost son of the hero yet again.

“Ah. No, this is my beloved assistant, who is conveniently also named Tommy, but isn't my son.” Phil shakes his head with a smile.

“Well the similarities are definitely eerie, I’ll give you that.” The woman smiles back. “What can I do for you today?”

“We have a reservation under my name.”

The woman searches on a tablet for a moment. “Yes, the private room for Philza Craft?”

“Indeed.”

“Alrighty! Follow me.” The woman grabs a stack of menus from a pile on the podium and begins walking. Phil takes the lead, following her through the restaurant. People at their own tables look up and stare as they pass by, but no one freaks the fuck out fully. The lady walks weirdly fast, Technoblade and Tommy in the back feel like they're running to keep up.

Eventually they make it to the back of the restaurant to a set of sliding barn doors, the woman opening them and leading them inside. It was a small room with a table with six seats, silverware, and a fwq plants in the center of the room. Tommy will admit it was pretty, but the biggest bonus was that it was quiet compared to the rest of the restaurant.

“A waiter will be with you shortly.” And with that the woman leaves, sliding the doors shut behind her. Phil and Wilbur take seats on the left side of the table beside one another, Technoblade and Tommy sit across from the. To be specific, Tommy across from Phil and Technoblade across from his brother.

Phil shoves a menu closer to Tommy, a small smile on his face. “Order whatever you’d like, it's our treat.”

Was Tommy going to completely take advantage of that? No fucking way. Will he order something other than a five dollar side salad? Yes. He finds the balance in scanning the menu and choosing something he’s never eaten before, which is honestly the majority of foods in the world, but is still under twenty bucks.

Alfredo. Tommy has had spaghetti, not amazing spaghetti, and random meals left over in the fridge from him by Wilbur, but nothing extraordinary. Living in his household rarely ever meant good food, it was mostly packaged shit and dollar ramen.

A waiter walks into the private room with a small note pad, ready to take their order. “Welcome! I hope your drive here was safe and well, heroes. I’m your waiter, Justin. What could I get for you in the means of drinks today?”

Phil starts. “I’ll take water and coffee, please.”

Wilbur goes next. “Oreo milkshake.”

Tommy wasn’t surprised at the man’s childish order, Wilbur is EXACTLY the type of man to order a milkshake as his drink at a restaurant.

Technoblade orders next. “Lemonade, please.”

“Alrighty, and for you kid?”

“Not a kid.” Tommy corrects again today. “Water, please.”

“Alright, folks. Just to make sure, did we have a look at our alcohol menu? We have a wide selection of high class wines, whiskeys, and various other hand crafted beers.”

The table is awkwardly silent for a moment, Wilbur looking anywhere but the other members of the table.

“We’re really okay, JUSTIN.” Phil spits, Tommy couldn't help but notice just a bit of pure venom in his otherwise soft-spoken tone. Spooky.

“Alright…” Justin grits his teeth, closing his notepad and leaving the private room. The table is silent for a moment before Phil decides to break the silence.

“What’s everyone getting?”

“Ooh! I think I’m going to get the seared chicken and rice.”. Wilbur replies, quick to change the topic before the topic of alcohol could even be entered.

“That’s a delicious choice. I think I’m going to get vegetable stew. Meat doesn't do well in my stomach nowadays. How about you, Technoblade?” Phil turns the conversation to their side of the table.

“Black SALMON and mashed.” Technoblade emphasizes the word salmon, oddly enough, all the while staring at his brother. Wilbur nearly chokes on his breath.

“S-salmon, huh?” Wilbur coughs, Phil sending him a weird glance at the reaction.

“Yeah. I thought since I heard you’ve been liking your salmon recently, without telling everybody, that I’d join in.” Technoblade is confusing.

“Well maybe I don't want some people knowing about my salmon obsession yet because it is quite personal.”

“I am so fucking confused.” Tommy blurts out, looking between the two men. Phil laughs in agreement.

“Boys, whatever this ‘salmon’ thing is should be left for another time, not at dinner.” Phil intervenes. “Tommy, what are you getting?”

“Uhm… Alfredo?”

“Really? Do you like alfredo?”

“I haven't tried before.” Tommy chuckles nervously.

“I think you’ll like it.” Phil smiles back, collecting all the menus. Soon the waiter comes back, placing all the drinks at each spot. Tommy with his water, Wilbur with his goofy ass milkshake, Technoblade with lemonade, and Phil with his water and hot coffee.

“Any cream or sugar, sir?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Uh- Are we ready to order?” Justin stammers, stumbling to pull out his notepad.

“Yes. I’ll have the vegetable stew.”

“Chicken Rice.”

“Salmon with mashed instead of chips and extra green beans.”

“Alfredo.”

“Alright! That'll be right out for you.”

Justin quickly runs out, closing the door quickly behind him. It's like every time he comes back he gets slightly more terrified of Philza.

Conversation picks up fast after the initial awkwardness from the waiter’s presence settles. A whole range of topics, from silly hero stories to a few silly debates. It's mostly the Craft’s that do the talking, Tommy only shoves his opinion in every now and then.

“Bread does NOT count as a vegetable, Wilbur.” Technoblade argues, rubbing his forehead.

“Yes it does! Grains grow from the ground, grains make bread. Bread is a vegetable!” Wilbur fights back. Tommy has enough of this argument and adds his own thoughts to it.

“Wilbur, do you believe cake is a vegetable?” Tommy interjects, Phil watching him with a slt amusement.

“No?”

“What about… avocado-ranch?”

“No..?

“Grains are their own food group, but if you want to classify something that grows from the ground as a vegetable then we can go along with that. There's a certain point in mixing with other materials that a food is no longer classified from the food group the original ingredients came from. You wouldn't call a chocolate chip cookie a bean just because it has chocolate that came from a cocoa bean inside of a portion of it, right?” Tommy rambles off.

“Whatever…” Wilbur pouts, leaning forward to sip from his milkshake.

“I forgot you're a smart kid.” Technoblade comments.

“Shut up.” Tommy rolls his eyes.

Phil laughs, looking around at his boys. The table sits in silence for a bit, Wilbur annoyed over his debate defeat and Tommy simmering in his win. Wilbur gets bored eventually, he has an extremely shorter attention span compared to Tommy.

“What’s everyone's thoughts on Theseus?” Wilbur asks into the silent table. Everyone's reactions differ. Phil looks deep in consideration, Technoblade appears to be startled, and Tommy is almost dripping in nervous sweat. He’s not the only one fucked here. Phil had a nice moment with the vigilante, Technoblade is literally illegally working in a group with the vigilante and other criminals, and Tommy is FUCKING THESUES.

“Uh- he isn't too bad, but he does need to be captured.” Phil chooses the safe answer.

“Isn't too bad? That little fucker is such a pester, even more so now that he has a little sidekick. They're going to damage this city.” Wilbur grumbles.

“Well…” Phil fades, trying to think of a point to combat that.

“He’s decent.” Technoblade blurts out, much to Tommy and Wilbur's surprise. Tommy is almost happily surprised, Wilbur more frustratedly surprised.

“He’s a criminal.”

“He helps people.”

“Y’know what! Tommy, what do you think of him? As a L’manburg resident and a closely-related member of hero society without being a hero I believe you might be able to have the least biased opinion.” Wilbur turns to the assistant, along with everyone else at the table.

Oh how wrong Wilbur is. Tommy is actually the MOST biased since he literally is the vigilante, but he doesn't need to know that.

“And I won't be criticized or fired if I give a truthful input?”

“Don’t worry, Tommy.” Phil waves off his worries, curious to know the boy’s opinion on the vigilante that often patrols his part of the city.

“I fucking love the guy.” Tommy smiles, knowing exactly what he’s doing. It's like being a spy on the inside, slowly making his enemies like their enemy.

“What?” Wilbur breathes, absolutely flabbergasted.

“He’s a necessity. No offense to you three, as top three you probably have a lot more important things to do.” Sarcasm. “But we don't get a lot of heroes down in L’manburg stopping crimes. Theseus has saved more people in that part of the city than any hero has in over thirty years, and that's a real statistic.”

Tommy would be evilly laughing and holding his fingers together in a moving chair later with Tubbo about this moment. A win for vigilantes, a loss for heroes.

“He hasn't hurt anyone that didn't deserve it and has the support of all L’manburg citizens (that aren't criminals), most of Kiniko, and even a few Arctic fellows. He’s awesome.” Tommy leans back in his seat.

“To be honest his casualty rate is like ⅒ of mine in a month throughout the what? 3 years he’s been a vigilante?” Technoblade points out, but Tommy isn't really surprised he’s the one to stand up for Theseus. Syndicate bros.

“You have a point.” Wilbur grumbles. “I still hate his snarky ass.”

Tommy would've pumped his fist at that, but it would raise too many suspicions. Just as the conversation is about to continue, the sliding door opens and a cart rolls in with the waiter pushing behind it.

He places a large, beautiful plate of food in front of Technoblade. A white bowl with a steamy soup in front of Phil. A platter of chicken in front of Wilbur. And finally, a large wide bowl of pasta in a white creamy sauce and a breadstick in front of Tommy. It was a lot of fucking food for 18 bucks, XD.

“Enjoy.” Justin bows suspiciously low and darts out with the dart, a wheel speaking as he leaves.

Phil takes a spoonful of his soup, blowing on it before tasting it. He nods, as a dad does when he tastes something he likes, and has another bite. Wilbur tries to start eating his chicken, but he can't stop looking at how Technoblade is slowly eating a salmon bite for bite without thinking of his girlfriend. Tommy feels overwhelmed, but doesn't want to waste the food so he digs in.

“Holy shit! This is good.” Tommy shouts through a mouthful of noodles. Phil laughs.

“I’m glad you like it.” Phil spoons some more soup into his mouth as Tommy stuffs his face hungirly, his true hunger taking over. “Don’t choke now, kid.”

Tommy listens, slowing down a bit. He loves thr flavors, the creamy sauce, the long (not chewy or crunchy) noodles. It was a masterpiece in his mind, though most that would've eaten would say it's a little underwhelming and should've been seasoned a bit more.

He finishes most of the dish when he realizes he has to use the bathroom, but not for pissing or shitting purposes. It's weird how before he’d get struck with a headache telling him to go to a mirror, but now he just knows. He wipes his face of sauce, setting down his fork.

“I’m going to go use the restroom.” Tommy announces as he stands and walks out of the private room, trying not to think too hard on how awkward it was to say that.

After what feels like a long while of searching he finds the restrooms, he enters and doesn't even bother to check the stalls this time before heading straight to the large, dimly lit mirror. It's almost instantaneous, the transformation of the bathroom to the train station. Though it was different this time, he wasn’t looking through the mirror there. He was there.

Tommy spins around, Kristen stands behind him. A train whooshes past behind her. There she is, the beauty that haunts his mind.

“Tommy.” Kristen greets. “You’ve been doing well, my boy.”

“How? I’ve remembered one silly thing, a daycare argument with another kid. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“It may not seem important, but it’ll lead you. It's the first crack in a dam, the more you hammer into it the larger it will get until the dam collapses and you are flooded with memories.” Kristen speaks in long metaphors, but they made enough sense to understand.

“What could be so important about these memories?”

“They’ll tell you who you really are, Thomas. You’ll remember those that loved you.” Kristen speaks, the train coming into a slow stop. Tommy can see the same figure in black within.

“Who keeps coming for you?” Tommy asks in a hurry, feeling his connection to the limbo fading.

“My sworn enemy, The God of Death.” Kristen speaks, turning to the train as the doors slowly open. “My world is set for a war.”

“Be careful!” Tommy shouts as he finds himself in the bathroom again, looking into the limbo through the mirror. Just as the figure in black runs at Kristen the picture fades away. He clenches his hands onto the countertop, trying to regain a connection but he isn't powerful enough in whatever this new found ability is. “Fuck!”

“Uhm…” A voice appears behind him. Tommy looks up, frazzled, to see Justin standing there having just exited a stall.

“You didn't hear a fucking thing.” Tommy spits, storming out quickly and making a seen effort to ram his shoulder into Justin’s. He storms through the restaurant and back to the door of the private room, taking a breath to regain his composure before entering.

“Hey Tommy! Do you want dessert?” Wilbur asks very loudly as Tommy enters, his plate empty in front of him and a smaller menu in his hands. Phil was absent from the table.

“Uh…” Tommy murmurs, sliding into his seat beside Technoblade. He already ordered quite the expensive meal, he would feel bad getting dessert as well. That's just another thing Phil is paying for. “No thanks.”

“Boo hoo. You're lame.” Wilbur jokes, scanning the menu. “I’m ordering you a slice of chocolate mousse pie.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“It is.”

Wilbur is a stubborn fucker, and so is Tommy, but Tommy is smarter than Wilbur is. He’ll stop arguing against it knowing that the fight would never end as neither man would give up. So instead he turns to Technoblade.

“Where’d Phil go?” Tommy asks, trying to keep his mind off the nagging need to try and find a way to go back to the limbo.

“He had to take a call.” Technoblade says point blank, sipping from his half empty lemonade. “It’s probably work or something.”

“It’s probably the Council.” Tommy scoffs, knowing it most likely IS the Hero Council. He may not be a Dreamer, but he definitely agrees with one of their main ideas. The Hero Council is corrupt. He’d rather be a fucking unstoppable force that could one day be defeated and made into a martyr for the city to revolt against the Council in the name of. He doesn't want to kill the innocent in the name of hatred against the Council as the Dreamers do.

“Probably.” Technoblade shrugs, taking the menu from Wilbur. The younger boys share light conversation until Phil returns, looking a mix of determined and annoyed as he slides his phone into his pocket and takes his seat. “What’s the verdict then?”

“Hero Council.” Phil sighs. “They were nasty fuckers, but at least they've given us a good mission. Tommy, is it okay if I have you work after dinner today? Triple pay.”

“Of course, what do you need?”

“A plane. Boy, Tommy, we’re going out of the city. Dream and his team are said to be at a port getting a shipment of explosives in a few days, our inside source has reported. We need to be there to intercept, and hopefully, get information on our boy.” Phil tells the group.

“I’ll make the arrangements.” Tommy grins, and if arrangements also meant packing his own vigilante costume to join the fight then so be it. Technoblade is going to be there, maybe they could get the whole Syndicate in on this.

“Good, thank you.”

The group has their desserts over some silence, everyone with a different thought process. Wilbur sits, boiling in determination to defeat (and possibly kill) Dream. Technoblade sits in consideration, trying to plan out his battle strategy. Phil sits in hope, hoping to every force that just maybe they’ll have Tommy with them. Tommy sits in fiery strength, ready for another battle against the Lava Panda and his buddies.

Though he is excited to be paid triple. Maybe he won't tell Clay that little fact about his working late. A trip away from the city!

Chapter Text

Tommy spends his afternoon late at the tower, being paid triple what he normally would be for the overtime, working for the trip. He calls nearby hotels, booking a large suite. He organizes a plane trip and the delivery of their hero suits. He works until 11 pm, making sure everything is perfectly prepared and thought for.

The trip will go smoothly, they will be able to check into the hotel at a good time and sleep for the night. He’s already informed heads of various departments in the building that their supervisors and superiors will be out of town and decisions will have to be made executively.

There was only one blaring issue about the night work. He forgot to inform his father that he had to work as late as he did. Usually he’s home before 7, as expected, but today he’s heading home at almost midnight without a single message sent to his father as to why.

He did deny a ride from Phil, even though the man was quite insisting and naggy, and took the night train instead. Was he nervous? Entirely? Was he tired? Not really. He doesn't feel much in the means of exhaustion anymore, he’s been getting under 15 hours a sleep each week for almost two years now. He’s used to it, he still runs with energy.

Though he has to admit, he does wonder how he would be if he got a normal amount of sleep. Hint from sources, he would be crazily energetic. He would be bouncing off the walls, his bones wouldn't ache and feel all tense. He would be more flexible, smarter too. He won't find that out for another day or two though.

The night train is mostly empty and lonesome, minus the stray homeless folk and ER nurses, so Tommy is perfectly alone. He can sit in peace with his crappy wire earbuds shoved into his ears, the staticy music barely comprehensible, but it blocks out enough noise that the train makes. His elevated ears can be sensitive, but growing up with Clay made so he could handle louder noises without sobbing. That doesn’t mean he enjoys listening to the sounds of people, he does prefer to be in a bubble of chosen sound. Such as music.

Tommy opens his phone, his third phone. His third phone, the Syndicate phone, is somehow his best phone. His personal phone is shitty, his work phone doesn’t work great for things other than taking calls. He isn’t using this one for personal shit, but he does want to message one of his crew members about his recent battles and his son's absence from the city.

He goes straight for Kinesis’ contact, or Niki, since she’s the easiest to talk to out of the group. Jack, Puffy, Quackity, Technoblade, they’re all awesome, for the most part, but they aren’t like Niki. He doesn’t know Puffy or Jack well, Quackity is just terrifying, and Technoblade is too close to his private life. Niki has been nothing but welcoming.

/Theseus/: Hi. Theseus here. I just wanted to check in.

He sends it, though that was an awkward as fuck message to send it was his best option compared to the other five million things he typed and deleted. He only has to wait a few moments before he sees Niki’s message back.

/Kinesis/: Hello, Theseus. I’m glad to hear from you, you are honestly one of the few that haven’t sent many messages. You and Quackity have been low contact so far. How is everything going?

/Theseus/: It’s been going well. I’ve taken down approximately fifteen Dreamers so far, not too many but I did have a recent injury that restricted my patrols.

/Kinesis/: You’re doing great. I think we have about fifty down since the meeting, at least in our organization. Are you alright? What type of injury was it?

/Theseus/: Oh wow. That’s more than I expected. Don’t worry, it was just a sprained wrist from my day to day life. It’s hard to fight sometimes with a hurt arm when you mainly fight with your fists.

/Kinesis/: Well I hope it healed well! Or is healing well.

Tommy can’t help but let a small smile twitch onto his face, his music glitching a bit before returning to its low quality mumbling.

/Theseus/: It’s healing well, the cast should be off in just a week or two.

/Kinesis/: That’s awesome! Is there any specific reason for your messaging or just wanted to give a report?

Tommy thinks for a moment. He DID initially message to inform her about his soon absence in the city, but he doesn’t know how to word it exactly. He can’t say too much about the where or why, if it got back to Technoblade it’d be too easy to connect the dots, but he also desperately wants to tell Niki about the mission and the Dream Team.

/Theseus/: There’s something in my personal life that connects to our… notion and it’s big information, but I fear it could reveal my identity to people in our organization. I don’t want to know who I am outside my vigilante persona since I have some personal connections to a few.

/Kinesis/: I understand that entirely. I will make a vow to you that anything you confide in me will not be shared with the rest of the group if you wish, if that makes it any better for you.

/Theseus/: I appreciate the reassurance.

Tommy pauses, considering his options. He takes the risk, most literally saying fuck it, and decides to explain the situation.

/Theseus/: I will be out of town on a mission with my bosses (who is SBI by the way) to a separate city with a port. Apparently Dream and his two business partners are picking up a large package of explosives that SBI (including Technoblade) will be intercepting. I plan on joining the fight, as any sane person does, to give them some support. They might not have the most… clear mindset as they will probably be focusing more on Tommy rather than on actually digging more information on the Dream Organization's plan.

/Kinesis/: Wow. That is quite the story, and such a coincidence that you know Technoblade outside of the Syndicate. It’s a shocker you haven’t been discovered yet, but I understand why you don’t want the information to be spread to the others in case The Blade hears it. I will say, this is an amazing opportunity. Fight safely and gather as much of those three as you can. If we can even know who is providing them with materials would get us one step closer to cutting them down.

/Theseus/: Will do. Thanks again, I’ll give you updates after the battle.

Tommy signs off, the phone already getting low on battery. He shuts it off and slides it into his bag, making sure it goes into a secure pocket so it doesn’t accidentally fall out of the make small holes throughout the bottom of the bag. His personal phone sits in his back pocket, connected to the earbuds in a knot as the wires needed to be bent a certain way to even work at all. After a while of sitting on the train, painfully listening to shitty audio, his personal phone also loses its battery and ends up shutting off.

“Well fuck that.” Tommy curses, not even one night rider looking up in confusion as many during the day train would. Nurses, homeless folks, and druggies don’t really care if some random boy talks to himself during a ride, he can even hear some others blabbering deliriously on the other end.

Tommy pulls his earbuds aggressively, stuffing them into his bag without a care to their condition. Now he has to sit in his own silence hearing the whir of the train, the other people, and the sounds of creaking from the inner workings of the train. He doesn’t like the train. He’s never really liked the train, but his dislike has only grown since his dreams started up. There’s something about that train hurtling through the limbo that rattles his bones, he doesn’t want to step onto yet yearns for it.

He needs to hop on the train and go where it takes it, but he knows he wouldn’t ever be able to step off after. He’d be stuck in limbo for all eternity. He doesn’t know HOW he knows that, but deep down he does know.

The train ride is slow and sad, loud but too silent. Eventually it comes to a stop, most people (including Tommy) stand to exit. They were near the front of L’maburg, they didn’t pave way for trains much farther than the start of that division of the city. They just really hate L’manburg, don’t they?

Tommy exits the station, walking up the broken concrete steps and ignoring the other quiet people walking up the stares. The few tired female nurses line their fingers in their various keys, Tommy takes note but doesn’t say or stare. That’d only make them even more uncomfortable, especially in these dark streets.

He takes his walk, not exactly nervous as to what lurks in the dark or snoops the alleys. He is a strong man, he is literally number one wanted vigilante. He dares them to come at him, he’ll beat their asses. He just hopes everyone else is safe tonight.

It’s a long walk from the station to his house, nerves seap his muscles with every step. Was he afraid? Was he scared? He doesn’t want to admit it, but yes. Very much so. He wasn’t afraid of the cruel world, he was afraid of his living father. How fucked up is that?

Tommy approaches his home, a home that's been his ever since he could remember (most literally). He surprisingly didn't see Clay’s car outside, which gave him relief but also a sense of confusion. Why wouldn't he be home? Is he out with friends?

Tommy walks up to the front door and hurriedly rams his key into the keyhole, slamming the door behind him as he enters the small house. It was empty, for the most part, Tommy could tell the power had been shut off. It was terribly cold, freezing almost. Even the streets were just a bit warmer, but that might just be his nervous chills talking.

It was dark and dull, not even a bit of life or light. Tommy digs his work phone from his bag, at least the flashlight worked on it. He walks through his house and into the kitchen, searching for anything that’ll give him some type of clue as to what has happened. He finds it pretty quickly.

A shabby slice of notepad paper sits on the kitchen counter. Tommy shines the light on it and reads the following message.

“I’m going on a trip with friends. Don't touch my shit, don't break any rules. Be a good boy now, Tommy.” Tommy reads aloud. “By the way, I turned off the water, heating, and electricity. If I’m not there it's unneeded. Only people that deserve those things should get them. I’ll be back in a week or so.”

“Well fuck you.” Tommy spits out before he could think, not that anyone is there to hear him say it, though he did feel guilty.

Tommy crumples up the note and tosses it into the trash can, using the light from his flashlight to climb the stairs to his bedroom. Once he makes it there he flops down onto his bed, taking a deep breath.

“I really should pack before my battery runs out.” Tommy speaks into the nothingness, considering his options yet again. Although he wanted nothing more than to rot in his bed, curled up to preserve heat, it's better to be productive. He can't even send Tubbo a text to tell him about the fact he’ll be dropping off the face of the city for the next almost week.

Feelings of patheticness take over and he forces himself off his bed and to his closet. He searches his closet for anything bigger than a nurse's bag, but nothing. Not a suitcase, not a duffle bag, not a thing. How shitty. He only really has one option, and it's a risky option.

Clay’s bedroom.

Should he? It's unsafe, and disrespectful, to enter Clay’s private quarters. He has NEVER in his lifetime been in that room, he’s rarely even ever gotten a peek inside when Clay enters or leaves. It was a space he can't even imagine something for. It was a void.

But Clay DOES have suitcases and duffle bags, so unless he either threw them away or took them all with, there should be one for Tommy to borrow. Key word. Borrow.

Clay doesn't like having his privacy disrespected, that's the one thing Tommy knows is the full truth in this godforsaken house. He ended up with a broken arm just for touching Clay’s phone, he’d end up paralyzed and probably dead if he was caught snooping in Clay’s bedroom.

But Clay isn't here. How could Clay ever find out? He just has to make sure not to move a thing, everything has to be left the same. Not even a smudge in a pile of dust or a strewn door.

So Tommy says fuck it, yet again today, and takes his risk. He leaves his bedroom, flashlight to the floor to assure he doesn't trip on anything. He passes the cracked banisters, the blood stained carpet, and the waterless bathroom. He walks across the dirty floors to the end of the hallway, reaching Clay’s bedroom.

He will admit, truthfully, he hesitates longer than he should. He stands there for what feels like eternity, almost physically unable to enter that hidden room. It's only the flashing low battery screen that pops onto his phone that snaps him out and reminds him of his urgency.

Without further ado, he reaches forward and wraps his fingers around the door handle. He takes a deep breath in, lets one out, and turns it. The door swings open from the force he didn't even realize he was using.

Clay’s bedroom is dark and gloomy, he can't see much. Not that he tries to right off the bat, it felt wrong. But eventually he had to raise his flashlight and view the space, it was surprisingly ordinary (minus the few odd decorative objects).

He had a large king sized bed with green sheets, a small stuffed kangaroo sitting oddly enough on the made spread. His walls appeared to be a light gray, random decorations hung around. There's a desk against the left wall with a computer and random objects, a few folders with names Tommy doesn't want to read. On the right wall is a shattered mirror glued back together with what looks to be hot glue. The farthest wall from the door is another door, a closet door, and on the ceiling in the center of the room is a string attached to a rectangle frame. They have an attic? How peculiar.

Tommy doesn't want to stare any longer, every moment he notices something weirder. Like the blood stains on the wall, a hanging porcelain mask with a sad face, and a stack of CDs with odd names like ‘Tommy on his birth’ and ‘Wedding’. Weird, but not weird for most parents. Anything sentimental from Clay was weird though.

Tommy quickly strides over to the closet, making light and careful steps. He opened the door, the creaking noise made him jump although it was him that made it.

The closet was a mediocre size, just a small walk-in covered in strewn clothes and horribly hung hoodies. Tommy, even if he has the desperate urge to tidy it, ignores all clothing and heads straight for the floor beneath the hanging clothes. Books, bags, fallen clothes… bingo!

Tommy spots a black duffle bag, grabbing it with his fist and carefully pulling it out. It had a gross smell, almost metallic, but it would do well. This is what he’ll take and return the first chance he gets.

Out of paranoia Tommy leans over and checks under the clothes again, shining his flashlight over the various objects to make sure he didn't shift anything how it isn't supposed to be shifted. All looks well except for one thing, and it isn't something misplaced.

It's something that easily catches his eye, something he’s seen across the streets of L’manburg and its symbol painting along old brick walls of alleyways. Dreamer propaganda.

He didn't want to move it much, but he could see quite a bit from where he is now as it is. The edges of posters, slogans and that putrid smiling symbol.

Dreamers have a dream! Join us and change the city!

Heroes are fake. Dreamers are real!

Let us turn this city’s frown upside down.

:)

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“No…” Tommy whispers, crawling backwards in horror. No. His father couldn't be a Dreamer! He just couldn't. Tommy, a Syndicate member and active vigilante fighting against the Dreamers, couldn't have been raised by a said Dreamer. He couldn't be living in a house with one.

But it all made sense. Clay’s hatred for Father Crow. His angry grumbling when a hero is seen on the news winning a battle. His distaste for the Council, his trips and long nights out. Clay is a Dreamer.

Tommy’s breath picks up as he scrambles to his feet. He wanted so badly to be ignorant again, to be able to ignore every warning sign just like he’s done before. This time is different, this time the evidence is just too strong.

Tommy runs to his room, closing Clay’s door behind him and darting to the floor beside his bed. He tosses the smelly duffle bag, and shuts off his flashlight to preserve battery. Even when his entire world is collapsing does he have logical sense.

Tommy tries to reason with his mind. Maybe Clay is collecting research? Maybe Clay likes their views but isn't an active member? Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe…

There's not enough maybe’s in the world to change what he saw. Clay at the very least supports Dream. Tommy hates Dream. Tommy is in a group of activists, going against the Dreamer notions and terrorism.

Even through the terror does Tommy see the only real, blaring question he needs to ask himself.

Will he turn Clay into the Syndicate or will he let the man slide? Will he take his responsibility as a hero or as a son?

If he turns Clay in, he betrays his father. He lets him, he betrays the Syndicate.

Who does he choose?

Chapter Text

{An author's villain monologue}

Clay.

The answer you've been waiting for is that Tommy chooses Clay. Now that may not make you happy, or even make a lot of sense, but for Tommy it wasn't that hard of a decision. He could never betray his father.

I wonder, if Tommy had chosen differently, if this story could've gone better. Lives could've been saved, the truth could've been revealed and he would've been a TRUE hero. He would've been saved from all the pain. The Craft’s would have gotten back their boy.

This story takes elements from Rapunzel. A child taken from their room at night by a selfish villain, never to be seen again. The child doesn't know who they're real parents are as their sole captor became their parent. One day they leave the ace they've been locked up for years and run around, meeting people. The child has secret powers that come out at random. The child’s real family suffers, not a trace of the child left behind, and they celebrate their birthday every year.

This story doesn't end in a gorgeous reuniting and a tragic, but honoring, death of the captor without a single REAL death. The blonde child won't just get everything they've dreamed of because they met some people. This child will lose everything, but gain knowledge. Is truth better than security?

This story is dark and gruesome, this story will leave tears and graves and empty nothingness. All this just for one boy, for a petty revenge.

We wish that he’ll sit at a table with his full, real, family. We wish that he’ll forget his pains and fly.

But this story doesn't have a happy ending. Tommy doesn't see the truth until it's too late. This ending will be bittersweet.

-

“Woah! Sorry I’m late.” Tommy pants, running across the runway and to the private jet that Phil stands outside of with a man dressed in a pilot’s uniform. He’s barely even left this city, let alone been on a plane.

“Don’t you worry, we weren't going to leave without you. Anyway, we are scheduled to depart in ten minutes, you're not even late.” Phil assures, looking the frazzled boy up and down in slight concern.

Tommy's blonde hair was a wacky, curly mess. He didn't have water for a shower so he couldn't fix it, nor did he care much recently. His clothes felt very mixed matched to Phil compared to the boy’s normal almost monochromatic sense of style. White sneakers, black jeans, blue under shirt, red sweater with yellow accents. A weird combo, but Tommy made it work.

His face was paler than usual, and honestly a little tear stained, and he had way less fake jewelry on. Phil doesn't care how his assistant dresses, but he does care about his well being. The boy was usually so… tidy.

Not to mention the torn duffle bag at his side and his messenger bag, which Phil is now realizing had increasingly larger holes in it, were wrinkled and thrown on his shoulders willy nilly.

“C’mon, let's board. The boys are already inside getting comfortable.” Phil smiles, allowing Tommy to go ahead of him.

Tommy unsteadily climbs up the rackety stairs, not even minding when Phil’s gentle hand rests on his back to comfort his climb. He reaches the top and nearly collapses through the door. He was used to elevators with bound wings, staircases that felt like they were on the verge of collapse? Nope.

“Holy shit…” Tommy breathes, holding onto the wall to catch the breath he was holding in.

“Huh. You're pretty scared of heights.” Phil comments, grabbing Tommy's duffle bag to put in one of the overhead compartments, though he could've sworn it smelt oddly like blood.

“That’s such a coincidence, Tommy.” Technoblade jokes from a large, leather white seat. There were four almost couch sized leather seats with beige buckles, cupholders, and a small folding table. Two on each side of a small walkway. Technoblade is on the one closest to the back, Wilbur across from him horizontally. Tommy will have two options, closer to Wilbur or Technoblade?

“Oh shut up, Techno. It's hard NOT to be when it's wrapped up.” Tommy retorts, Phil gives him a weird look for the way both his…. For the way his kid and his assistant are speaking.

“It’s not even fifteen feet.” Technoblade scoffs.

“Scary enough.” Tommy rolls his eyes, their little conversation about Tommy's wings both made him anxious and relaxed. How the hell do you feel both at the same time?

Tommy flops down into the large ass chair across from Technoblade. He’s close to all of them, but closer to Technoblade. Both in chairs and in relationships.

He swings his messenger bag off his shoulder and onto his lap, digging around in the mess and pulling out two old charging cords. The chairs had USB ports by the cupholders, thank fuck, and he plugs both chargers in. Tommy then pulls out his personal and work phone, which are both now fully dead, and he plugs them in to charge.

His work phone is clean and simple, not large but it works. His personal phone… It was a bit frightening. It was cracked beyond belief, every crack held grime and dust. The phone type was so incredibly outdated that they stopped producing it and the phones don't even appear on ebay.

“What the hell is that relic?!” Wilbur jokes, staring with an almost impressed gleam in his eyes.

“A phone.” Tommy deadpans, adjusting the cord of the charger so it actually charges the phone, much like his headphones.

“How the fuck did you crack it so much?” Wilbur asks with a laugh. Tommy was glad he wasn't picking on the fact it's so old or weird looking, rather on Tommy's own clumsiness.

“Two reasons. It's old. I drop shit a lot.” Tommy huffs, dropping his bag to the floor.

“Obviously.” Wilbur playfully rolls his eyes. “I’m honestly kinda impressed.”

Phil takes his seat across from Wilbur, sighing peacefully into it. All his boys, together and bickering with happy faces. All h- Two of his boys and a close friend, all together and happy. Tommy simmering, Technoblade watching holding back laughter, Wilbur with his taunting expression. It's like they turned back time for a moment and it was before everything was ruined.

“Are we ready for take off?” The pilot’s voice calls from the speakers above them, cutting off Tommy from fighting back with a smartass comback. The plane begins to quietly whir beneath them as the door is vacuum sealed shut. “I hope so because we’re going up to altitudes no one will survive a crash from. Please fasten your seat belts until I tell you otherwise, keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle.”

“Holy shit… Holy shit…. Holy shit.” Tommy mumbles, buckling with shaking hands. Once he’s buckled so tightly he feels the leather pinching his skin he holds on so tight to the armrests that his hands turn white and purple.

Why was he so scared? It's just flying. Except he has no control over it, and he can’t catch himself if he calls, and this machine has a statistical chance to implode with them inside. Maybe it was just the lack of control, he hasn't had much control over his life, but he’ll just tribute it to the chance of a brutal and painful death.

“It’s alright, Toms. That guy jokes around like that with us all the time, we aren't going to crash.” Wilbur reassures.

“There’s still a 1.049 that we will crash.” Tommy murmurs, feeling the jet beginning to move forward along the runway. He slams his eyes shut, even if he can’t see anything anyway unless he turns his head to look out a window. Suddenly he feels a hand interlace over his, a large gentle hand squeezing his for comfort. He knows it’s Phil, which makes it so much better to have the one other winged person holding his hand. It could be an avian thing, it could be the fact Phil would be able to save him if the plane crashed.

The plane speeds up, loud air whooshing past them. They gain speed, closing in to the end of the runway. Slowly the plane rises, increasing altitude on a slant. They up, and up, and up, and…. Peace. The plane steadies into the higher altitude, straightening out and rebalancing. There is just a light whirring and the rumble of the ground left from the chaos.

Even as Tommy opens his eyes, shamefully so, to relax in the plane Phil still doesn't let go of Tommy's hand. It takes Tommy pulling his sweaty palm out in a flustered embarrassment towards his cowardice to separate the two, Phil pulling his hand back and watching hi- the boy.

“See? All good.”

“Yeah… whatever.” Tommy grumbles, refusing eye contact with anyone at any cost. “Let’s just talk about the mission.”

“Mhm. Alright.” Phil nods, noticing Tommy's wish to quickly divert the attention. “For starters, you will be given a large bonus along with your pay for attending this.”

“Really?”

“Yup! How much was it again? Five thousand?” Wilbur chimes in. Five fucking grand???? What the hell, that's so much money.

“Five thousand, five hundred, fifty.” Phil corrects, though the extra five-fifty really didn't make all that much of a difference. The number was still so unbelievably high for Tommy that he almost choked on air.

“Again- Holy shit.” Tommy repeats for the hundredth time that day. It was better to think about this rather than let his mind wander back to… Clay.

“I know, we really should be paying you more. Remind me to double your pay when we get back.” Phil sighs, as if he were someone to be disappointed.

“I was going to say that you are giving me TOO much money, but okay.”

Phil stares at him, having to remind himself that Tommy comes from a very different social class in the means of revenue and income, but it still felt stupid to be paying him so little when they're family and agency is swimming in cash.

“We’re all going to be briefed when we get there, but for the next day we aren't going to have as much information as we want. Everything you’ll need to know until then is in this folder.” Phil grabs a THICK folder from the side of his chair. Tommy has no fucking clue where it came from but he tends not to pay too much attention to the oddities of the things that happen around him. Phil passes the folder out, Tommy grabbing it quickly. There was so many fucking stapled sheets of paper in there.

“Wish me luck, don't talk to me.” Tommy demands, curling his feet up onto the chair to get more comfortable as he prepares to start delving into the world of paper!

The other's on the plane take that seriously, everyone goes into their own little world. Wilbur puts his headphones on and sits listening to music in peace. Phil grabs his reading glasses, reading a book. Technoblade just… stares out the plane window bare??? Weirdo.

Tommy, in the nice silence of the plane, relaxes a little too much. He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the words, the lines blurring together and the words turning to blobs of ink. It wasn't a surprise that the heavily sleep deprived boy fell asleep, he hasn't had a full night's sleep in months.

“Awww.” Wilbur coos, sliding one headphone off his left ear as the music fades out of that side. “Toms fell asleep.”

Phil takes note of the ‘Toms’ endearment that Wilbur keeps using, easily recognizing it, but he wouldn't say a word. His guilty pleasure is pretending everything is alright, pretending that Tommy is Tommy for just a bit.

“Try not to wake the poor thing, he never looks well-rested.” Phil orders, but gently.

“I would never wake him up- he looks so calm.”

“He looks like Tommy.”

-

It's just his luck that Tommy’s consciousness would be sent to Limbo when he fell asleep in front of the Craft’s. Annoying, but based on Tommy’s life it wasn't much a surprise.

This time Tommy doesn't awake on a bench in the train station as he usually would, he awoke on the ground. He knows he’s in the Limbo only by the loud sound of the train whooshing by.

Tommy groans, his body aching as he pushes himself up from the ground. The space was barren and empty, not a person in sight, but Tommy knows someone is nearby. He’s had better intuition involving this weird shit since his first visit, though back then he thought it was just a dream.

“Kristen!” Tommy calls, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his head. He looks down, realizing he no longer is in his normal clothes. He wore a long black robe with small purple gems lining the oversized sleeves. It went down to his ankles, which shows his bare feet, and was loose over his body. He could feel slits in the back for his wings, which were out and free. “The hell?”

Tommy walks over to the window behind the bench he usually wakes up on, a window that looks into nothing but a void of course, but he’s able to see his own reflection in it. The scar on his forehead is missing, his skin full of light and energy. He didn't look horridly thin. Though there was one feature that stood out the most. His wings.

His wings are a dark purple shade, much unlike they're usual bright red. They were larger and fuller, they looked strong. Tommy wonders if this is what they should've looked like, he finds them truly beautiful. Even his wingspan gained in size, he looked taller in height as well.

“What the hell happened to me? Why do I look so… wrong?” Healthy. He looks healthy, both mentally and physically.

Tommy turns away from the glass window, searching the empty station for Kristen's appearance. Still. Nobody.

The train rushes by at the same speed, the platform lonesome except for our Tommy boy in his weird clothes and wings. He searches around, looking for a way out. None of the windows looked out into anything real, just the same void he saw during that first drean. There’s no doors. Just a few benches, the platform, windows, and the train.

The train. What is the train? Why is it always running? Does it lead somewhere? Unanswered questions, nagging questions. Tommy feels like he knows the answers to them, but he can't grasp onto actually KNOWING the knowledge.

Tommy wanders for a while longer before flopping down onto his bench, defeated. He takes the time to inspect- well himself!

His eyes glide his smooth, brighter skin. The scarless skin, the skin that only holds imperfections in the form of freckles and moles. Many would complain about those things, but Tommy is content that they're all that's ‘wrong’ with him.

His leg muscles were thicker, stronger. They didn't feel like they were made of strings, they didn't look to be made of just his bones. He was full. He was a normal kid, wasn't he?

Tommy’s never been a fan of his appearance, but he never hated it really. That might change after seeing what he could've looked like if given the right resources. If he was fed enough, if he had an avian parent, if he went outside in his early childhood. If. If. If.

Suddenly the train halts to a stop, screeching along the tracks. It snaps Tommy from his mind. The train always came to an almost painfully slow stop, why the sudden break now? Tommy stands up, rushing closer to get a look inside the cart without actually entering. Inside was Kristen and the man in his black hood and robe, the God of Death was it? Tommy could hear their bickering through the slowly opening doors.

“It’s the right thing to do!” Kristen shouts, a finger in the shorter man’s face.

“It isn't right with the natural order of things. He isn't meant to be conversed with, I don't know how you even managed to contact him.” Death (is that the proper name to call the literal God of Death?) spits back. It seemed to be quite the heated disagreement, Tommy had a feeling he was the subject.

“That’s the thing! He shouldn't have been able to be contacted if he wasn't a Souled.” Kristen huffs. A Souled? The hell is a Souled?

“He can't be a Souled AND an avian.”

“It’s been done before.”

“It’s rare.”

“He’s my-”

“Uhm-” Tommy interjects, standing extremely close to the line between the platform and the train. “Sorry to interrupt, but I assume I shouldn't go inside this train thing and I’m really confused.”

“You brought him here again!” Death shouts, turning in bewilderment from Kristen to Tommy. “After I directly ordered you not to?!”

“I didn't do it this time…” Kristen breathes, her eyes stuck on her son in his deathlike robes, purple wings, and clean skin. He looked nothing like the Tommy she’s met before, but so much like the Tommy she gave birth to.

“Then who could've?” Death argues, he had a surprisingly sassy way of speaking and moving. He turns to Tommy, though his face doesn't appear to exactly exist. Weirdly enough, it didn't bother Tommy one bit. “How’d you get here, kid?”

“I don't know…?” Tommy resists the urge to roll his eyes. As if it wasn't obvious he has zero idea, he’s only ever professed his confusion since his arrival. “I just woke up here in this stupid train station, again.”

“We’ve been talking this whole time, it couldn't have been me.” Kristen defends herself, ignoring the conversation she was previously having with Death to walk over to her boy. She places her hands on the sides of his arms, smiling down at him. “My, don't you look just wonderful?”

“Don’t touch a mortal.” Death scoffs, floating up beside Kristen. Yes. Floating. The guy hasn't touched the ground since Tommy spotted him. Kristen lets her hands fall, but Tommy doesn't ignore the annoying glare she sends him.

“I’m not going to get a disease from just touching a Souled.”

“A. We don't know if he’s ACTUALLY a Souled yet. B. It's still wrong, he should be bowing to us not us touching him.” Death seems to be very much a prick.

“Mind me, Lord Death or whatever, what is a Souled?” Tommy butts in with his question. Death can already tell the boy one-hundred percent takes after his mother in determined gall.

“You don't even know what a Souled is?” Death scoffs in heavy sarcasm.

“Be understanding! He wasn't raised by a Souled, he wouldn't be able to know about us.” Kristen scolds Death, funnily enough, even smacking his shoulder lightly. The man instantly straightening out.

“Sorry.” Death coughs, stepping forward. Tommy takes a few steps away from the line, allowing the two to leave their train. Once they're both off the doors slam shut and the train goes back to whooshing by relentlessly. “A Souled is a special type of person in the world, stemming from a very select few family trees. They are… how to put it…. Double Souled.”

“Double Souled?” Tommy echoes. How could someone have double souls?

“Yes. They have their life force and a second force within them that connects them to the Limbo. The average Souled is usually just able to occasionally see the afterlife, have prophecies, and every now and then speak to those already crossed over. The most skilled have an active connection to the Limbo and have special abilities.”

“And you think… I’M… a Souled?” Tommy breathes. No. No way is he that, he doesn't have any paranormal abilities or afterlife connections (except for this of course). He’s a red winged avian, not a Souled.

“Kristen here strongly believes it, I could do with sone convincing still.” Death hmph’s, gliding across the
concrete ground. He spins suddenly, looming over the boy. “You don't look like the type.”

“Okay?” Tommy murmurs, trying to find a place to set his eyes on without eyes or a face to focus on.

“Leave him be, Ziek.” Kristen demands, pulling Death (or Ziek?) away from Tommy. She steos forward, taking his place but with a much more comforting aroma. “Let’s get you back to the living world now.”

Kristen grabs Tommy by the shoulders, guiding him to thr center of the platform. He felt awkward, being pulled away like a child, but if it was Kristen he didn't mind much.

“I’ll invite you back soon.” Kristen smiles in a offer, taking a step back. She slams her eyes shut, her hand outstretched towards Tommy.

A lavender mist swirls around him, sma black void dots sparkled amidst the lavender. He feels his body tugging, his mind warping. Just as he feels like he’s been sucked through a vacuum it all stops and he still stands on the center of the stations platform.

“What th-” Kristen blabbers, staring at her palm as if it did something wrong.

A piercing head strikes Tommy's temples, causing him to loudly cry out. He falls to his knees, large purple wings spread out behind him. The one actually smacks Death in the face.

His hands hold his head as a ringing noise echoes through his ears, he feels Kristen's hands on him and her voice somewhere in the distance but he can't fully see or hear it.

The pain grows, a a bright white light flashing in his head (his eyes?) which only adds to the confusion and pain. The ringing growd louder, and louder, and louder, and louder until-

Pure silence and stillness. Not a pain lingering, not a noise or bright light behind his eyes. Tommy opens his eyes, noticing instantly the environment shift. He wasn't at Limbo anymore, he was in a pure black void much like the one outside the station windows.

“Hello?! Is anyone there!?” Tommy shouts, pushing himself to his feet. He couldn't see how far or when the void stops, it was like walking in the middle of the air. He still wore the robe.

Tommy walks in a random direction, hoping to find just a single sign of life. For what feels like miles and hours he walks, not a thing in any direction. Is there even direction in a place like this? Is he even moving or just walking in place?

And through the dark void is a light, a sma shining light in thr far distance. Almost in tears Tommy sprints through the void, reaching the source of the light. It was a mirror with some extraterrestrial light shining from above and below it.

A plain mirror, nothing really special. Tommy approaches it, his full body reflection there before him. Man, did he look amazing like this. Full of like even frazzled from the run in the dark.

The image begins to twist, and so does he. He robes fall clean off his body before he could catch them, leaving him naked in the dark. His large, dark purple wings begin to shrink and shrivel as they fade into redm his body twitches, turning from it's gorgeous fullness into a skeletal ugly.

His tanned skin loses it's color, almost a pasty grey. His hair loses some volume he didn't even notice was added along with it's bright glow. Tommy wanted the figure in the mirror just moments ago back. He doesn't like what he transformed into, the real him.

Short, boney, pale, weak, red winged. He wants what he could've been. Tall, fed, string, bright, purple wings. Real avain wings, not these fluttering useless pieces of shit. He wanted it.

“No…” Tears stream down Tommy's face, his head shaking as if he were disagreeing to the image. He hated it. He hated what he sees.

He can't take it anymore. Tommy cries, raising his fist and pounding it into the glass. No matter how loud he screams or how hard he hits, the mirror is indestructible. He tries to run, but the mirror is there everywhere he turns his head forcing him to see his reflection. He can't even slam his eyes shut.

“I WANT OUT!!!” Tommy screams, overwhelmed by the constant sight of that damned mirror.

-

“He’s been asleep for a while, huh?” Technoblade comments, looking from the window to the knocked out boy across from him. The folder laid half open in Tommy's hands, his head leaned against the armrest and body curled into the chair. He looks so mucj younger than he actually is, by thejr knowledge at least.

“Yeah. Almost the whole plane trip now.” Phil laughs lightly, looking over at the boy as well. He notices a small twitch in the boy’s lip muscles, a deeper frown settling into the kid’s resting face. He hadn't moved this entire time, he also looked at peace for most his rest, but now he looks distraught.

Tommy mumbles something into the armrest, something illegible to even Phil's advanced avain ears.

“Hm.” Phil hums, setting his book down.

“What?” Technoblade asks, seeing the way Phil looks at Tommy.

“I think he’s sleep talking, he keeps mumbling something under his breath and he doesn't look too good.” Phil watches Tommy's eyebrows furrow in both amusement and passive concern.

“I wonder what's going on in that little head of is?”

-

A void of cursed objects.

A mirror that refuses to let you see anything but the worst of yourself. It's followed by a display of traumatizing objects. For Tommy, he sees a quite a few in their glass displays, still naked and afraid.

His puppet necklace Ckay gifted him. The fork. Clay's boot. A model of his house. A pile of leftover spaghetti. A stack of Dreamer propaganda. Himself as a stuffed doll, Coraline style.

The displays all crack open, this glass shattering and disappearing into the void. The fork begins to float, hovering in mid air. It flies, a flying trauma fork.

Tommy knows what's coming. He runs, screaming all the way through the void.

-

“What’s he saying?” Wilbur asks, leaned forward in his seat with his headphones set to the side.

“Sh!” Phil hushes, leaning in closer as Tommy starts to mumble yet again. This time he was louder, just loud enough for everyone to get a faint glimpse of what he said.

“No-” Tommy shakes his head in his sleep. “Stay back…”

“He’s having a nightmare.” Technoblade diagnoses, he’s had a plentiful amount of nightmares and seen other's nightmares to know the signs. He’s just sad to know even someone as young and sparky as Tommy gets them.

“Aw.” Wilbur frowns, narrowing his eyes on the boy he sees almost like his younger brother. “Should we wake him?”

“We might only frighten him, but we are going to land soon so it may be best.” Phil sighs, reaching forward to try and GENTLY shake Tommy awake. The second his hand makes contact with the boy’s forearm Tommy jolts with a scream.

“LET GO!!” Tommy screams, heaving as he jumps up in his seat, skin glistening with sweat. He wasn't fully back into reality just yet.

Technoblade, Wilbur, and Phil share wild glances of concern and shock, not having expected the outburst.

“Hey, kid, breathe. You're fine. On a plane, remember?” Phil reminds, pulling his hands away anx up in the softer way criminals do. Tommy pants, his mind regaining it's logic and function. Shit. How much of that nightmare thing transferred to his sleeping body?

Though he does feel glad to be back in his clothes with just putrid red wing tied away. It's a comforting thought.

“Fuck me.” Tommy curses, running a hand through his hair. This is more than just embarassing, this is worse than even straight up humiliation. This is the worst form of vulnerability. Unchosen vulnerability. Fuck fuck fuck fuck!

“It’s alright kid, we all get them here.” Technoblade assures in his partially indifferent voice. That almost made it so much worse. They all know nightmares, but Tommy's were different. He can't ever tell recently if they're Limbo or imagination. He was in Limbo then in thr nightmare, are they connected or just two sepearate events? Either way, both sucked.

Tommy grumbles, taking a deep breath to regain his compsure. He doesn't want to acknowledge the blaring looks from Wilbur and Phil, their eyes are so loud he might go deaf.

“How much longer until we land?” Tommy asks, grabbing his two fully charged phones from their ports to shove into his bag with the charhers still connected. If he does so purposefully aggressively, it was just to put Wilbur off.

“15 minutes.” Phil tells him after a few moments, trying not to make a big deal out of it, though to him it was a massive deal.

“Holy shit, again. I was out for a while, huh?” Tommy tries to joke, but it just comes out as dry and hoarse.

“Yeah, but I’m glad you got the rest. You always look so damn exhausted all the time.”

“No I don't!”

“Oh yes you do, boy.” Kristen laughs. No one in the room hears her, not even Tommy this time.

“We can't stay long, Kristen.” Death sighs, trying his best tl have somr sympathy. This might be his new Death, but she’s also still a grieving mother taken from her family too soon.

“Let me just watch them, just a few more moments. Let me have a moment to pretend I’m there with them, alive.” Kristen’s voice cracks, a single tears dropping down her face. Her hand goes to carress her husbands face, but it just passes through him. “I miss you.”

“He misses you too.”

“I know that, but I wish he didn't have to miss me.” Kristen hiccups, stepping back. If she was here any longer she would never be able to leave. “Goodbye, for now.”

“Let’s go, we’ve got work to do.”

Chapter Text

The plane has a smooth landing, gliding onto the runway with ease. The moment they're stopped and the stairs start unfolding Phil jumps up to leave, antsy to get to their hotel.

“We have someone that's going to collect our luggage for us, let's get to the car boys.” Phil ushers them, collecting his book and folders from the side of his seat. Wilbur is fast to get out of his seat, he only has to grab a small bag and his headphones to carry out. Technoblade, who raw dogged the flight, didn't have a thing to grab.

Tommy grabs his bag and phones, stuffing them into his bag away from the holes. Once he’s done Phil leads the way, the door of the plane now open to the same rickety staircase. Tommy can’t help but grimace. He’ll be the second to exit, that's a lot of weight both behind and in front of him that could break the staircase.

Phil notices Tommy's discomfort, a sudden urge overcoming his reasonable thought. Phil reaches over and grabs Tommy by the waist, jumping out the door and using his wings to catch them for a safe glide down.

“AH! Fuck!” Tommy screams as Phil drops him onto the paved runway. He scrambles to gain his balance, a small part of his heart fluttering from the short flight. What is this feeling? “The hell was that for man?”

“You would've taken forever.” Phil shrugs with a sly grin, but not an evil one. More of a… fatherly playfulness. Not that Tommy would know what that looks like, though.

Tommy grumbles, collecting himself with a huffed pout. Wilbur and Technoblade jump their way down the staircase, reaching the bottom quickly. To the right of the runway is a black short limo. A fucking limo?!

The group walks up to it, the doors unlocked to them. All four hop in, the seats long and a small basket of snacks in the center. Phil takes a seat beside Tommy, a foot away on the seat, and the two brothers take their own seats across from them. Tommy's wings ached so he kept his back off the seat, sitting oddly postured.

The limo whirs alive, pulling away from the private airport. Phil smiles, turning his the three boys as he relaxes into the seat

“So- what hotel did you book us, Tommy?” His voice is calm, smooth. Tommy didn't really notice just how kindly Phil spoke to him till now, it's honestly a bit disturbing.

“Uh…” Tommy recalls. “Punk’s Palace I think. It had really good reviews, security, and a decent distance away from dock without being too far for radio signals.”

“Smart boy.” Phil grins, sighing as the car makes a turn. Wilbur taps his foot against the ground in a rhythm, glancing between the window and Tommy in boredom. It only takes him a mere minute to say something.

“Hey Toms?” Wilbur suddenly says.

“Hm?” Tommy hums, turning his head away from the window. The nickname no longer sounds weird to hear or causes him to pause before answering.

“Opinions on Dream Team?” Wilbur blurts out. The fuck? What type of question is that? Tommy has to hold back his reflex to choke on air.

“Why?” Tommy coughs, clearing his throat.

“I don't know. I’m bored, we’re about to go fight them.” Wilbur shrugs, leaning forward. He is certainly an… interesting character. “So? You had some opinions on Theseus, but not one of the biggest organizations in this city?”

“I have opinions.” Tommy huffs, catching Phil’s eyes on him. “They’re asshats.”

“Way to be descriptive.” Wilbur rolls his eyes, a slight scowl on his face. “But it's true. They're asshats alright. Answer my question fully.”

Tommy’s mind wavers from the conversation, turning to something else. Clay. Dad. His father, by blood and by love. A man he has always looked up to, is apart of the Dream Organization. He can't be a big part of it, right? He has to just be an errand boy or something. A clean up guy. Yup. That's right. He’s just someone meaningless.

Tommy can't help but know this is far from the truth, a part of him deep inside resists these thoughts. He doesn't want to follow down THAT rabbit hole of conspiracy.

“The Team or the Organization as a whole?” Tommy finally asks, turning as much of his attention as he can back to the conversation.

“Y’know what, both!” Wilbur decides. It was better to be annoying and ask random questions rather than fall into his own mind, much unlike Tommy who often spends most of his time within his own head. He’d make a mistake, like he has too many times before. The itch for a cigarette, mouth watering for a drink. It's better to be a pester than a problem. Right?

Tommy hates questions like this, to be honest. If it were a day ago, he would've been able to answer in a fiery rage within seconds of it being asked. Now? He’s not too sure. He’s battling between his loyalty to his father and his vigilante morals. Everything he fights for goes against what the organization stands for, but the one thing he truly needs and wants goes along with it. Is a part of it, even.

“For the Team itself, they're truly despicable beings.” That feels wrong to say. Why does that feel like a betrayal? “They kill, they destroy, they are true monsters. While everybody, villain or hero, has both good and bad sides, I can't see a world where any of their actions are even mildly justified. No sob story makes up for their crimes.”

“And for the Organization?”

“The people in it?” Tommy pauses, “They aren't ALL terrible people. Not every Dreamer is a killer or a thief or a con. Some could just be in sticky situations, or want to fight for a cause they believe is right such as laws on heros or corruption in the government. Not everybody who is part of something bad is bad themself.”

Phil glances over at Tommy, his eyebrows softening downwards. That optimistic viewpoint was familiar, the eyes for both sides of a battle.

●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●

“Kristen?” A young Phil calls out, barely into his twenties. His skin is still full of youth, eyes bright and hair without a single grey strand. Beside him lays his girlfriend, her long black hair spread out in dark waves on the roof of his used car. They're parked at the peak of a hill, laying on the roof of the car as they watch the stars they can't see from the city.

“Yes, dear?” Kristen turns her head from the sky, looking across the short distance between the two. Her eyes pooled with a passionate gleam, a hopeful shine.

“Would you like me even if I were a monster?” Phil asks. If he thought being anxious was bad before getting into a relationship, boy was it worse during one. Every little move he makes, every little look in her eye. How is he to tell whether she actually likes him? What if this is all just a ploy? What if he accidentally stops doing the thing she loves about him? What if his personality changes and she falls out of love? “Would you like me if I were different?”

“Phil.” Kristen narrows her eyes on him, subtly reaching her hand to move overtop of his, their fingers interlacing gently. “I chose you, always remember that. I chose you first, I’ll choose you second, I’ll choose you third. I’ll choose you if you change, I’ll choose as long as my morals aren't disrupted. You can never be a monster in my eyes because I trust you, I know you’ll never cross a line that can't be undone. Trust me.”

Phil’s eyes swarm with the start of tears, a smile breaking onto his pink lips stained with her lipstick. “I trust you. With all my heart.”

“With all my heart.”

Kristen shuffles closer, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

Phil was taken aback, but he didn't move away nor reject. He takes his time before answering, making sure he really means it before jumping to say it. “I love you too, my Kristen.”

Phil reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He plants a short, warm kiss on her vanilla lips. More of her lipstick smudges off on his own lips, he’ll never admit it but he loves the feeling of her lipstick. It was so smooth and the color so perfect, it looked perfect on her. He always wipes it off before hanging around friends, but it's always last minute. He wants to cherish every part of her like a meal that won't last long. He hopes to every force in the universe that she lasts long.

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Now Phil’s hair is starting to gray and his skin at the cusp of wrinkling, he’s changed many times as he’s matured and she never stopped loving him. She loved him until the day she took her life, and Phil knows that if there really is such a thing as an afterlife, she is still there loving him still. What a feeling, KNOWING someone loves you without a doubt. Phil wouldn't take that feeling from his worst enemy, though it would be tempting at first being that it is Dream.

Phil is aging, still watching the stars from high buildings every chance he gets. He often lays on the roof of a tower, hand held out beside him but his fingers go loose and lips remain unstained. His body sleeps alone at night, not another soul to warm it. His lips go unkissed, not a smear of lipstick or the lingering taste of her sweet cinnamon chapstick there to comfort him throughout the day. He no longer walks by a flower shop and thinks to buy some for her since there is no more her to buy for. He can't look at shades of purple or smell specific perfumes and meals and flowers without remembering what is missing from his life.

He is full of love, but he can't place his love in someone other than HER. She always told him to move on and find love again if she ever passed, but no matter how many times he swore he would, he still couldn't. He looked into the faces of the women he’s attempted to date and could only view their flaws, only see the things they didn't do compared to Kristen. He never let them go far, he’d rather be alone than hurting someone he could never learn to love.

“-anyways! That's why I absolutely hate brussel sprouts!” Wilbur's voice cuts back into Phil’s mind, breaking him of his thoughts and memories. What an odd boy.

Out of all Phil’s children, Wilbur looks the most like Kristen. The dark hair, dark eyes, his complexion. Even through all the similarities, Wilbur doesn't remind Phil of Kristen the most. Funny enough, it WAS Tommy. His Tommy. The boy that looked like a more vibrant version of Phil was the most like her, even this older, not-his-Tommy Tommy is similar.

“You’re weird as fuck, man.” Tommy laughs, shaking his head. He doesn't know how the conversation deterred from villains to brussel sprouts, but he isn't complaining. He’d probably know if he were paying more attention, his eyes keep trying to get another glimpse at the weirdly out of it Philza.

“Hey! Asshat.” Wilbur mumbles under his breath, crossing his arms.

“Aye! Who are you calling asshat, bitch?” Tommy argues back.

Technoblade watches his bro- the two younger men bicker, wondering how they're both grown adults and acting like absolute children. If it weren't for the fact that he remembers Wilbur's birth and he saw Tommy's birth certificate, he’d assume they're both teens. Little does he know he’s right about one of them, but that's for us to know and him to possibly find out one day.

“Just so you two idiots know, we’re almost at our destination.” Technoblade interjects, pointing at the window casually at the hotel sign as they pull in, the building large and brightly lit. “I heard they had a pool.”

Chapter Text

Their room was surprisingly large, even for a sweet. To Tommy, it felt nearly larger than his whole house. A beautiful massive kitchen with marble countertops, barstools, white cabinets with glass windows, and a sleek steel fridge that is four times the size of his own. Left of the kitchen is a living area with one of those absurdly long L shaped grey couches and a 98 inch flat screen television. The living room holds a large window and balcony overlooking the city, though the view isn't as good as the ones in his own city.

Diverging from the living room is a small hallway with seven doors. Two appear to be bathrooms, marble heated floors and high pressure shower heads. To say it looks like it’ll be complicated to even turn on the shower is an understatement. The other five rooms are bedrooms, all identical in size, color theme, and shape. All except one, which is the master bedroom. They decide to use that one as a homebase for during the mission, everyone takes their own smaller room.

Tommy’s is the one three doors down the hall, across the hall from one of the bathrooms. He tosses his phones and the charges onto the nightstand, plugging his Syndicate burner in to charge since he couldn't on the plane ride. In the meantime, he pulls out his personal phone. It was fully charged, which is rare for him. He punches in his passcode, his lockscreen still just red without any extra designs. Once inside he opens the messages, checking for any missed ones.

#One Missed call from Dad#

“Shit.” Tommy curses under his breath, fingers scrambling to click on the contact. How could he forget? How could he be so careless?

Tommy presses the call button, letting it ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Finally, right as he was losing hope that Clay would pick up at all, the call starts with a beep. There's silence on both ends for multiple paces. Tommy's out of fear, Clay's in a form of annoyed frustration.

“Thomas.” Clay speaks sternly, but not in a silly scolding way. It sends a shiver down Tommy's back and an ache into his forearm. If this were a movie, this’d be the time he’d dramatically gulp.

“Dad.” Tommy murmurs back, though his voice doesn't even reach a single level of strength. It sends him cringing. Can he NOT sound like a scared puppy for two seconds? This is shameful. How is he even a vigilante if one man’s voice sends him shaking and fearful in the matter of seconds? Let alone his father?

“You know I don't like having my calls ignored, boy.”

“I know.” Tommy defeats. There's no excuse for it, is there? Not without digging himself a deeper hole or ruining something. It's hard to even speak to Clay knowing what he knows about him, but he can’t give up his love towards him. It'd be darn near impossible to lose that adoration. “My uh- my cell phone was dead. The power is off at home and I am only able to charge it now at work.”

That's a good excuse, right? He isn't shifting the blame fully on Clay, but also offering a logical enough explanation. It isn't too vague, not a full lie, but also not suspiciously detailed. This is good, right? Yeah. All. Good. Everything is fine. Everything WILL be fine, Tommy.

“Get to work earlier to charge it next time, Tommy.” Clay sighs, faint shuffling and chattering behind him. Is he with Dreamers right now? Is he scheming? Is he running errands?

Tommy's head reels with questions, each one more paranoid from the last but also closer to the truth just the same. He cuts his mind off for a moment, trying his best to keep his reason and sanity. His logic, which is really just his guilt complex.

“I’ll try, Dad.” Tommy replies at last, running a hand over his now sweating face. When he’d get so hot? Why does it feel like the room’s spinning a mile per hour?

“You better.” Clay hangs up. It's rare that he ever ends a call with a warning or on a final note, it's always abrupt and out of the blue. Just like this time.

Tommy sighs, shutting his phone off slowly and placing it beside him. He’s tired, despite the long nap he took on the fly over. All he wants to do is crawl into the warm hotel bed, warmer and softer than any bed he’s ever slept upon. He knows this may not be possible for at least a few more hours. The mission is tomorrow afternoon, they have much preparing to do. At least he thinks. That's how a hero mission works, right?

A knock raps upon his door, which creaks it open farther than it already was. Fuck he hopes somebody hadn't heard that conversation. It wasn't even that bad of one compared to countless others, but it still isn't fun.

“Come on in!” Tommy calls, he already knows who’s there by the weight of the knock, breathing pattern, and the small corner of a black feather poking out through the crack of the door. Phil.

The door pushes open, Phil enters in a casual pair of jeans and tee shirt. A small puff of flour is smeared at the bottom of his shirt and a water stain a little higher up.

“Hey there, kiddo.” Phil smiles, crossing his arms. He definitely doesn't have the same muscle Technoblade does, but his biceps are certainly larger than Wilbur's scrawny ass.

“Hey?” Tommy tilts his head despite the shame that comes along with it.

“I made some lunch. Well… It's more like an early dinner.” Phil laughs, wiping his dirty hands on his shirt. He looks so… domestic. He looks like those fake, acted fathers in those overly wholesome movies. No father is THAT perfect, no father doesn't drink or get angry. “Come have some, your br- Technoblade and Wilbur are already eating.”

Tommy nods, placing his phone carefully on the nightstand, pushing himself to his feet. He follows Phil out the room and down into the kitchen, beautiful smells of fresh fried lamb chops and mashed potatoes and broccoli fill the air, four white ceramic plates set with the homemade meal. Though he doesn't like to admit, it looks better than anything Clay has EVER made for him. This tops lasagna, and it was made for free without special occasion. Is this just how Phil is? Sporadic, fancy meals and weirdly kind smiles? Man, this guy is odd as fuck.

Technoblade and Wilbur sit beside each other, slowly scooping broccoli into their mouths. Tommy takes the seat with the plate with less food, Phil beside him.

Everyone digs in, though Tommy hesitates for a bit. He starts with the mashed and heads to the rest from there. Part of the way through the meal everyone slows their eating, conversation ensues between chews.

“There’s a pool.” Wilbur says, glancing between the three other men. “I looked up images. It seems pretty awesome. Three hot tubs, jets, long pools, a water play place, and some saunas.”

Wilbur gives them a goofy smile.

“Half an hour.” Phil blurts out, forking a bite of lambchop onto his mouth. “We haven't gone for a swim since… since that summer 9 years ago, huh? Where we took that vacation on that little lake beach, camping.”

“Oh yeah! Where Tommy almost drowned for the second time in his life and Mom became a bird whisperer?” Technoblade perks up at Wilbur's description of the trip.

“It was his THIRD time nearly drowning. Bathtub, mud, and THEN lake.” Technoblade corrects. Tommy felt a growing sense of nostalgic annoyance at the way they talked about it. It was funny, yet weirdly enough he had the urge to defend their brother.

“Do you even remember how to swim, Wil?” Phil asks, a sad reminiscent smile plastered on his face.

“Uh…” Wilbur rubs the back of his neck, laughing under his breath. “We’ll see!”

Phil turns towards Tommy, meeting the boy's eyes. “Did you pack swim trunks?”

-

“Did you pack your swim trunks?!” A male's voice shouts from inside a tent. Tommy sits in the dirt, his fingernails brown and fingers covered in a powdered layer of grime.

“Uh…” Tommy giggles, “I dunno know!”

“Tommy!” The man scolds, popping out of the tent. He stomps over with a big smile, squatting beside the boy. “Didn’t Mama remind you to pack them like eight times?”

“Maybe…” Tommy smiles guilty, putting a hand up to his mouth. The man carefully pulls it away.

“Well you're a lucky ducky, I packed a pair of yours in my bag just in case something like this happened.” The man grins, reaching his hand out to help Tommy to his feet. The little boy, only about 7 years old, scrambles to his feet and grabs the man’s hand. The two walk into the tent and the man digs around a bag to pull out a pair of kids' red swim trunks and a white rashguard.

Tommy changes into the bathing suit, running out of the tent in his bare feet. He somehow avoids stepping on roots or thorns, simply running on the grass and dirt without a worry. He was a happy kid. A truly innocent kid.

“Swimming! Swimming!” Tommy cheers, jumping around roots and sticks. Their campsite is right beside the lake, three tents, a firepit, foldable chairs, and a picnic table they put a little sunflower tablecloth on. Two other boys, young but older than Tommy, splash around in the lake. A woman lays on a towel, her sunhat over her face and a book folded beside her. It was so happy.

“Be careful, Toms!” The man laughs, chasing after the boy as he races down the small slope to the sand. Tommy's feet sink in the sand, little grains wedging between his toes. He smiles up at the sky, the bright sun on his face. “Wait up! You need sunscreen!”

Tommy blows his tongue at the man, running into the water and splashing a massive wave towards the other two boys. The man laughs, laying his towel down beside the woman’s.

“That boy’s gonna be burnt.”

“Do you want me to help?” The woman snarks, reaching over and grabbing his hand. She sits up, pushing her black sun hat up off her face, her long hair tied in a low puffy pony behind her.

“Please.” The man laughs, interlocking their fingers.

“I got you, babe.” The woman smiles, looking out at the lake. “TOMMY!”

Tommy jumps, running through the water and up the beach nervously. “Yes, Mama?”

“Sunscreen. Now.” Tommy nods, scrambling over to the man. He holds his hands out and the man squeezes a dollop of sunscreen into it. Tommy rubs it all over his face, not doing a good job at blending it but it's on. “Good boy, you can go now.”

“Love you!” Tommy shouts with a smile as he runs back into the water, chasing after the two older boys. The two were having a breath holding contest. The older one won.

“Haha! Loser!” The older one laughs, splashing the younger kid.

“Loser!” Tommy copies, doing the same.

“Oh come on! You probably cheated.” The boy with brown hair pouts, crossing his arms. The older boy snickers, glaring at his whining brother.

“I bet you even Tommy would hold his breath longer than you.”

“No he wouldn't!” The brown haired boy shouts, splashing the older one. The lake was massive, stretching on for miles and miles. The sun was bright and sky clear, it was a perfect day. A beautiful day.

“Yes I would.” Tommy smiles crazily, challenging the older boy.

“No you wouldn't.”

“Yes I would.”

“No-”

“Let’s go then! Fight me!” Tommy shouts, bringing his hand up to his nose. The water reaches his chest, for the other two it barely goes above their hips.

“Fine!” The brown haired boy shouts, squatting. “Watch him, T#%, make sure he doesn't cheat.”

“Got it, W!/.” The older boy nods, positioning himself between the two. “Your whole head must stay under water, if it pops out you are disqualified. The last one out of the water wins. 3, 2, 1… go!”

Tommy and the other boy submerged themselves in the water, holding their noses and mouths shut. Tommy pushes himself to the lake floor, holding onto a root to keep him down there.

“What do you think they're doing out there?” The man turns to the woman, smiling. She is reading her book, he watches the water.

She looks up, seeing the eldest boy standing between two areas that a foot or a splash occasionally emerges from. “Their competing to see who holds their breath the longest. %%÷_ versus Tommy.”

“Who do you thinks gonna win?”

“Tommy.”

“Really?” The man tilts his head.

“Tommy’s too stubborn to let anyone win anything, or better yet, let himself lose.” The woman smiles, putting her book down to watch the contest.

The brown haired boy tries his best, but eventually comes to the surface. He expects to see Tommy standing with his brother, pouting form the lose, but surprisingly when he opens his eyes it's only the older boy there.

“Frick! Did I lose?” The brown haired boy huffs.

“You did.” The older boy grins, crossing his arms. “Tommy’s still under.”

“Holy Cow.”

The woman laughs at the shore, watching the brown haired boy pop up. The man chuckles along with her, a little shocked.

“Told ya.”

“Wow.” The man relaxes, awaiting Tommy's head popping up from under the water. He can’t wait to see the look on the boy's face when he sees he’s won. He knows the kid will come running to shore to tell them.

Though this doesn't come. Seconds pass and there is no sign of Tommy. The two boy stand together, arguing without realizing the youngest hasn't come out from under the water yet. The man grows increasingly nervous.

“H-hey, Tommy hasn't come up yet.” He says to his wife.

“Really?” She looks up, eyes narrowing on the water. She throws her book down. “It's been too long.”

The man jumps to his feet, rushing into the water. The boys finally diverge from their argument, spotting their father dashing towards making large waves with his quick steps.

“Tommy! Where's Tommy!” He shouts as he gets closer, his wife not too far behind. The two boys panic, looking around the water. One reaches in to the spot they think he went under, but no luck in retrieving him. The man reaches the area and begins digging his hands through the water. Sooner or later, it's all four searching and screaming and diving.

Where is Tommy?

“Whatcha guys doing?” Tommy asks from behind them, his haie soaked and chest heaving. “Did I win?”

The group collectively takes a sigh of relief, though the woman instantly stomp through the water over to him and picks him up in a strangling embrace.

“Don't you do that again, Thomas Micheal C@#%@! You had us worried sick!” The woman screams, nearly redrowning the boy in her hug.

“Okay! Okay! Jeez, Mama!” Tommy whines, still winded from his underwater adventure. “Did I still win?”

-

Tommy shakes his head, the memory fading in his mind. He can’t remember who those people were, their faces or names. It was happy though, it was definitely something that made him feel warm inside.

“Hello? Earth to Tommy?” Wilbur calls, waving a hand in front of Tommy's face.

“Oh!” Tommy clears his mind, looking up from the plate. “Sorry, zoned out there for a minute. What did you ask again, Phil?”

Phil gives him an odd look. “I asked whether or not you packed swim trunks.”

“Ah!” Tommy remembers now, cursing himself in his head. “I didn't.”

“You can borrow a pair of mine. We all deserve some relaxation before the stress of tomorrow.” Wilbur offers, his plate finished in front of him. Holy fuck. How does this man eat so fast? Tommy’s barely made a dent in his food, and he nearly had half of Wilbur's portion to start!

“No, it's fine. I’m not really a swimmer.” Tommy turns him down. It's not exactly a lie. He doesn't know if he can swim or not, from what he can recall of his life he’s never been. Plus, he’d rather not risk them all seeing his wings.

“Oh come on! It'd be fun.” Wilbur insists.

“Like I said, No. Thanks.” Tommy reiterates, clenching his jaw.

“Co-”

“Knock it off, Wil. He said he doesn't want to.” Technoblade intervenes, tension filling the air. “We’ll go for a swim, Toms. Do whatever you’d like between now and morning, just be ready by noon tomorrow. We have a meeting with some of the agents running this thing.”

“Got it.” Tommy gives Technoblade a silent thanks in the form of a smile.

“Your bag is by the door, the staff dropped off all our luggage a little bit ago.” Phil informs him, also finished with his plate. His eyes glance down at Tommy's nearly full one. “Is the food alright? I’m not really the best cook.”

“Oh no! It's perfect, don't worry. I’m just not too hungry, the uh- the flight knocked my appetite off.” Tommy explains, nervously. The food is really good, he just hasn't really been hungry since dinner yesterday. He ate so much there.

“That’s fine. Would you like me to put it in the fridge if you get hungry later?”

“Sure, that'd be nice.” Tommy smiles as Phil takes his plate to the kitchen and wraps it in tinfoil before shoving it in the refrigerator.

15 minutes later the three men are out the door in their swim trunks, laughing and smiling together about memories of the last time they went swimming. Technoblade and Wilbur chatter about some breath contest they should have and Phil almost dies of laughter.

Once they're gone Tommy makes his way back to his room, slipping his shoes off and climbing into the soft bed. The sheets were warm and pillows soft, the mattress the perfect inbetween of hard and squishy. He could sleep forever on a bed like this.

-

“Fuck this man. I just want one normal sleep!” Tommy shouts, having just opened his eyes to a subway station. This time he isn't dressed in weird clothes or in a healthy body.

“Kristen! Death dude!” Tommy shouts as he pushes himself to his feet. There didn't seem to be anybody there this time, or at least they haven't arrived just yet. The trains whirs by at an insanely quick speed, people without faces in the various cars. The station, or Limbo as it's been called by Kristen, is still the same it usually is.

Tommy sighs, stretching his wings behind him. That's one of the few bonuses of these visits. His wings are always free during them.

The train slows down, he sees Kristen inside. Once it comes to a complete stop the doors part and she steps out, her long purple and black gown dragging on the floor. Her style was always so perfectly layered, yet elegant. Almost Victorian, despite her death coming in modern times.

“There you are.” Tommy crosses his arms, “Why am I here again?”

“How’s the remembering coming? Anything new?” Kristen asks, stepping towards him. She stands just two feet away, hands held in front of her. She seemed in a bit of a hurry.

“Uh… yeah. I got a few random ones.” Tommy replies, staring at her.

“Go on, explain them!” Kristen insists, tapping her foot against the ground. Why is she so impatient today? What is going on?

“Uhm- I had one about playing with this little boy in a daycare, I called him ‘Boo’, I think. And another about a camping trip.”

“Boo.” Kristen breathes, a smile growing on her face. “I wish I could tell you who that is… How much information did you get from the camping trip memory?”

“Just that I was with a man, woman, and these two older boys. I nearly drowned myself in the lake.” Tommy explains. Kristen bursts into a quick bit of laughter, her giggles sweet and nearly contagious. Tommy can’t help but break into a smile.

“I re-” Kristen cuts herself off, clearing her throat as she calms down, “I hope you are able to remember WHO those people are. It's crucial.”

“Wh-”

“Don’t ask me why or what again, I already told you that I can’t answer, and I can’t tell you WHY I can’t answer you.” Kristen interrupts, sighing.

“Why do you think I’m Soulless or whatever?” Tommy asks, breaking the rule she just set. He just hopes that it goes answered since it doesn't have anything to do with his memories.

Kristen rubs her temples, her nails long and painted a misty purple. “Souled.” She corrects.

“Right. Souled or whatever. Can you explain at least THAT to me?” Tommy grits his teeth. He just wants to sleep and awake to the bed without an event in between.

Kristen’s eyes soften, putting her hands away from her head. “My apologies for last time. Ziek is a little snippy.

“A Souled is someone that was born with both their living and dead soul, most are just born into their living and when they die their living soul dies and they move into their dead soul. A Souled, because of this, has access to the Limbo. A Dead Soul only has access to the Limbo, a living only has access to the living world, but together in one body?”

Tommy soaks up the information. So… he has both his souls? Shit man, this feels like the shit from a crappy, complicated tv show where the director makes up random things to explain weird events.

“Souled have certain abilities, those of which I won't disclose at this moment. Just know, Tommy, I haven't brought you here these last few times. You've done that yourself.”

“Then how do I make myself leave?” Tommy asks, breathing in the scentless Limbo air.

“Just… I don't know, Toms. It's been too long for me to remember how I passed between worlds, and even so I rarely had the power to do it in my time.” Kristen sighs. “I’ll just try to force you back again.”

“Hell no! Last time you tried that I got stuck in a shitty nightmare.” Tommy denies her offer, walking back and flopping into the bench.

“What are you going to do then?”

“Wait.”

And that's what Tommy does. He sits and waits. Kristen leaves shortly after he sits down, hopping back on her train. He stays for what feels like an hour before he gets tired, laying down on the bench. He falls asleep, and when he awakes again he’s in a soft bed.

“Yes.” Tommy whispers under his breath, curling into a comfortable position under the comforter. “I can finally sleep.”

For the rest of the night Tommy has one of his warmest sleeps, uninterrupted by anything. Even when Phil creaks the door open to check on him after he arrived back from the pool did Tommy not budge.

He needed this. It is what he deserved, honestly. A good night's rest and warmth. Hopefully he’ll soon see what is normal, and how odd his own life is. Hopefully soon he’ll realize that going hungry and cold isn't something he should go, especially when his father has the choice to feed or warm. Hopefully he’ll see that good dads aren't just fiction, but actual pieces of normal life.

Tommy may be smart, but boy is he stupid when it comes to anything involving his own life. He’s perfect at multiplication and books and efficient, but he lacks some common sense. You can’t blame him much, his head injury messed with his functions. Well… something definitely messed with how he thinks :)...

Goodluck, reader, truly. I wish you luck.

Chapter Text

Tommy awakes at a decent time, forcing himself out of the bed. He takes a shower, with much struggle since those buttons and levers made no sense and it took him nearly half an hour just to turn the water on. He dressed in something semi-formal; brown suit paints, cream button down, brown waistcoat, and a small little dark red necktie. Did he base it off of many of Technoblade's outfits? Yes. Did he thrift this entire thing after their prison trip? Also yes. And boy does he feel decent in it, not too insecure today guys!!!!

Once ready for their meeting in a few hours Tommy wanders into the kitchen, not exactly hungry but not full. He kind of just stands there, awkwardly, for multiple minutes. Is he even allowed to take something from the cabinets?

He knows it's illogical to think that way, he isn't in his home right now. Phil is weird. He doesn't have the same limits and rules that Clay does, though he can’t get the paranoia out of his head.

“Morning, Tommy.” Technoblade greets as he walks into the kitchen, dressed quite similarly. Awkward. He looks the younger man up and down for a pause, “Nice outfit.”

Tommy lowers his head, almost shamefully. He leans back against the countertop, hands curling around the freezing morning marble. “Thanks.”

Technoblade gives him a small smile, walking over and opening the refrigerator. “You hungry?”

Tommy turns his head towards Technoblade. “Uhm… no. Not really.”

“Too bad.” Technoblade shrugs, pulling a container of eggs from the fridge and placing them on the countertop beside the flame stove. “You didn't finish your dinner last night, and based on how you are I assume you hadn't eaten earlier than that.”

“Well-” Tommy's mouth shuts and opens. Well fuck this. Technoblade is just a little too perspective at times, which is hella annoying yet strangely helpful. He WAS kinda hungry, just too much of a coward to actually grab something to eat.

“You like eggs?” Technoblade asks, grabbing a pan from one of the cabinets. Holy shit this hotel room was just fully stocked with anything you'd need in a household. Even a fully loaded fridge and pantry.

“Uh- sure.” Tommy nods, standing up straighter.he doesn't DISLIKE eggs, but he also doesn't exactly like them. Clay's eggs were also dry and chewy crowing up, a failed attempt at scrambled eggs. Tommy kinda just thinks that’s just how eggs are usually and only movies can make those shiny eggs with the orange dollop in the center.

Technoblade takes an egg and cracks it into the pan straight away, not even mixing it in a bowl with too much salt for multiple minutes. The heat is turned to a nice medium low, not as high as the stove will go. Tommy stands to the side watching it cook, brows furrowing and it slowly becomes just like a movie egg. Technoblade, around the end of the 6 or so minutes, sprinkles a small pinch of pepper and salt upon the top. He plates the perfect eggs, three round orange dollops surrounded by thin white.

Tommy had to resist the urge to allow his jaw to drop to the fucking floor.

“Sorry if they're a little overcooked. I ain't the best chef.” Technoblade shrugs, placing the plate on the table along with a fork. Overcooked? Those things looked fucking raw yet… ???? Tommy can't really articulate his thoughts.

Tommy slides into the chair, grabbing the fork. He not to hesitantly cuts into the egg and brings it to his mouth. Never have eggs actually been enjoyable. Holy shit.

Tommy eats the whole plate, really for once. Technoblade watches with a small smile on his face. Tommy is changing.

-

“We have five hours until Mission 46.” The agent that was sent to their hotel reports. They cleared the extra guest room so all the furniture was pushed against the back wall and the kitchen table was moved into the room. A few laptops and a couple other agents (and a medical nurse) made their stations around the room. A projector was set up and pointed to an empty wall, a map of the dock lit up.

Tommy felt mildly uncomfortable, though his plan of escaping the hotel and getting to the dock is getting clearer. Excuses run through his mind, his suit a weight in his mind just three rooms over.

This actually was perfect. He knows the SBI team plans and will have all the advantages they will, with the bonus of not being tied to a government order.

“Are you three ready?” The agent, who Tommy is like 80% sure is named Freddie, asks the three heroes. “We can't back down from a mission like this.”

“We are ready, we’re the family team after all. We won't back down knowing this will get us closer to finding my son.” Phil replies with strong determination in his voice. It was kinda scary to Tommy how much Phil wanted his son back. It makes him think. Would Clay be this sad if HE went missing? Would Clay worry this much? Would Clay be this determined to get him back?

“We’d never draw back. I’m ready to fight to the death if that's what it takes to defeat these bastards.” Technoblade scowls. None of the heroes are in theit gear yet, a group of people work in the corner loading weapons, sharpening tools, and polishing pieces of Technoblade’s armor.

“Now now, boys. I don't want your city’s best heroes dying in a dock in MY city, but nonetheless, fight to your second to last whim. I don't like these evils purging my normally peaceful town. Our docks are usually filled with pure workers, paid fair and happy to be a part of this city’s workforce. People like this Dream Team and J. Schlatt inc. only create a mess with the peaceful balance we established here.” Freddie rants on. He seems to really love this city. He has a point. While the city they reside in is considered superior, this place tops it in peace and its low crime rates. There are rarely ever more than 15 heroes running around here as there's no need for them.

“Tell us more about Schlatt, Agent. We know Dream and his lackeys, but we don't know this guy. We don't know what we’re up against.” Phil demands, though it's more like a polite request rather than an order.

“Of course.” Freddie nods, clicking a few buttons on the laptop. The projector screen flashes, switching from the map to a collage of photos and information. Freddie walks over, the people of the room subtly watch as if it were a presentation.

He points to a photo of a man with ram horns and nose, wearing a full suit and carrying a briefcase. If it weren't for the fact that this is an illegal smuggler, Tommy would almost say he looks like a distinguished gentleram that works at a law firm.

“This is J. Schlatt. We don't know if that’s his real name or what the J stands for. This is the only full face photo we have.” Freddie points to another image of a man on the same suit with his back turned from the hidden photographer. He is speaking with someone with a face mask next to a large ship, it seems to be heated. “He is most infamous for running a major smuggling scheme. He gets weapons, drugs, explosives, and other rare materials into this country and sells them to buyers. He is also wanted for all levels of murder, possession, drunk driving, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to kill, kidnapping, acts against humanity, animal abuse, public drunkenness, and other smaller crimes that I am too tired to list off at the moment.”

Wilbur whistles, almost impressed by that lengthy crime list. “I know this guy would win crime-bingo for anybody that arrested him.”

“The hell’s crime bingo?!” Tommy asks.

“It’s a little game some of his heroes play. We gather our arrests each week and play a game of bingo with a card of random crimes. Puffy usually hosts since she doesn't make arrests anymore. If one of us arrests Schlatt,” Wilbur grins madly, “That would win us a game no matter how many arrests the others made.”

“Fucked up game.” Tommy laughs, crossing his arms.

“Focus people!” Freddie shouts, “We now have…. Four and half hours before this take down!”

“Focused! We’re focused.” Wilbur smiles, giving Tommy a goofy look that only causes the two to stifle more laughter. Freddie gives them a glare before continuing on with his little presentation.

“Schlatt doesn't have any special powers, he’s simply a mostly-man-ram mutant. He does, however, own many guns and gunmen. He rarely misses.” Freddie sighs, “The guy’s a beast.”

“Not a problem for us, Agent. We got this handled.” Technoblade nods, crossing his legs.

“You better. I can't risk letting him scurry around this city. The Dream Team? They're your city’s issues. Schlatt? He resides here.” Freddie seemed to hold a special kind of hatred towards Schlatt, though Tommy couldn't quite place it.

“Got it, buddy.” Phil gives the man a thumbs up, he seems to be seeing the same things as Tommy is.

Phil turns to his sons, looking between the three. “Alright. So this is going down tonight at 7, in about four hours. We need to go over the game plan. Wanna take notes, Toms? We need to submit mission reports AND pre-mission game-plans for things like this.”

“Sure.” Tommy scrambles to grab a notepad from the table, clicking his pen. Once seated he looks up and awaits their conversation to begin. People move quietly around the room, setting up headsets and connecting mics to hero costumes. He sees someone setting up a camera drone, another on a phone call. It kind of hits him right there just how high this mission was in importance. And he was a part of it, both inside and out.

“Okay. Dream is meeting with Schlatt at the Lakeport dock, warehouse 15 beside row 7. He is speculated to be with both Sapnap and NotFound, two dangerous players. So we have puppetry, dream gas, and fire. Three very different, yet very dangerous powers.” Phil begins.

“So for Dream, we need to avoid physical contact. Wilbur, your vocals will probably be best for that.” Technoblade adds. Tommy quickly writes it down, retaining it to memory for his own part in the battle.

“I can handle Sapnap, my skin has a bit of fire resistance to it. Not a whole lot, but I can get closer. You need to avoid Sapnap, Dad.” Technoblade continues.

“Good point. And I’ll focus mostly on NotFound. Flying can get me above the gasses when he releases them.”

“Though we all know we ain't just gonna all battle our best opponent. These men are just as analytic as us.” Wilbur points out.

“Of course we know that.” Phil rubs his chin almost like one would stroke a beard. “These are just ideals.”

“What’s our starter strategy? Are we going in loud or stealthy? Together or separate?” Technoblade asks, quickly glancing at Tommy to check his messily written notes for a moment.

“I think we should hold onto the element of surprise as much as we can.” Phil summons one of the agents who hands him a small printed map of the warehouse and surrounding area. Based on the measurements and charts, the team will be meeting with their seller in the center of the warehouse in a massively open room. Perfect for flight. There are 7 different official exits, though windows can be served for those that fly. Two connect directly to the main room, one large loud one in the front and another in the back. Three fire exits scattered between the area.

“That door there.” Tommy reaches across the table, pointing at the emergency exit door that connects to a back hallway a few halls down from the main room. He couldn't help himself but add in his own thoughts. This was getting interesting. “Quiet, secluded. Not too far, but far enough for stealth.”

Phil smiles, seeing Tommy's mind running and recognizing something. The furrowed brow. Pursed lips as he chews the inside of his tongue. Narrow eyes. All things HIS Tommy did when playing with legos or concentrating on a drawing. After a moment of flabbergasted recognition, Phil slides a red marker to Tommy. Tommy quickly takes it, circling the door and circling another on the opposite side of the building.

“This one will allow for another angle. Wilbur can sneak in here and pop out in front of them when he gets to a good spot, and Technoblade from behind through this one.” Tommy points, grabbing a photo of the inside of the main room. He circles a window on the left side. “And there for Phil.”

“That’s perfect.” Technoblade smiles, looking at the maps. “Wilbur should sneak up these steps to the overhang balcony of the main room. If we’re lucky he’ll be able to make a command before they notice him and we can get some caught defenseless. And if that turns sour I’ll come from behind and attack. Dad last, his entrance will be more noticeable. Plus, he should be surveying the area while Wil and I get situated inside so we don't have any surprise visits.”

Tommy quickly jots everything down, completing a full pre-mission report on the yellow legal pad.

“Boys! We need to hook you up to your suits now!” An Agent yells, into the room. It seems like they took the costumes out of the room and into their private rooms for changing.

“Coming, bud!” Phil shouts, slowly pushing himself up from the chair. “We’ll be back soon. Freddie will give you a role here during the mission itself.”

And with that, the heroes shuffle out of the room to their private quarters. Feeling awkward as fuck, Tommy waits a few minutes before running off to his own room to give Niki an update.

He enters his room, gently closing the door behind him. His Syndicate phone sits charged on the nightstand beside his personal phone. He takes it, sliding to a sit against the edge of his bed. It was charged fully, the little full battery bar at the top something unusual for him. His phones are ALWAYS on the brink of death.

Tommy opens Niki’s contact, apprehensive typing up a message. It reads as follows.

/Theseus/ : Hey. Theseus here. Just reporting on the upcoming battle. Blood God is preparing with Father Crow and Hypnosis. I have access to all the details of the case. Legally I could only find out so much about our opponents. Have you ever heard of a man that goes by the name J. Schlatt?

Tommy presses send, awaiting a reply. He’s fought the Fire Panda before, he knows how to plan for THAT fight. But Dream? NotFound? Schlatt? Those people were unknown to him. He isn't guaranteed a pass from fighting either. It doesn't help that he feels a sinking dread every time he thinks about Dream. Something about that man and his powers sent Tommy in a frenzy of panic and fear.

His phone vibrates loudly, a message popping onto the screen.

/Kinesis/: Schlatt? Oh boy…

/Theseus/: What? What is it?

/Kinesis/: He’s well known in the crime world. I've gotten into some brawls with him after I double crossed him. He’s powerful without any physical power. He ALWAYS has a trick up his sleeve. Always.

/Theseus/: Anything else? Anything you could give me on him?

/Kinesis/: All I know is that he hates Quackity and has a demon, weird, glitchy cat thing. It probably won't be with him. Also… Beware his guns.

/Theseus/: Interesting… Will do. I’ll report back afterwards. Wish me luck😭

/Kinesis/: Be safe, Theseus. You're not only a good kid, but also an asset in our organization. Don't knock yourself out of the game too soon. It's okay to withdraw.

Tommy sends a quick goodbye, tossing his phone onto the bed behind him. He’s excited to fight these guys, but nerves overcome any excitement. His chest feels stiff and body urges him to move. His wings flutter in their binding, needing to be free. He wants to free them, but it's not time yet.

Once he’s decided it's pointless to sit here any longer doing not a damn thing, he stands up and shuffles through his duffle bag to the very bottom. There. His costume folded nice and neat with a few bombs, his weapon, and something new. Tubbo gifted him another little new tool. His old fingerless gloves were basic, semi-grip warming gloves that kept him warm in this new chilly weather but assisted in gripping things. These new ones are even better.

The fabric is thick and holds tight to his hands, the palms covered in a layer of sealed grip silicone marks. The best part was definitely the top though.

Tubbo installed fucking metals into the knuckles of the gloves! Every punch will hold more weight, every punch meaning more and getting him closer to his victory. He hasn't had the time to test them out yet, but he’s very grateful for them. If this mission wasn't so last minute he would've stocked up on some potions, they would've been perfect to keep his health and stamina during the battle.

Tommy hides his suit under his mattress, tossing the duffle bag to the corner of the room. Now? He waits. He waits for SBI to leave and get started and then he sneaks out.

He just hopes this all goes well, not for his sake, but rather for theirs. He’d never forgive himself if anybody he loved got hurt, even if it weren't his fault. Especially if it was, though. Tommy just can't handle that, he’s already fragile as it is.

-

“Flying east on Central!” Phil speaks into the open air, pushing the earpiece to fit deeper and more secure in his ear. His boys are on the ground a few blocks away, rushing to their positions and keeping look out for any of Dream’s loyal little idiots lurking around the dock area.

He didn't know whether to feel angry or excited. This could be his biggest chance at capturing Dream and figuring out where his son is, but yet all he wants to do is beat the man to death before he says a single word. Though, he kinda needs Dream alive to learn the location of his boy. After that? Let's just say Phil might not want to leave the interrogation room cameras on that day.

-

As Phil flies over the docks, approaching the warehouse in a higher altitude, Wilbur is crouching around the corner of an alley, half a block from the warehouse.

On the sidewalk stands a man in an all black suit, a gun poorly concealed at his hip. He has a strange neck tattoo of letters written in a greek font. It seemed to say J. CO.

Wilbur can tell this guy is trouble, but he also knows for sure it isn't a Dreamer. This is one of Schlatt’s men.

“I’ve got an Inc. member at the corner of Lakeport, It's possible there's more.” Wilbur whispers into his earpiece, sliding out from behind the corner. The man instantly notices him.

“Hands up, gun on the floor.” Wilbur says in his Hypnosis voice, even he can hear how smooth and silky his voice becomes when he activates his power.

The man is still for a moment, shakily grabbing his gun and tossing it to the floor. His arms are stiff as they're pulled above his head. He was obviously trained in some way or form to resist mind-control powers like Hypnosis’, but Hypnosis isn't just a regular power-manipulator. He’s got years of training under his own belt as well. Though it does install a bit of worry in Wilbur. If this is how one of the outside guards are like, how hard will it be to take control of the big guys?

Wilbur walks forward, throwing a hard punch to the guy’s head and knocking him dead out. He tumbles to the ground. He searches his unconscious body for any other weapons, finding three, or a wire, which he finds one of. He knocks the connection on the wire, hopefully keeping suspicion away from Schlatt.

“I’ve got him incapacitated at the corner of Lakeport and Hans. Silent pick up when the area is clear.” Wilbur speaks, stepping over the body and towards the warehouse in the close distance.

-

While Wilbur walks over his take down, Technoblade squats on top of a storage container, his trusty axe in hand and cape ruffling in the cool air of the ocean just 12 feet away. He is three docks down from the
warehouse, it's in clear view. He sits on a storage container left astray after it was unloaded from a cargo ship amongst many others.

Below him, between a few containers, are a group of men in suits smoking cigarettes. They were chattering, obviously slacking off from their job. Based on what Wilbur said over the connection, these guys are Schlatt’s men. Fun.

Technoblade studies them for a moment. Three men in total, each carrying the same shaped gun at their left hip. One seems tall and heavy built, another a medium build, and the third looks strong but untoned. None look particularly weak, but none appear like too much of a challenge for our strong mutant hero.

“Yo! Asshats!” Technoblade calls from the storage container, jumping off and landing on his feet behind them. He stands at least an inch taller than each one, looming there with his dark, shiny ax. If it weren't for the fact he was a FAMOUS hero, people would probably assume he was a villain at first meet.

The men jump, tossing their cigarettes to the ground and whipping out their guns, three of them pointed straight for Technoblade’s head. He wasn't afraid though, this will be a breeze.

“Hey, boys.” Technoblade grins under his mask, swinging his ax in front of him menacingly.

“If it isn't The B-blood God.” The buffest huffs, but the small stammer in his voice tells a story of fear. “And what are you doing in this city?”

“Beating your asses.” Technoblade swings, ducking as he does so. The back of his ax slams against two out of three of the men’s kneecaps, sending them sprawling to the ground. The third shoots, but misses. Technoblade stands, using the butt end of the ax to knock the first two out and kicking their guns away. The third man, the pudgy one, shakes, slowly stepping backwards. “What? You scared?”

“Look- man! I ain't got nothing to do with this. I’m just doing my job.” The man stammers.

“Yeah, a job that involves pointing a gun at a hero.” Technoblade slashes his ax forward, knocking the gun from the man’s hands. He drops to the ground on his knees.

“Mercy!”

“Mercy?” Technoblade chuckles, “Fine. You'll sustain no more than a head injury.”

He punches the man by the side of his neck and face. It sends him tipping over, slumping into the concrete. Technoblade reserves his ax, slinging it back into it's harness at his side. He reaches up and turns on his mic.

“Three down on dock 15, row 8.” Technoblade clicks off, stepping over the pudgy man and to the warehouse.

-

“Drone out?” Freddie asks the room.

“Yup. We have it flying over the warehouse right now.” Another agent reports, tapping away at the keys of a laptop. The room is full of agents and one Tommy, sitting near the front watching the projected screen that is split between three different camera views. He watches Phil fly, Wilbur take down somebody, and Technoblade’s badass take down of the three men. He awaits his time to make an appearance.

“I need two agents down at dock 15, SILENTLY, and another at the corner of Lakeport and Hans.” Freddie orders into his headset, “If you spot another enemy, take down or stay out of sight. We can't be alerting the enemies that we’re here.”

Freddie huffs, gliding over and standing behind Tommy. “Anything important happening on screen?”

“They’re all closing in on the warehouse. W- Hypnosis is about to enter the side door, Technoblade is just 15 feet from his. Phil is perching above the warehouse, opening a vent to try and get a listen of what's happening inside.”

“This mission has to be a success.” Freddie sighs, rubbing his chin. “It HAS to be.”

Tommy glances up at him, his brow furrowed and mind running with confusion. This guy is odd, but it's understandable. He wants this to go well too. He looks back at the screen. They'll start fighting sooner than later.

-

Hypnosis breaks the handle of the door, pushing it open as quietly as possible. He creeps into the corridor, the faint sounds of voices a few rooms over winding into his ears. It causes a bubble of light anger to begin to build in his chest, all he wishes to do is beat Dream to a pulp. He’s much like his father in that way.

Hypnosis runs through the passage, his boots clicking against the tiles. He recalls his plan, about to turn the corner to a red metal door. Right before he does he skids to a stop, hearing footsteps on the other side of the corner.

“Shit.” He whispers, leaning back against the wall. This is his only way up to the loft that overhangs the man room, and it's being fucking guarded. He doesn't want to overuse his power, he KNOWS what happens when he does, but he also isn't great at quiet takedowns. Well fuck this, huh?

Wilbur takes a deep breath, sliding out from behind the corner. The man goes to reach for his walkie-talkie.

“Hit your head against the wall, HARD.” Hypnosis demands, his voice smooth and almost sing-songy. The man grunt, turning to the wall and smashing his head against it. A long streak of blood runs down the side of his face, his feet stumble. He falls to the ground, eyes fluttering shut. Hypnosis dashes out of the corner, stealing the walkie talkie and an idea pops into his head.

Technoblade smashes through his door, the guard unconscious beside. He was even easier to take down than the first three were. The inside was dimly lit and cold, he can hear the faint sounds of conversations on the other side of the wall.

He walks to the other side of the hallway, a blue door with a small window stands there. On the other side is Dream, Sapnap, NotFound, and Schlatt standing together beside four crates. Technoblade watches through the window, moving the camera up to catch the scene.

While he couldn't hear it, it wasn't hard to infer what was happening. Schlatt stood tall in a formal business suit, brown facial hair and gray ram horns upon his head. He moves and upons the crate for the team, Technoblade can't see what's inside from this angle, but he can see the reactions brought up from the Team. They all clap, their body language excited and content. Whatever's in there is going to cause damage, he knows it.

“Don’t move.” A voice orders behind him, he feels the tip of a gun press against the back of his head. Shit.

Hypnosis digs around the pockets of the guard, finding a small id. J. CO 189. He picks up the walkie, hoping he’s right to assume this.

“This is 189, what's happening?” He asks, also praying that his voice isn't too different from the guard’s that’s unconscious in front of him.

“189, this is 156, I have The Blood God here. Check your surroundings for any other heroes. I’m going to bring him to the boss.” Someone speaks on the other side of the line. This HAS to work or their mission is fucked.

“Everybody hearing this, drop your weapons to the floor and walk three miles away from here. Leave your walkie talkies behind.” Hypnosis demands through the walkie talkie. He feels his hypnotism connect to many people, every second another pulled to his demand. It worked.

Technoblade feels the gun drop from his head and onto the floor. He grins wide. Smart Wilbur, for once. He watches the man throw various weapons to the ground and his walkie, striding towards the door.

“Have a fun walk ass!” He whisper-shouts, the man giving himna grumbled glare as heaves.

Blood God turns back to the window, he sees Hypnosis in the window of the door on the loft, preparing to sneak out onto it. This is happening; now.

-

Tommy smiles, almost proud of Wilbur for his quick thinking. They're all doing so well. Do they even need him? Should Theseus even make an appearance?

“This is good. Very good.” Freddie ALMOST grins, stiff standing behind Tommy as they watch Hypnosis slide out of the door and to the railing, inhaling.

-

“You're going to put your hands on your heads and stand still.” Wilbur sings over the room, grasping the attention of all four of them. However, only Sapnap and NotFound listen to his call. Very stiffly and hesitantly, mind you.

Dream and Schlatt though? They just turn glance up quickly, Dream’s stupid fucking mask annoyingly taunting. Schlatt smiles.

“Hypnosis! What a PLEASANT surprise.” Dream calls up, sarcasm lacing his voice. “Boys, snap out of it.”

NotFound rips his hands from his head, shaking his head to loosen himself from the control. It takes Sapnap a little longer, but he nonetheless breaks from Wilbur's control. Shit. Dream didn't even have a visible reaction to his hypnosis, not even a struggle. Mind-control versus body-control. Is this a mental barrier or an inability for it to work on him due to the similarity of their powers?

“Why don't you come down?” Schaltt shouts, not reaching for a gun or anything. He is strangely calm.

“Why don't you go fuck yourself?” Hypnosis scoffs, his eyes diverting to the window. He sees the corner of Father Crow’s wing peeking out, everybody is in position.

“How rude.” Schaltt pouts, “Just you then or is your little family hiding about?”

“We ain't hiding necessarily.” Blood God laughs, taking a swing at Dream’s back. The man jumps to the side, attempting to make a grab for him. Technoblade turns away, stepping back with his ax held out in front of him. “Long time no see, DREAM.”

“So glad to see you, Technoblade. Really is a good surprise.” Dream crosses his arms, his green cape hanging from his shoulders.

Hypnosis hops over the railing, falling down to the ground and landing smoothly behind Schlatt. He goes to swing a punch, nearly landing but the man is a little quicker than he expected.

“Did you really just try to punch me? I’m offended.” Schlatt scoffs, stepping near his crates. “And I’m guessing all my men have been handled by you, huh?”

“You’re damn right.” Hypnosis grins, putting his hands in his trench coat pockets. This isn't going well yet, not only are they outnumbered but Wilbur feels practically useless to the fight without his powers working on them.

Schlatt steps forward, throwing his own punch. Wilbur is able to block the first, but the surprise second lands in his abdomen with a grunt.

Glass shatters above them, the shiny pieces raining down on them like stars. One piece slices Sapnap’s cheek above his mask, NotFound looks up through his white rim glasses.

“Father Crow.”

-

“Shit! Why didn't Hypnosis’ power work on them!?” Freddie shouts, walking back and punching the wall. His fist turns red and furious. Tommy grits his teeth. They're outnumbered and it's clear Wilbur won't be able to use his powers on them. This isn't too good.

“I uh- I don't feel too good.” Tommy murmurs under his breath, holding his hand to his mouth as if he were about to be sick. “B-bad dinner I think.”

Freddie groans. “Uhm- Go! It's fine, you can leave.”

Tommy nods, bursting from the room. The minute he enters his own he grins, dropping to the ground to grab his costume. He undresses and pulls it on, unbinding his wings. Cargo pants, soft land utility boots, jacket, gloves. Mask and goggles, hood up. His weapon tucked inside his jacket, bombs in the pockets of his pants.

He slides out of the room, looking around for an agent. Nobody. Theseus dashes to the living room, unlatching one of the large windows and jumping out of it free. He takes flight, ready to fight somebody. Time for another round with the Fire Panda and now with his buddies.

“You better be ready, Dream. I WILL take you down. Not for my needs. Not for the Syndicate. Surprisingly, not even for the sake of my city. But for my friends. For the things you took from the Craft family.” Theseus narrows his eyes in determination. Little does he know, he IS what was taken away.

Chapter Text

“Father Crow! My FAVORITE hero.” Dream scoffs, watching as his rival lands a few feet in front of him. “Nice to see you again.”

“Feeling’s definitely not mutual.” Phil grits his teeth. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout. He wants to ask why. Why his son? Why his boy? He can’t let Dream know he knows, that'll only weaken their advantage on finding the location of their Tommy.

Dream takes a swing at Phil, going for his wing. It wasn't a big surprise for Father Crow, Dream has been known for being borderline discriminatory towards avains, his peculiar hatred towards them has led to a whole page of recorded hate-crimes and murders of avains. Father Crow was able to flap the wing to the side, swiping his leg to attempt to trip Dream. It doesn't work, but Dream does have to stumble backwards to avoid him.

Phil flies over the group, landing beside his sons. Sapnap holds a fireball, NotFound seems to be preparing a type of mist. Dream stands, hands glowing green. Schlatt sits atop a crate, swinging a gun in his hands.

Technoblade seems confident, though Phil can tell that Wilbur seems apprehensive. Nervous, almost.
This is to be a battle that will continue on for many months, off and on until somebody wins. Phil hopes he can put an end to this tonight before that happens.

Dream charges, surprisingly going for Technoblade. He knows his ability has the chance of not working on Wilbur, and honestly Phil’s weakness isn't being controlled. It's fire.

Technoblade and Dream ensue into a brawl, Technoblade attempting to make a damaging blow to Dream with his ax and Dream trying his very hardest to even make contact with Technoblade’s body so he can activate his power. Each comes close on multiple occasions, but neither succeed.

Sapnap charges Phil, taking the two into an airborne battle of fire and speed, every fireball sizzling off the tiniest portion of Phil’s feathers. It's difficult to get close to guy that literally can burn basically two or more of your limbs off in seconds.

Wilbur is left with NotFound and Schlatt, two ground based villians. Schlatt doesn't seem too focused on actually joining the fight though, he is enjoying himself just watching menacingly. NotFound has an increasing cloud of red smoke swirling around him; Wilbur doesn't really want to figure out what it does.

“C’mon, asshats. Bring it on.” Wilbur snides, fists raised and jaw clenched. Wilbur CAN be good at basic hand to hand, but that's usually will lowly, petty criminals. This is NotFound, this is a man that can melt your skin off or put you to sleep in seconds or shrivel up your lungs. This is a man that you can't exactly fight close up without a gas mask and skin coverage. Hypnosis has neither.

“You better not damage any of my products, boys.” Schlatt calls to the villains, gun still in hand, “I’m looking at you, Mr. Sapnap.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Sapnap snarls from above, yet again missing his shot at Father Crow.

“Don’t be rude to our business partner.” Dream demands from below, smoothly ducking Blood God’s fist. Those two were nearly equal rivals, both of their strengths match the other's weaknesses to perfection. Where one is strong, the other is weak, and vice versa. When one has to cover for an issue, the other has the power to overcome it. And when overcome, they both have the strategic abilities to get out of it. Their battle was much like a theater performance or a dance, rhythmic and dramatic.

It's very different from the way Sapnap and Father Crow battle. One reckless, messy, and loud. The other graceful, tactful, and stealthy. I don't think you need much help pairing those descriptions to the two enemies.

Sapnap grunts, a fireball whooshing past Father Crow’s head. Father Crow struggles to dodge every other burst of fire, unable to get closer to Sapnap than he is now without harming his strong wings.

“Having trouble, old guy?” Sapnap quips, making yet another failing attempt to scorch Phil alive. Every second he doesn't land a hit is another he gets more frustrated and reckless. A reckless man is dangerous, both the most difficult and the easiest to take down.

“Not at all.” Phil huffs, catching his breath between defenses. Sapnap sends a large ball of fire towards him, the heat comes terrifyingly close as Phil uses his wings to blow wind to redirect the course of the fire. It whooshes left, directed downwards.

“The cargo!” Schlatt shouts, jumping off the crate with his gun clenched in his hand. The fireball bursts through the first crate, a large explosion sends JSchaltt flying backwards along with NotFound and Hypnosis. It was likely a box of explosives, explosives the Dream Organization will now be lacking.

Schlatt groans, pushing himself to his feet. A few feet away NotFound dissolves a protection mist from around him, eyes flying in search of Hypnosis who had somehow disappeared from view.

“You bitch!” Schlatt shouts, aiming his pistol towards Phil in the air. He fires five times, missing three. The two other bullets lodge themselves into Phil’s knee and left wing sending him tumbling down onto the ground.

“Fuck.” Father Crow curses, trying to push himself to his feet. Before he can, a boot is pressed into his bleeding wing, holding the birdy down.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we caught ourselves a raven.” Dream cackles, leaning over Father Crow.

-

The night air ripples through his stiff feathers, but the feeling is embraced with a shiver and a mad grin beneath his mask. The stars were shining, the moon just a partial but still beautiful. It was an oddly gorgeous night for such a gruesome battle. He loved the smell of the salty air blowing past him, leaving any open skin damp and sticky. Usually it'd be an uncomfortable feeling, but having never been near the sea before, it gives him joy.

Theseus soars, the peace of the city strange to him. His city is always eventful, not a single quiet night there. Here? Here the streets are quiet, the bars all closed and the people all asleep. Only a stray car here, driving home from work or functions. Nobody wandering the street looking for a victim, the homeless population in this ciry was ⅒ of what it is in his. This is the type of place he’d want to raise a family in, if he wanted to raise one that is. Maybe one day, when he’s earned enough money and Clay has grown old he can move here. Clay would take some convincing, but maybe once he’s elderly and retired he’ll be more lenient. This would be a good place for them to reside in. To be in peace in.

The warehouse grows clearer in his vision, he slowly gets closer. As much as he wanted to stay in the sky for the rest of the night, no obligation to save someone or the pressure of being someone to look up to. He knows he can't though, he needs to help his friends.

“They can handle themselves, but I can't handle the thought of them being injured by Dream.” Tommy speaks into nothing, feeling his voice disappear amongst the clouds. Not a soul would hear what he said, but he said it anyway. Not for the sake of saying something, but more for self-realization. “I’m obligated to defeat Dream. I don't know why, I don't care to know why, but it's all I truly know. Dream must die by my hands.”

-

“Pricks.” Phil curses under his breath, wincing as he’s dragged to his via wing. Technoblade was coughing on the ground a few feet away, a mist surrounding him. Fucking NotFound.

“I don't think you're in any position to insult us, Philza.” Dream grips tighter around Phil’s wing, pulling him towards the crates and pushing him to the ground in front of them. Schlatt stands beside Dream, cocking his gun.

“Let’s just kill him, we've got him right where we need him.” Schlatt growls, scowling down at the hero.

“No.” Dream kneels, “This man deserves far more than just the glory of a heroic death. He deserves humiliation, degradation. Pain.”

“But imagine the headlines! Top Hero killed by feared villain Dream. Schlatt and co. a top dog in the villain underworld.” Schlatt drags on.

“I’m out for more than just being feared or powerful, Schlatt. I’m out to make heroes like him suffer.” Dream chuckles behind his mask, the laugh going on for far too long to be considered just a little SANE chuckle. More like an evil mob boss laugh from a cliché mafia movie.

“Fine, man. The customer is always right I guess.” Schlatt sighs, reloading his gun. “Now where is that little pesky siren?”

“Probably cowering in some corner like a coward.” Dream chides, pushing the tip of his boot into Phil’s bloodied leg. A sharp cry escapes Phil’s mouth, blood gurgling from the bullet wound with a grotesque smile. Fucking hell was Dream a psychopath! He was enjoying this, that sadistic creep.

“Hypnosis~ come out, come out wherever you are!” Schlatt sings, moving about the warehouse with slow taps of his shoes. He shoots a hole into sides of crates, awaiting the discovery of one of the heroes that fucked up his day. “You can't have gotten too far without your brother and dad, but who knows. Maybe you heroes are more heartless than we originally assumed.”

“Want me to smoke him out?” NotFound offers, sticking relatively close to Dream’s side. He doesn't pay mind to what goes on beside him, blood isn't his favorite thing in the world and Dream has a habit of smearing it EVERYWHERE when he gets into the swift of torture. It's honestly kind of impressive how much he can spill from the bodies of his victims without actually killing them.

“Nah. I like a good hunt.” Schlatt grins, his pointy teeth shimmering in the dim lighting of the warehouse. He’ll find him, he is a GREAT hunter afterall.

-

His breath his heavy and mind racing, every small noise sends a startle through his body. Every scream from his father angers him, yet pains him just the same. He can't do a single thing about it. He’s utterly useless.

“Hypnosis~” Schlatt’s voice rings on the other side of the warehouse, the sounds of his footsteps getting closer every minute that passes. Wilbur quacks, checking his sleeve.

“Fuck. I’m out of darts.” He curses under his breath, his breath shaking with each fresh inhale of the smokey air. The scents mix between gasoline, char, and a chemical smell that makes him a little woozy. He’s never been so glad that he doesn't have super senses.

“You can't hide forever, boy. Unless you want to hide forever, I think we’ll be content with just two Crafts to kill.” Schlatt’s voice grows closer, a bullet shooting into a crate just yards away. Wilbur knows he can't crouch behind this shelving unit forever, but he can't get himself to move. He’ll only be a hindrance to his family, even if they're already in the stickiest of situations.

“I wonder… are you over here?” Schlatt calls into the air, his footsteps stopping abruptly right on the other side of the shelving unit. Shit. “Wilbur. I know you're back there.”

Hypnosis presses his lips together, hands gripping onto anything he can manage to grab. A wrench. Fuck. A wrench to a gunfight?

“Hero deaths are glorified, Wilbur. They're put on monuments and worshiped after death for their bravery, considered TRUE heroes for dying for their cause. You? Your death will NOT be honorable. You’ll die like a pussy, like a coward.”

“Hey fuckheads!”

“Fuck!”

-

Tommy swoops down, landing silently on the roof of the warehouse. He’s ever so glad that he sat in on the briefing earlier, he knows the entire layout of this building by heart now. He just needs to decide where to make his grand entrance, and trust when he says it'll be GRAND.

Theseus jumps to his feet, bounding across the roof to the already opened ventilation system. Father Crow must've been here earlier, like they planned. Tommy crouches, peering into the main area of the warehouse. He spots Phil instantly, sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood while Dream picks at his wings. Holy shit.

Technoblade is pinned a few feet away, a constant mist blowing into his face from NotFound’s hands. Tommy doesn't see Wilbur anywhere, which is good he assumes. At least one Craft escaped.

“Fuck. This ain't good.” Theseus curses, shifting his weight on his knees to get a steadier assessment of the room. He needs a plan. He can't just improv it like he usually does. This is serious.

There are no excess guards or people around, just his four opponents. He’ll likely have to take most of them on alone, getting NotFound away from Technoblade so he can recover from the mist enough to rejoin battle. Hopefully Wilbur is nearby, ready to use his ability to get at least one of them distracted for a bit. Phil will be out of commission, he knows the pain of an injured wing. That man is probably praying for death right now.

Theseus sighs, silently scooting away from the vent. He can hear Phil’s screams, Technoblade’s slurred protests and threats. He can hear Schlatt shooting off random bullets, calling Wilbur's name. He wishes nothing more than to NOT have super hearing right now. And boy- the smell of blood is worse than ever. He can smell it not only seeping from Phil, but also in the ground. Whoever cleaned it up masked the scent with bleach, but it's no match for someone with his senses (which are strangely heightened right now).

This warehouse must be used for more than just meeting with clients. Murders have happened here.

Theseus takes flight, though it's more like a dive. His wings are awfully loud when flapped, the whooshing wind sounds are never subtle. He lands at the back of the building in a squat, head flying up to check for villains. None in sight.

Bursting into a near sprint, he makes his way along the side of the building to the door Wilbur entered through. The hallway is dimly lit and terribly painted, who the hell chooses off yellow bricks and purple floors for a fucking warehouse hallway? Disgusting.

At the end of the hall is an unconscious guard, his radio laid astray feet away from him. His limp foot holds open the heavy metal red door that leads up to the loft, the sounds of Phil’s cries louder than ever echoing down the staircase. His ears ring, head thumping.

“Come one Theseus! Pull yourself together. You don't know them in this alias. You're just a vigilante coming to take a chunk of the fight.” Theseus whispers to himself, stepping over the body and into the stairwell. He propels himself up them, making haste. Once he reaches the top he crouches, shuffling over to the railing. No one seems to have moved around much, except now he can see Hypnosis hiding behind a shelving unit. Schaltt approaches slowly, just one unit away. Hypnosis isn't a mutant, he doesn't have the thick skin and super abilities of a pigman or the flight ability of an avian. Schlatt, though, has a gun and a thick skull. Bro is doomed.

Okay. Game plan time. Dream is distracted with his creepy ass torture. He needs to get Phil onto the loft so he’s away from those that can't fly. That means he needs to divert Dream to another path. He also needs to get NotFound away from Technoblade so he has an ally in the fight. Oh yeah, and save Wilbur's sorry ass. Sapnap is looking through the crates, he won't be too big of an issue.

Theseus takes a deep breath, pushing himself to his feet. He climbs onto the railing, standing steady on the bar. He felt focused, heightened.

“Hey fuckheads!” He shouts out, grinning beneath his mask. He jumps down, dramatically floating down onto the ground. When he lands he his wings spread intimidatingly out into their full wingspan, fingers curling into hard fists. He is pumped to test out those iron infused gloves.

“Fuck!” Sapnap groans, punching the top of a crate. “Ow.”

“Oh boy~” Dream sings, pushing himself up from his squat. Phil pants beneath him, his tired eyes glancing over to Theseus with an ounce of surprise and hope beneath their glazed gray beauty. “If it isn't the FAMOUS Theseus!’

“And the infamous Nightmare.”

“It’s Dream.” The man growled beneath his white smile mask, hands curling into fists as well with a green glow. A familiar green glow, it reminded him mostly of Clay. Maybe that's another reason why he wants to kill Dream, he puts a bad name to people with puppeteer abilities. In all honesty, Dream was just an evil reflection of his father.

“Sure.” Theseus rolls his eyes beneath his goggles, steadying himself on his feet. A bullet whizzed past his head. “Ah. Schlatt. Pleasure to meet you. I would have assumed a man like you wouldn't have missed.”

“Shut up.” Schlatt demands behind him. He was utterly surrounded. Dream in front, Schlatt behind, Sapnap creeps up on the left, and NotFound stepping away from Technoblade and towards him on the right. He makes a list of warnings for himself in his head.

Don't let Dream touch you.
Be wary of the fire, if you feel heat, duck your wings.
Don't breathe in proximity to NotFound.
Beware of bullets.

Easy on their own, nearly impossible all at once.

“Bring it on, asshats.” Theseus quips, folding his wings in on themselves slightly. And so forth the battle began.

Dream charges him like a bull, swinging to grab him anywhere. Theseus flaps over him, narrowly avoiding a bullet at the same time. A ball of fire shoots past his leg, it scorches a bit of his skin but doesn't do enough damage to count. As he uses his wings to move a suspicious smoke away from him he bends his back to avoid being shot in the thigh.

Dream jumps up, trying to grab his ankle. The distraction is enough for Theseus to be hit by a bullet, the small thing piercing his shoulder but not going all the way through. That's going to be a pain in the ass to dig out later.

Dream lands back on the ground, grumbling under his breath. “Get down here you pesky bird!!”

“Why? It's far more fun.” Theseus grins under his mask. The pain of the wound almost felt… good? Not in the creepy, masochistic way though. More exhilarating, stabilizing. Holy shit he is fucked up farther than he thought.

“Grah!” Dream grunts, green glow crackling at his hands. It can fucking CRACKLE? What the frickity frack…?

“Oh boy! Is little Dweamy Weamy mad?” Theseus teases, yelping as he dodges a fireball. “The hell was that for man?”

“Don’t fucking be rude to C- Dream!” Sapnap shouts, stumbling over his words. Did he REALLY think he was an intimidating villain? He’s a fucking walker temper tantrum, but isn't that what every villain is? A toddler with super powers and an ego and sad backstory. Well guess what fuckers? He has powers, a slight ego, AND a tragic backstory yet he still isn't a fucktard.

Theseus flaps closer to the ground to avoid another fireball, floating a little too close to NotFound. He inhales a sharp, putrid scent. He is able to flap away before breathing in too much, but boy does his eyes burn now.

“Holy shit that is one foul fart, man.” Theseus coughs, squealing as he narrowly avoids Dream’s attempt at capture. Yet another bullet whizzes past his head, striking one of the large windows above them. Glass rains in loud screeches, pouring down upon the battle. Sapnap ducks, NotFound covers his head with his cape. Schlatt holds an arm over his head, Dream the only one not distracted. This was his chance.

Theseus swoops, gliding as quickly as possible in front of Phil. He lands, boot splashing into the pool of blood that practically surrounds a foot around the man at every angle. Phil groans, slumped and bloody. His wing is absolutely demolished, body slashed and in shambles. He was in bad condition, and boy did it send an odd shiver into Tommy's heart.

He kneels in front of Phil carefully, reaching out to view the wing but thinking against it. Avians are VERY sensitive when wingly injured, he should know.

“Hey there, big man. Long time no see, huh?” Theseus chuckles, trying to make this not awkward as fuck. He only is making it more with his weird small talk.

“Y-yeah.” Phil coughs, a sharp cry escaping his mouth at the shift of his body from the cough.

“Let’s get you to safety, alright?” Theseus nods slowly, gently sliding his arms under Phil’s body. He hears multiple squelches, his arms slicked in blood now. He tries his best to be gentle, but it wasn't easy.

When he finally had him steady in his arms, fucking hell he was heavy, he spread his wings to fly. He was beginning to lift to take flight, but his left wing was stopped by a shearing pain and a familiar feeling. Loss of control.

Green seeps into his veins, moving closer to the arms that hold a dying man. His wings go still, body feeling numb and cold. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Well Shit to the power of fucking 15. Theseus scowls, feeling a rage build up inside him. No. He won't let himself be controlled. He won't let himself fall prey to weakness and allow Phil to die, he won't let it. He is a member of the Syndicate. He is a feared and worshiped vigilante. He is a Souled.

“NO!” Theseus screams, feeling something build inside him. His chest heaves, nostrils flare. His muscles feel tight and mind clear. “NO!”

He feels the coldness in his veins push back, he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I WILL NOT BE A PUPPET!!!” Theseus screams, eyes flying open in a wild new come power. The green that was slowly pooling into him flies out, sending Dream flying backwards and into a crate. He felt strong, unbreakable. He couldn't see it, the way he changed for a second during his burst of power. It's something only Phil saw.

“K…” Phil begins before passing out, the blood loss getting to him. Theseus stands, panting for a moment. All was still within the warehouse, not a movement.

Theseus breaks the pause, taking flight despite his pained wing. Out the window and out of the warehouse to safety, then he’ll go back to help the other two.

He gets a few blocks down before stumbling into a landing before a few black vans, agents rushing to grab Phil and bring him to a medic. Freddie jumps from a van that comes skidding to a stop a few feet away, rushing to the scene.

“Theseus!?” Freddie shouts in a flabbergasted voice, eyes darting between Phil and the vigilante. His eyes narrow, almost in recognition, before he grits his teeth and grunts. “We can fix your wing up.”

“No need. The show must go on.” Theseus bows dramatically, bursting into the air yet again. He can hear a few shouts of resistance, both from the agents and his own body, but both go ignored. He has a duty to fulfill.

1
-

“Oh, dear.” Kristen sniffles, falling to her knees. She was in the abyss, visiting her love’s limbo. The only difference with today was that he was there, in his death stop. His head laid against the concrete of the train station floor, body dressed in the white gown. The gown one wears to their permanent place of residence in the afterlife.

“Kristen?” Phil groans, adjusting to the new surroundings and seemingly painless body. A pit was settled in his stomach, a type of nausea in his throat. The hands in his hair were bittersweet, familiar yet he knows they can't belong to who he wishes they belong to.

“Yes, my love. It's me.” Kristen chokes out through her quiet sobs. Phil furrows his brows, forcing his eyes to open. The first thing he sees is the most beautiful woman ever, who in which he has seen before a hundred times both in person and in his dreams.

“Kristen…” Phil breathes, pushing himself to his knees quickly in a hurried scramble. He faces her, knees pressed into the hems of her skirt. His hands reach out, his fingers curl around her jaw. Tears streamed down his face. “My dear…”

“It is I.” Kristen smiles, but she couldn't help but know this wasn't good at all. She wanted to see him here after old age catches up with him, not as young as he is now. It's only been mere years since their part.

Phil lets out a relieved laugh, wiping her tears away with his calloused thumb. This didn't feel real to him, but it also didn't feel unrealistic. He knew he'd die at some point, it comes with the job. He also knew that Kristen was some type of being, one related to the afterlife. He didn't know the specifics, but he didn't need to know to love her.

“It has been far too long.” Phil leans forward, placing his forehead against hers. It was nice to simply be in her presence yet again, feel her warmth and smell her musky lavender scent. Her loose curls scratch his temples, but just being able to feel her at all makes all discomfort fly out the window.

“It truly has, but it also hasn't been near long enough.” Kristen sighs, pushing away. Her hands curl themselves into his, interlocking their fingers together.

“What do you mean, dear?” Phil’s face softens, rubbing his thumb over hers in a familiar rhythmic pattern.

“You’re still so young, love. You haven't lived a full life.”

“I did, Kristen. My life doesn't have to be long as long as it was mine. You made the best years of my life, the boys are grown now. I am ready to be with you again.” Phil defends, squeezing her hand gently.

“They’re not ALL grown, Phil. Our Toms is still just a boy, he’s out there.” Kristen sniffles.

Realization dawns on Phil, tightening his chest. He was so content with death that he didn't even think about what he'd lose. He’d never see his youngest son reach adulthood, he won't be there to rescue him.

“I… I don't know what to do.” Phil breaths, hanging his head. “I want you, all I've ever wanted was to have you back with me. But… but I can't let my son go.”

“Pick the living over the dead, Phil. Always pick the living first because they still have lives ahead of them that'll be affected by YOUR choices. Choose them. Choose Tommy. Choose our sons.” Kristen pulls Phil to his feet.

“I don't even know how to get back to… earth? I don't even know where I am, let alone how to leave.”

“Those are things that'll be answered when your time comes, as for how to get back-” Kristen pauses, digging through her mind, “You’re not yet dead, love. Your body is dead, but your soul is still hanging on. All you have to do is not let go.”

“C-can I ask you a question, before I return to my body?” Phil closes his eyes, not wanting to leave this moment.

“Depends.”

“Why-” Phil inhales, looking at her in her gorgeous eyes. “Why did you kill yourself? Why did you leave us the way you did?”

“I never wanted to.’

-

“Hey bitches!!!” Theseus cackles, swinging down into the warehouse. Technoblade was finally on his feet, holding off all four on his own.

“Theseus?” Blood God perks up, cursing as he tries to avoid a bullet. Hypnosis was still nowhere in site.

“Hell yeah! I couldn't let you get all the action here, Blood Boy. Need some assistance?” Theseus jokes as he swoops low, grabbing onto NotFound’s shoulder with his breath held. He tosses the villain into a shelving unit, sending a tumble of goods tumbling down on top of him. He’d be okay, but at least he'd be out of the game for a bit.

Theseus spins, landing beside his colleague. Boss? Rival? Enemy? It's complicated alright?!

“Sup.”

“Hi…” Technoblade stares at him, using his ax to block a fireball sent towards his end casually. Holy shit was this dude cool as fuck once you get over the fear aspect.

“You fucking dirty bird!” Dream screams, punching Sapnap towards the unit. The fire panda hurries off, digging around for NotFound.

Is this… a weakness? A soft spot? NotFound. Theseus pockets the information for a later date.

“Mutantist.” Theseus scoffs, curling his fingers. He wasn't afraid to land a hit on Dream. He was able to resist once, he can do it again. Dream can't control him. Dream isn't Clay. (the author loves irony).

“I’m going to rip those disgusting red wings from your pathetic little body.” Dream threatens, dashing forward.

“I got him, you handle the ram.” Theseus quickly snaps at Technoblade, cracking his knuckles. Technoblade obliges, dodging a bullet as he stomps towards the business man.

Dream swings a punch, Theseus ducks in time. He keeps his wings tucked, as a precaution.

“Get back here.” Dream snarls, pouncing. Theseus rolls to the side, biting his tongue as his wings get squished against the concrete for half a second. He is tough though, and quick at recovery.

Theseus is able to jump back to his feet right before Dream sends a kick, grabbing the boot’s heel in the palm of his hand. He uses the advantage to twist the leg to the side, underestimating how much force is needed to break a leg and only managing to send Dream sprawling to the ground.

“Is the big, bad Dream struggling in a battle against a pettu vigilante?” Theseus teases, sending a kick into Dream’s groin. This man was NOTHING without his puppeteer ability, nothing without his control. Maybe Tommy was overconfident in the fact that he can resist being controlled by the man, but that might also be the exact thing keeping him from being controlled.

“Fuck you.” Dream spits, pushing himself to his feet. Tommy expected fists, or another attempt at a puppet, but no. The villain unsheathes a dagger, a long black dagger with a twisting blade. Holy shit that thing looks awesome. Tommy has got to get himself one of those.

“Come at me.” Theseus grins beneath his mask, steadying himself on his feet and holding his fists out in front of him.

“With pleasure.”

As those two did their dance of death, Technoblade was having an odd amount of trouble taking down the supplier. Despite being a gruff piglin with years of battle experience, this snarky ass ram tops him. The fuck?

“Having fun, Bladey?” Theseus laughs from the air, whooping as he twists to avoid the slash of a dagger. He bounced between the air and the ground, free in the atmosphere. Graceful and nimble, yet clumsy and quick.

“Sure.” The Blood God replies sarcastically, grunting as he yet again smashes his fist into an empty crate from a failed charge at the gun wielding man.

“Need help?” Theseus jokes, landing a punch to Dream’s back. The metal in his gloves was really helping to enhance his hits, with his heightened senses today he was even able to HEAR the skin and tissue crackle against his fist. Gross, but awesome as hell. Limbo? Awesome as fuck.

“Worry about your own opponent.” Technoblade huffs. A bullet shoots towards Theseus, fortunately missing.

“You were saying?” Theseus raises an eyebrow beneath his goggles, momentarily distracted.

“He was right.” Dream speaks into Theseus’ ear as he plunges his danger into Tommy's lower side, the pain shooting through his body.

“Fuck!!” Theseus shouts with a groan, feet stumbling backwards. The dagger remains floating in front of him, the entire length of the blade stuck through his body. He wraps his hands around it.

“Don’t pull it out,” Technoblade orders, appearing in front of him with his back towards him as he blocks attacks.

“Its fucking INSIDE me!” Theseus cries out, pulling his now blood soaked hands away. He felt the warm, red liquid drip down his body, creating small circles of color on the gray ground. If it weren't for the situation, he’d call that splash of color artistic.

“Yeah and you’ll-” Technoblade’s axe smashes against a bullet, a fireball whizzing by on the other side. Well shit. Looks like Sapnap is back in the game, “-Bleed out quicker if you pull it out.”

“This is JUST great.”

“Sure is.” Technoblade hisses as a fireball scorches a stripe across his forearm. Dream was helping NotFound out of the rubble, pulling him back into the fight with tender hands.

They were fucked. Surrounded by 4 villains, one of them injured and the other fighting while trying to protect the other.

Theseus felt like shit, physically and mentally. He was useless now, an absolute hindrance to the fight. All he did was get Phil out of here, now he might get one of Phil’s kids killed because he wasn't focused enough on a battle. He HAS to do something, something that'll undo this.

“Hold down the fort.” Theseus whines, flapping his wings into a flight. The sudden shift sent a ripple of pain through his body, but it didn't matter. He got himself onto the balcony and rolled into a kneel, heaving.

“You better know what you're doing, kid!” The Blood God shouts from below, the clinking of metal swallowing parts of his voice.

Theseus catches his breath, once he does he gets creative. He digs through the crates, searching for something he can use; anything at all. Eventually he manages to gather what he needed, though difficult with a whole ass dagger sticking out of his stomach. He’s running on adrenaline and nothing else.

Three ropes, a clip, and a weight. All this time spent with Tubbo is coming in handy for sure.

He attaches the clip to the weight, securing it with some ropes in an intricate (but improvised) knot. He connects all the ropes to make it long. This was a shit plan, but it works and keeps him from getting close enough to be injured.

Theseus grabs the weight, one arm holding it and the other the end of the rope. With a deep breath, he jumps from the balcony and lets go of the weight. It swings, his arms straining as they adjust to the new tug. He swoops, swinging the weight. Based on the leverage and his flight speed, it should do what he needs it to.

“Watch out!” Sapnap shouts, just as he thought he would. Dream ducks out of the way, the weight swinging past his head. Theseus suddenly pushes his wings to stop his forward flight, the force sending the weight flying backwards.

“Easy enough.” Dream scoffs as he straightens back up, just for the weight to go crashing into his back. He sends him sprawling forward, knocking NotFound off his feet. Theseus drops the weight, swinging over to the top of the shelving unit and perching. He grabs the box of explosives he had spotted up there, pulling the pin from one and tossing it down to the pile of villains.

“Look out Bladey!” Theseus shouts, watching the grenade fall, and fall, and fall. It lands a few feet from Dream and NotFound’s slow recovery, exploding on the spot.

When the smoke clears the two are coughing densely, slightly injured.

“Good thinking.” Technoblade murmurs under his breath, holding off just Sapnap and Schlatt for a bit. It eased his load, and it also allowed him more focus on the two he fights.

Theseus hops down from the unit, striding over to the two.

“Having fun, boys?” He quips. Dream huffs, a hand holding his aching back. NotFound appeared defeated beside him. Theseus grins, leaning over the guy. “Looks like someone was sleepy.”

“Think twice motherfucker.” NotFound instantly sits up, his hands wrapping around the handle of the dagger. Within the moment it is ripped from Theseus’ stomach, blood coating its black ridged blade. Blood pours from the gaping wound, not a trickle nor a stream. A pour.

“FREEZE.” A scream echoes through the warehouse, the voice the opposite of smooth or elegant. It was louder, louder than a human could ever go. It was deep and growly, hoarse and inhuman. It was Wilbur.

Remember a mention towards bad things happening with Hypnosis overuses his abilities? So yeah, this is it.

Hypnosis stands at the front of the battle, eyes glowing a bright blue. His hair stood up on its own, his mouth wide and emitting a high pitched ring. He looked horrifying, better yet he sounded horrifying. There are no words to describe the vocal insanity that emerged from the usually smooth siren.

“RUN. AWAY.” Hypnosis speaks in this voice. It almost sounded like it was underwater, but not muffled. Imagine if sharp shark-like teeth could talk. Not the person with the teeth, but the teeth themselves.

Somehow, his command was obeyed. NotFound, Sapnap, and Schlatt all grimaced, their feet moving involuntarily in a sprint to different exits. Only Dream remained.

“GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER YOU FUCK.” Wilbur screamed at Dream, stomping towards him fearlessly.

“This isn't over, heroes. You already had enemies in the Organization, but now you'll be enemies with the Inc. as well. Be warned. We WILL be coming after you.”

So, an injured and lone Dream, stomped off. Theseus wasn't expecting him to just… quit. There was something off about it. Something out of the ordinary. Not to say he wasn't grateful though. Kinda bleeding out over here!

“Wil… Wil calm down!” Technoblade shouts, grabbing Hypnosis by the shoulders.

“The fuck happened to him?”

“We don't have a name for it, but…” Technoblade grips Wilbur, shaking him a bit, “All mutants come from original beasts, so we all have an dormant ability to become our counterpart. That's what this was, Wilbur going ‘full siren’ I guess.”

“Scary.” Theseus breathes, a wave of nausea hitting him quickly.

“Shit. You're bleeding, A LOT.”

“No shit sherlock.” Theseus rolls his eyes beneath his goggles. Wilbur slumps forward, hair settling. Asleep.

“We need to get you to a medic.”

“Hell no.” Theseus denies, standing himself up straighter. No way is he risking arrest or being caught for some medical assistance. He could probably fix this back at the hotel, right? Right?

“I ain't letting a 16 ye-”

“I regret admitting my age with passion.”

“Oh shut up. I ain't letting a 16 year old bleed out somewhere because he doesn't get proper medical attention.”

“Tough Luck.”

Theseus salutes, bursting into flight.

“Get back here!” Technoblade demands, dropping Wilbur to the floor.

“See you at the next Syndicate meeting bitch!”

Chapter Text

“Chest compressions!”

A voice shouts in the distance, but it was difficult to hear. His ears felt like they were filled with water. Glimpses of pain washes through him, never steady. His body felt like it was being pulled down through sludge, but he didn't want to go down into the sludge. He wanted to go to the muffled voices, despite the pain he knew going there would bring.

He fought the sludge, ripping tendrils from his arms and grabbing onto the sides of the abyss. It was as if he was in a deep well, a long cylinder of darkness with a dot of light at the very top. His eyes held onto the light, fearing what would happen if he let go of it. He couldn't keep himself afloat, and everytime he began to sink he would feel a sense of doubt and hopelessness. But he couldn't be hopeless. His children needed him.

“Charge!” A voice shouts from the top of the well, the muffled sound of a released electricity. Was he dead? Were they trying to bring him back? “C’mon, Mr. Craft! Come back to us! I ain't letting a hero die.”

That's right. He’s a hero. What happened again? He can’t recall, but all he remembers is the pain. Excruciating pain. And a light. A light through the pain, something warm and strong. It was a power, a super ability. One he’s never seen before but one that he’s felt the aura of before. What happened?

The sludge pulls him deeper, the light at the top of the well growing smaller with each passing second. He was sinking to death, and he knows that if he sinks too far he won't be able to dig himself back up.

The sludge was calming, like a melatonin or weed (which he’ll admit he tried back in highschool). It felt good to be submerged inside it, but everytime his mind feels at peace Tommy's bright face flashes into it. That young, bright eyes, freckled blonde boy was why he was still trying. Why he was pushing against the sludge.

“Again!”

They were losing him, he knows that. His body was losing, and his soul even more. He couldn't hold onto his body, not enough to grasp onto it. He wasn't ready to die, he wasn't ready to leave the life he’s led.

“Dad!”

A familiar voice calls out from the top of the well. The sludge melts away, becoming water. Instead of the voice coming from the top of an abyss well, it comes from the back of a fishing boat. His body is submerged by the water, waves crashing over him. Birds weren't great at swimming.

“Dad!!!” He recognizes the voice this time, one he hasn't heard in under a decade. Tommy, HIS Tommy. He pushes himself to the top of the water, gasping and struggling against the waves. The boat floats a few feet away, Tommy sitting on the side of it with his child hands gripping ontot he sides. He was young, and he was scared.

“I-i’m coming baby!” Phil calls back, choking on a mouthful of salty water. He remembers this, but it's different. The actual incident happened on a larger boat, one they rented out for Kristen's birthday. And they weren't in an endless ocean but rather the lake they do their yearly camping trips at. And he didn't struggle against waves, he fell off the boat and swam to the surface with a laugh. Tommy still called his name the same, but why was it different?

“Get back on the boat Papa!” Tommy cries, “Don’t sink!”

“I won't, baby.” Phil assures, swimming through the water. It felt like everytime he got close enough to the rocky wooden boat to grab onto it a wave would knock him under. It was no different than the well, but this time he could feel the water enter his lungs. It wasn't a peaceful drown, it was forceful.

Tommy screamed his name, begging him to stay near. The blue sky darkened, stormy clouds covering the sun. What did this all mean?

Phil wachtes as the boat shakes, nearly sending his son flying off the side. Tommy disappears into the boat for a moment, peeking back up rubbing his head. The storm was building, the waves getting harder. Despite this, he felt more determined than ever. He NEEDED to get to that boat, he needed to protect his child.

Phil clenches his jaw, pushing against the wave. His arms ached, but he didn't gave rest. He felt a sense of power wash over him, a new found strength. He gives a final kick, hands grabbing the side of the boat. His breath is quick and body shivering, he doesn't feel up to pulling himself up onto the boat.

“Dad.” An older voice speaks, hands wrapping around his forearms. They pulls him, straining his arm muscles. But it works, he flops down on the inside of the boat. Tommy couldn't have been old enough to do that… “There we go.”

Phil pants, sitting up and turning to view who is now inside the boat.

“Tommy-” Phil is speechless, “Tommy Watson.”

“Hey, Dad. You're safe now.” Tommy smiles. Instead of his son sitting before him, it's his assistant, calling him dad? His scars there, his eyes the same. Phil knew that this Tommy looked a lot like his, but he didn't see him as his. He couldn't, he couldn't allow this boy that he cares for to be a replacement in his head for his missing son. That isn't fair for Tommy. So why was this happening?

“Wh-” His heart slows, sending a wave of dizziness through him.

“It’s time to wake up, Pops. It's time to be alive, it's time to be alive.” Tommy whispers in his ear, both being the last thing he heard before dying and before coming back to life.

-

“We’ve got a heartbeat!” A doctor cheers, sweat dripping down his forehead. The heart monitor begins to beep slowly, speeding up through time.

The entire country takes a sigh of relief.

-

Did Tommy MEAN to crash through his hotel bedroom window? No. Did it happen anyway? Yes. Yes it did.

He knows for sure that the large crash of the glass shattering into his bedroom was heard down the hall, his blood spilling over the carpet and the walls. He tried to steady himself using the wall, but he also forgot that his hands were soaked in his own blood.

There was no hiding this, not a chance. He wasn't even out of his gear when he heard footsteps dash down the hallway towards his room.

“Mr. Watson! Mr. Watson, is everything okay?” Freddie shouts from outside the door, cocking a gun.

“Uhm- Yeah! Just knocked over a mirror!” Tommy lies, yet again astonished by his own ability to spit out a believable lie. Still, these were agents he was lying to.

Outside the door a few hushed whispers reach Tommy's ears, but his heightened hearing has been compromised by the loud ringing that sounds ftom his head so he can't entirely make out what they're saying. After a few moments a few people leave, heading back to the main room to take calls and review the battle through the cameras. However, Tommy can hear just one last person remaining outside the door.

“Mr. Watson?” Freddie says in a gentler tone.

“Y-yes?” Tommy coughs, beginning to feel dizzy from blood loss. He digs into his jacket pockets, grabbing the healing potion. He brings it to his lips, chugging the digusting liquid. He didn't bring all steps to the healing with him, but hopefully this does something. It's also not recommended to take potions all too often. It could cause an enzyme imbalance or whatever.

“Are you unsafe?” The question was spoken softly, it didn't sound real. No one has ever asked a question like that in that type of tone.

“N-no. I am fine.” Tommy mumbles, waves of pain washing over him sporadically, “All good.”

“Don’t make me come in there.” Freddie threatens, “Have you forgotten I am the top agent of my city, Theseus?”

“Shit.” Tommy curses under his breath, stumbling to the door and swinging it open. “Get in here before anyone else discovers my identity.”

Freddie inspects Theseus, who ripped off his goggles and mask the minute he burst through the window. He quickly steps inside, towering over the vigilante. Tommy locks the door behind him, leaning back against the wall.

“How’d you figure me out?” Tommy asks with a sigh. It was both relieving and terrifying knowing that someone has his identity now.

“It wasn't difficult, you lucky bastard. The fact that you've made it this far is astonishing.” Freddie scoffs, tossing his bag down on top of Tommy's bed. He was too tired to fight, too tired to do anything other than accept defeat. “I had suspicions from the moment you arrived, the lump on your back from bound wings and the slightly familiar voice. How closely you paid attention to the details, studying the map of the warehouse. And then you ‘get sick’ and have to leave the room. Next thing we know, Theseus shows up at the battle knowing exactly where to go and what to do.”

“You’re a lot less stupid than you look, Agent.” Tommy laughs. Was he really that obvious? “You aren't going to arrest me.”

“What makes you think that?” Freddie asks, leaning back on the closet doors. His eyes were cautiously watching him, observant.

“You sent your agents away to enter the room, any NORMAL agent capturing a wanted vigilante would've burst in here with back up. Not to mention you aren't carrying a weapon.” Tommy grins, “You want something else from me, something you wish to use my identity as blackmail to get.”

“I underestimated you, Mr. Watson, if that is your real name.” Freddie laughs, “You’re correct, but I don't do blackmail. I was hoping you'd just agree to my wishes.”

“State them. I don't have much time to sit around here, bleeding out saving the heroes YOU called for.” Tommy heaves, using his hands to press against the wound to slow the bleeding.

Freddie survey's the bloodied room, leaning off the wall. He strides over to his bag, clicking it open and pulling a large first-aid kit out from it.

“Bathroom, now.” He demands, opening the door. Tommy sighs, stumbling across the length of the room to the door. He slides inside, using the counter for support. “Hop up.”

Freddie pushes all the miniature fancy shampoo bottles off the counter and onto the floor. Theseus glares at him, feeling like a fucking child getting a scrape cleaned. He wouldn't deny somewhat decent medical care though, he has a feeling he’ll fucking die if he doesn't.

Tommy pulls himself onto the counter, pressing his wings against the mirror. Freddie sets the medical kit down onto the toilet seat, pulling blue rubber gloves onto his hands.

“We're gonna sit here in silence or what?”

“Take off as many layers of your costume as you feel comfortable to. I’m going to need to cut the fabric around the wound to safely clean it, it'd be better to do so through just ONE layer of clothing.” Freddie orders, taking the safety cover off a pair of silver scissors. Tommy begrudgingly agrees, slowly ripping his jacket and layers off in a sluggish pace. He felt like he was using the last ounce of energy he somehow had left simply undressing. He managed to get down to just his black short sleeve undershirt, giving up from there. Freddie seemed content enough, beginning to snip a way around the wound. It stung, the fabric being pulled out of the wound and onto a napkin, but not enough for Tommy to physically react.

“So?” Tommy blinks, forcing himself to keep his eyes open.

“So what?” Freddie keeps his eyes focused on cleaning the wound.

“What is this all REALLY about? Information? Job? An inside eye?” Tommy rattles off, biting the inside of his gum to distract himself from the burn of alcohol and the sting of cloth dabbing blood from the wound.

“Help.” Freddie looks up from his work, “I want some help from you, Theseus.”

-

“Relatives of Philza Craft?” A doctor calls into the waiting room, a white wrinkled coat over his arms and a clipboard in hand. His hair was thin and gray, he was nearly bald with the exception of a short swoop of hair across the top of his shining head.

“Here!!” Technoblade screams, jumping up from the lousy plastic waiting room chair. Wilbur perks up, sluggishly pushing himself up and making haste behind Technoblade. They were still halfway in hero gear, stitches on their foreheads or bandages around limbs. They were scared out of their wits.

Technoblade couldn't sit still, he couldn't think. His father was injured, and injured badly. He was in rough shape, he looked on the brink of death when Theseus flew him out. That reminds him, he has a LOT of thanks to do. Theseus might have saved Phil’s life, let alone being an asset during the battle. He has earned an ally for life.

“Mr. Technoblade Craft, Mr. William Craft.” The doctor greets; his hands tapped sporadically on the back of the clipboard. “Pleasure.”

“Hurry up and tell us about our fucking father!” Technoblade demands, grabbing Wilbur's upper arm. The young man was still a little woozy from his loss of control.

“Fine…” The doctor grumbles, “Phil sustained terrible injuries, many of which punctured numerous arteries. He lost a lot of blood.”

“Fuck…”

“We tried our best to save him throughout the surgery, he went into cardiac arrest. We tried for 11 minutes to bring him back before-”

“Holy shit.” Wilbur heaves, eyes welling up with tears yet again. His eyes were already bloodshot beyond hell and puffier than a puffer fish. He looked high, but also in deep despair.

“-before we were able to regain a heartbeat. It truly was a miracle that he pulled through, let alone without any damaged nerves. Hell, he doesn't even seem to be having cognitive struggles.” The doctor chuckles in that deep, elderly man cough-like laugh. The type of chuckle your grandpa would burst into on his rocking chair about a joke he made on politics.

“Thank fuck.” Technoblade sighs, the restriction on his lungs lessening ever so slightly. His father was alive. Alive and partially well. “Wait… cognitive abilities? He’s awake!?”

“Infact, he is. It's a fucking miracle, but he is also refusing sedatives at this time so that definitely plays into it.”

“Can we see him?”

“Right this way.”

The doctor leads the heroes out of the waiting room. The walk is awkward and hurried, the doctor feels like he’s sprinting to keep up with the two young men speed walking beside him. He guides them through corridors and up the elevator, before he finally slows down as they arrive in the PACU sector of the hospital.

“Your father is right down the hallway, I am not allowed past this point since I am not his specialized doctor. You'll know the room when you see it, the hospital pulls out all of its special forces when a hero like him arrives.” The doctor half bows to both men, walking off.

Technoblade and Wilbur exchange glances of both anticipation and fear. They take a moment before turning the corner, spotting at least 12 security guards lining the hallway on either side. They all bow heads in respect to the heroes as they pass, the two stop in front of a door with two guards personally stationed in front. They part instantaneously, leaving the door open for their entry.

Technoblade makes the first move, acting quickly to get inside. Wilbur, however, remained in the hallway for a while longer.

The room was cold, the loudest sound within was the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside Phil’s bed. The curtains were drawn and the lights dim, his bed in the center. It was horrifying, a sight that sent a nauseating shiver through Technoblade’s spine. His own father, the man that raised him and cared for him and fought with him, pale and bandaged in a hospital bed. It's not that Technoblade hasn't seen his dear father in a bed as such before, or bandaged, but this was different. He… looked different. There was something behind his tired, gray eyes. Something that didn't feel alive. Is that what death does to one? Is anyone truly able to fully come back from the dead? Does a piece of them remain dead?

Tubes connected to Phil’s arms, to his nose. Bandages wrapping over his limbs and his wing and his head, presumably around his torso most greatly. His skin is pale and hollow, hair sweaty and pushed back from his face. His eyes glazed around, slowly turning toward the newcomer into his quarters.

“Tech?” Phil murmurs, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of his cracked, bruised lips. “Is that really you?”

“It is indeed, Dad.” Technoblade breathes, hesitantly stepping closer to his bedside. The room smelt of hand sanitizer and musk, dust and gauze. A distinct smell, a foul one.

“My son.” Phil laughs airily, lightly patting the blanket to his side. Technoblade steps forward, sitting in the blue plastic chair at his father's side. His mouth felt dry and chest tight. He could be relieved his father wasn't dead, but he also felt guilty for allowing his father to ever reach this state. “How happy I am to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you alive, Dad.”

“Did we win?” Phil asks, clearly still tainted by the drugs they used to keep his pain low. His red eyes, peppy yet exhausted tone. Not to mention the morphine pumping into his veins.

“Kinda.” Technoblade collects himself, rubbing his hands anxiously up and down the length of his thighs, “They got away, but we did damage and they didn't get their deliveries. We owe it all to Theseus.”

“Theseus.” Phil laughs, staring up at the ceiling. “The boy truly is something else. He ACTUALLY is something else. I don't even know if he’s an avian at this point.”

“He is some- wait… what? Of course he’s an avian, Dad. Should I get the nurse? Are you having memory issues?”

“No- no, my memory is as clear as day.” Phil turns his head towards his son, “I saw something, when he was rescuing me.”

“Tell me.”

“He was touched by Dream, his veins were beginning to fill with that horrid green glow. But then he scrunched his face beneath that tight black mask and stiffened, and for as he expelled Dream’s power from his body, I could swear my life that he wasn't human. He wasn't full avain either. He was… he was out of this world.”

Technoblade furrowed his brow. He couldn't decide whether or not to trust his father on this, whether or not this was a near death delusion or something real. He was inclined to think the latter, but that was just a feeling he had. Theseus had a certain… air about him. Something Technoblade hadn't thought of until now.

“What did you see?”

“I couldn't see much, being that he is almost fully covered in clothing, but what I did see was… was like an angel. He had this glow above his head, bright and purple. His wings doubled in size and were the same color as the glow, his feathers held this swirling design to them. His goggles also glowed, but I couldn't see beneath them.” Phil spoke in a wondrous, dreamy tone, “He reminded me of Kristen, for a moment.”

“Hey Dad.” Wilbur finally steps into the room, leaning against the wall a few steps away.

“Ah. Wil, it's good to see you.” Phil smiled weakly, “Come have a seat, son.”

-

“Ow! Careful.” Tommy grumbles, wincing as Freddie’s fingers snagged on an out of place red feather.

“Your wing seems to be a little swollen, probably just a little sprained. Your stomach will heal with some time, just change the bandages often and eat well.” Freddie backed up, giving the vigilante a small smile.

“Thanks.” Tommy nods awkwardly, “Shall we talk business then?”

“I’ll set up a meeting soon, but for now I’d like you to know it'll align with goals of your own.”

“And what goals do you think this aligns with, Agent?” Tommy raises an eyebrow, head tilting at the sounds of people entering the room outside the bathroom door.

“Don’t worry, they're my people. They don't ask questions, they're going to clean the room and repair the window without knowing a thing. The perks of being a leader of an organization.” Freddie pulls a card from his back pocket and hands it to Tommy.

PEOPLE AGAINST THE CORRUPT
PATC

“People against the corrupt?” Tommy reads aloud.

“We’re an outer sector of the government, working outside the bounds of law and limitations.” Freddie places his hands behind his back, “We work to defend the innocent and defeat the corrupt, not just villains.”

“This sounds like another Dreamer Organization, or a Hero Association like the one in my city. Y’know what all those organizations started as?” Tommy scoffs, “A group of people working under the guise of wanting to defeat evil. But as these organizations grow, they gain power, and power corrupts.”

“We’re different.”

“They all are.”

“I don't expect you to trust me right away, Theseus. That I know has to be earned, but I hope you’ll hear me out when the time comes. I’ll call on you in a few months for a discussion, a peaceful one. You can learn what PATC is really about.” Freddie tapped his foot against the ground, a vacuum running outside the door. At least they sounded efficient.

“So what? You healed me and let me go free from arrest ‘cus you hope I’ll join your little club?” Tommy laughs sarcastically.

“No. I did that because The People Against The Corrupt have a plan for you, Theseus. We won't be able to have you if you're dead or behind bars, now would we? And while you do have a choice in the matter, we know you Theseus. We know you can't resist saving a life or two.” Freddie looks at him like he’s known him all his life. His eyes are cautious, but knowing and hopeful.

Tommy feels almost lost for words. He didn't want to agree to anything just yet, but he also knew that Freddie had a point. He really couldn't resist when it came to an opportunity to help. Today is an example of that, his entire persona is. His joining of the Syndicate, his life. He was a sucker for danger and being a hero. Tommy pockets the card.

“Need my number?”

“No. We already have it.”

“Of course you do.” Tommy sighs, mentally face palming. Not a surprise, a government organization has access to his phone number.

“We’ll give you a call in anywhere between 3 to 6 months, depending on how quickly our plan moves forward from here. Don't die or get caught, and if you do, call the number on that card. We have resources, but they aren't unlimited.”

“You just got like eight times more badass.” Tommy chuckles, shaking his head. He never would've thought the agent with a stick up his ass was an anti-corruption secret agent.

“Oh yeah, make sure to pay Father Crow a visit in the hospital once everything is cleaned up and you're… decent. He’ll be asking for you shortly.” And with that, Freddie leaves without another word.

“Yeah…” Tommy breathes, unsure of what to do now. Life is getting so complicated.

-

“So then I burst out and… boom!!! I went full-”

Wilbur's voice seems to be in the distance, but he was speaking right next to him. Technoblade couldn't focus, he couldn't get his mind straight. His hands clenching and unclenching, he felt like he needed to crawl out of his skin. There was a tightness in his chest, a shake in his leg. What is this?

“Tech? You alright?” Phil coughs, Wilbur silent and kneeled next to Technoblade in his chair. What? He was on the other side of the room just a second ago. He was talking about the battle, Phil watching attentively. Is his mind failing him?

Technoblade glances up at the clock. Ten minutes have passed since then, but to him it was simply a second. He clears his throat.

“I uh- I need some air. Continue.” Technoblade pardons himself, standing up a little too quickly from the chair for it to be normal.

“Wait-”

Time skips again, his body going from standing at his father's bedside to leaning over a toilet, the smell of vomit wafting up into his nostrils.

“Gross.” Technoblade groans, backing away. His mouth tasted sour and moist. He wipes it with a piece of toilet paper, flushing the mess. He exits the bathroom stall he wound up in, rinsing his mouth with the sink. Looking in the mirror was absolute hell since he looked like total shit right now, so he avoided it as much as possible.

“What is happening to me?” Technoblade asks into nothing, leaning against the sink.

“You’re going crazy, Blood God!”

“Cookoo.”

“Bro is tweaking out.”

“It’s disassociation, you're being affected by the tr-”

“Oh shut up smarty pants.”

“Hey! Don't go insane on us.”

“Noooo go crazy, that's so much more entertaining.”

“Loser.”

Chatter surrounded him, voices calling and commenting from every angle. His mind reeled. Too loud. Too much.

“Shut up, Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut u-”

“Techno? Who… who are you talking to?” Wilbur's voice emerges from behind him. A comforting hand creeps onto his shoulder, but it only adds to Technoblade’s overstimulation. He whipped around, breath heavy and eyes wild, he smacks Wilbur's hand away violently.

“Don’t- no. Shut up!” Technoblade panics, sliding down onto the ground against the sink holding his head in his hands. Wilbur stood in bewilderment, unsure of what to do or say. He took to slowly sitting down on the tile in front of his brother. He didn't know what to do, but he knew what Technoblade had done for him.

“It’s okay, Techno. It's Wil.” He spoke gently, just as Technoblade does whenever he’s comforting Wilbur. “Take a deep breath.”

Technoblade heaved, one hand moving to grasp the fabric over his heart. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his heart raced and lungs burned. Everything was too much, yet it felt like too little.

“You couldn't protect him.”

“You failed as a brother.”

“You failed as a hero.”

“You failed as a son.”

“You failed as a friend.”

“You failed as a companion.”

“You failed as a trusted partner on the battle field.”

“You failed as a human.”

“You failed.”

“You failed.”

“You failed.”

…

“You’re okay.” A voice emerges amongst all them, lighter. It was a real voice, it was Wilbur's. His hand held onto his, rubbing across his knuckles. It brought him back into that bathroom, reminding him what was real. He felt out of breath, and he couldn't get it back no matter how hard he tried. “C’mon, Tech, you need to calm down.”

“I- I can't. No- no no no no no no no-”

“Shh.” Wilbur hushes softly, rhythmically rubbing his thumb across his brother's scarred knuckles. He was grateful that he locked the door when he came in. “I don't know what's going on in that mysterious big mind of yours, Techno, but I know it probably isn't good. What I do know is that you won't be able to fix it until you pull yourself together.”

Technoblade shakes his head, burying his face in his knees. “I failed.”

“No you didn't.” Wilbur assures, even if he wasn't sure what Technoblade was talking about. “Trust me, I need you to trust me.”

Technoblade bit the inside of his cheek, needing something to drag him into reality. Something to pull him from this episode. No one could know he saw and heard things that weren't there, they couldn't know. He could write pages upon pages on why it's bad for someone to know, starting with it'll take away from his family’s individual issues and ending with it being a bother.

“1…2…3- Breathe in with me.” Wilbur guides in familiarity. “1…2…3- Breath out with me.”

Technoblade follows through, gripping Wilbur's hand. Slowly, though he wasn't consistent with it, he could breathe a bit better.

“Didn’t I teach you that mantra?” Technoblade murmurs out through breaths, not letting go of his brother.

“You did.” Wilbur smiles, “Let me take care of you the way you've taken care of me, Tech.”

Technoblade could almost cry, if it weren't for the fact that it made him feel guilty. He’s wanted nothing more in his life to be taken care of the way he’s taken care of people, to be the one on the other side of the perfectly given comfort and affection. But he also has always been the one giving it, he won't allow himself to be selfish. Sure, this is a shitty moment, but there's so much more going on. His father just died and came back. His brother is in Dream’s hands and has been through god knows what. Wilbur is at the start of sobriety again, oh yeah and he has a baby on the way. His issues can't come on top of all that. They just can't.

“I’m fine, I think the weight of the day is just making me really tired. Dehydrated too. Is there a water fountain nearby? Nevermind, water fountain water is gross. Vending machine?” Technoblade rambles off. He was a genius at de-escalation, perfect at lightening a situation and deflecting. Practice makes perfect.

“Bu-”

“Here.” Technoblade digs into his back pocket, pulling out a few crumbled bills with a shaking hand. “Go get me some water and yourself a snack.”

-

“Go get me some water and yourself a snack.” A 12 year old Technoblade smiles down at Wilbur, handing the 10 year-old-boy a few crusty dollar bills.

“But I wanna stay here and wait for news about Dad!” Wilbur protests, Kristen stands in the hallway holding a sleeping 6 year-old Tommy. In just two years all of their lives will be ruined, but right now their biggest problem is Phil’s work injuries.

“Yeah and I’m thirsty, you need something to eat anyway kiddo.” Technoblade argues, pushing Wilbur off to grab them something. “Not off brand water please!”

Wilbur begrudgingly walks off, searching for a vending machine. Even as a pre-teen Technoblade took on everything like he was an adult, even if he didn't need to.

-

“I’m not 10 anymore, Tech. You can't just send me to the hospital vending machine to ‘protect me’.” Wilbur scoffs. Technoblade pushes himself to his feet, holding the edge of the sink.

“Yeah well I need water, bad. Would you rather me pass out from dehydration?”

Wilbur shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine! Don't talk to me, that's how it'll be then. I’ll get your damn water.”

Wilbur storms off, just as he did as a kid. They really never change, do they? They're just the same two kids hiding their feelings and storming off from disagreements.

Chapter Text

This is Conner back in with more Hero-Villian news, and today's episode is a somber one. Word just came in of a terrible battle that occured a city over.

You may not be expecting the seriousness coming from yours truly today, but the situation itself is incredibly serious.

The SBI team and the Dream Team went head to head in a mysterious warehouse one city over, apparently another man that goes by the name J. Schlatt was also present. As of current information we know that Philza Craft sustained nearly fatal injuries, but has pulled through in the end. Nothing is certain yet.

Our city held its breath when the news first arrived, and we all let out that breath when news came in that Philza had survived.

Nevertheless, despite that good news, the stability of our city comes into question. There was no verdict on who won that battle, but given the fact that the villains got away and nearly killed our top hero, I’d personally say they won for the most part. What's going to be of our city? If three, THREE, members of the Dream Organization were able to come close to take down our strongest fighters, then what's going to happen when they attempt to take the capital? All their masses that time.

Another question; is Theseus a hero? We've been talking A LOT about Theseus on my podcast lately, reviewing his wins and saves and actions in order to determine whether or not he should be considered a hero. Today HE was the one that saved Father Crow, we heard that if not for him the famous hero would have perished. He was a major asset in the battle. Shall he be claimed a hero of the people? Should the community stand for him? Should the Hero Council deem him a hero and drop the charges against him?

That's all today, please check back in for more news on what's going on. Also, self-promo, check out my podcast!

-

“Theseus is NOT a hero. I swear to g-”

“Wilbur, shut up. He saved our dad, you should at least give him an ounce of respect for that simple fact.” Technoblade interrupts, sipping his water as the brothers stand in the hospital lobby staring up at the flat screen tv.

-

Tommy hates hospitals, to be frank.

He doesn't go to them often; only ever to drop off a victim or something. Even so, he rarely goes inside. He doesn't know WHY he hates them, but then again he doesn't know a lot of things about himself. It might have something to do with the before, before his memories went blank and a scar appeared on his forehead. Man he’s such a mystery.

Even if he hates them, it's impossible to forgo them all together in his line of work. And he isn't even talking about being a vigilante, working so closely to three heroes with some of the highest injury counts warrants at least a few hospital visits.

Tommy, after he cleaned the bathroom and heard the agents leave his bedroom, undressed from his costume. It was quite the surprise to see his entire room shiny and clean, his window fixed as if it were never shattered to begin with. He doesn't know how they did it, but he’s grateful anyway.

All he did was put the clothes he had on before going on his little adventure, struggling between pant legs. He is going to be sore for days, that's for sure. He exited into the hallway and was immediately greeted with an agent ready to take him down to the hospital. Questions ran through his head.

How many of these agents are PATC? Are they all in on it, or just Freddie and a few? He will never know, nor does he really WANT to know. He can only think of 3 things right now.

1. This is fucking painful
2. Phil.
3. Figuring out a plan to steal painkillers or some shit

Phil.

A good man. A man that didn't deserve the pain that Dream dealt to him. Tommy knows the pain of torture, of an injured wing. Boy does he want to snap Dream's neck, but not before beating the living shit out of that man. He wants to stomp that fucking smile off that stupid mask.

Yeah, so Tommy MIGHT be a little enraged right now. It's either be angry, or be in agonizing pain. He’d rather visualize killing Dream than cry right now. The things he’d give to give Dream triple of what he gave Phil…

-

“Hey Dad. We’re back.” Wilbur sighs, walking into the room in front of Technoblade. There was a hue of irritation in his voice, his hands gripping around a bag of Lay’s potato chips. Phil could see the tension between his two sons, he figures they likely had another disagreement. He really wishes they didn't fight so much, but what can he do? They're young adult brothers, key word: brothers.

“Heya kids.” Phil smiles, deciding to temporarily ignore the tension. Whatever problem they have now they can work it out themselves.

“How are you feeling?” Technoblade asks, taking a spot to stand at the end of the bed. Wilbur grabs the plastic blue chair, sliding into it on Phil’s left bed side.

“Like shit.” Phil laughs lightly. He DOES feel like absolute shit, everything hurts and his mind reels over the dreams he had while… dead? Was it all a dream? Or was Kristen truly… truly there in the afterlife? Waiting for HIM?

And if that much is true, what did the entire thing mean? What did it mean that he was in a well of sludge? That his son was saving him from the ocean? But then… Tommy W. Saved him from thr ocean? What… What does this all mean?

Phil’s mind ran with thoughts and questions. He couldn't figure it all out, and the pain meds definitely messed with his mind.

“Dad?” Technoblade almost whispered, his voice just louder than one. His red eyes scanned Phil’s gray, watching for anything resembling pain. This whole ordeal shook him to his core, his little bathroom meltdown a testament to that.

“Hm?” Phil hummed, allowing himself to be distracted for a while.

“You sure you're alright?”

“I’m sure.” Phil smiled, “I’m alright. I’m alive, with my sons. I’m alive, and soon I will be with Tommy. My boy with my boys.”

Wilbur and Technoblade exchanged worried looks. Yeah, they're in the midst of their hunt for Tommy's location, but Phil’s sentiment was something odd. Like a new fire burned in the heart of the older man, a fire that hadn't been there in years. A fire that burnt like old age wasn't a creeping issue.

“Yeah. We’ll be with him soon.” Wilbur nodded along, unsure. They don't know what condition they're going to find Tommy in, hell it isn't even confirmed that he’s actually still alive. He doesn't want to get anyone's hopes up, no matter how high his own are.

“Look. There he is.”

Heads spun in the room, their eyes landing on Tommy. Not the Tommy they all yearned for, but a Tommy they cherished nonetheless. Only Technoblade clocked the paled skin, sick expression, and troubled look in the boy’s eyes, but he kept his lips sealed. Wilbur was just grateful to have a buffer in this conversation.

“Hi, Tommy. It's been a hot minute, huh?” Phil smiled with his mouth closed, his eyes weren't as wide and aware as they were an hour ago. The toll of the day and the pain meds the nurses semi-shoved down his throat created a sense of delirium around him. Like he will burst out laughing any second now, that or black out.

“Uh… yeah I guess so?”

Tommy nodded awkwardly. He hated hospitals as stated earlier, he hated the smell of the chemicals and the overwhelming pressure in the air of death. Now that he thinks about it, it reminds him a lot of the way he felt when he nearly stepped onto the limbo train. As if the entire building was swallowed by death, souls haunting the place but never actually there. The absence of souls leaving versus the amount of bodies that leave.

“Come. Sit near me.”

Phil patted the wrinkled blanket beside him, kinda like one of those mall santas just without the subtle hue of pedophilia.

Tommy does as he said, slowly walking past Wilbur to take a seat on the edge of the bed, feeling out of place in the room. The only one that wasn't family here.

“I’m very glad to have you back, Tommy. I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner.” Phil’s voice was almost incoherent, he was practically half asleep.

“Re-realize what?” Tommy asked carefully, his eyes darting between Technoblade and Wilbur. Worry filled their eyes, but it wasn't only for their father.

“Dad, I think it's time to rest now.” Technoblade butted in. He could see the thoughts going through his father’s head, the delirious mistake he’s making. They swore when they took Tommy as their assistant to not let their need for their Tommy back affect him. They swore to not compare.

“In a little bit, Tech.” Phil returned his attention to Tommy, grabbing the boy’s hand. “I’m very happy to have you back, my son.”

Tommy's breath caught in his throat, Technoblade curses a few feet away. He didn't know what to say, nor what to do. He didn't want to hurt Phil’s feelings in such a delicate time, but he also didn't feel too great about being somebody he isn't.

Phil was always so gentle, kind and fatherly. Tommy just appeared in their life, likely causing old wounds to resurface due to his uncanny resemblance to their relative.

But despite this, Tommy doesn't want to feel guilty. He knows he causes them pain, he sees the twists in their faces every time their eyes land on his face. Everytime they say his name their voices are laced with yearning. He can't be what they want him to be, but boy does he wish he could.

Sometimes, he just wishes maybe he was really their Tommy. Sometimes, he tries to rework his story in his head. But he knows it's impossible. He has a father, a biological one, even if he sometimes wanted more than anything for Clay to be a fraud. Sometimes, he was a fraud.

“Glad you're alive too, Phil.”

Tommy finally replied, gently squeezing the older man’s hand. He’ll let him live this fantasy, if that's what Phil needs right now. He’ll come to his senses eventually, realize that Tommy truly isn't who he thinks he is right now. Tommy is just… a boy who just ended up here. He’s a nothing if it weren't for this job, his only value would be in his secret life, which is y’know… secret. He’s utterly worthless.

But for today, he’'ll pretend to be an actual somebody. Thomas Innit. Craft.

“I’m glad I almost died. Or well, died.”

Phil murmured, his calloused thumb roughly tracing Tommy's scarred knuckles.

“Yeah?”

Tommy glanced between Technoblade and Phil. Techno mouthed an apology, reaching to help Phil away from Tommy. Tommy shakes her head, nodding for Technoblade to sit back down. He does so, hesitantly. Wilbur silently excuses himself, leaving the room in a second’s notice.

“It was really weird, but I’m glad I went there. It was really nice to see Kristen again…”

Phil mumbled into the pillow, his eyes fluttering shut. The room held a thickness that was unimaginably hard to slurp up, the air was odd.

“He won't remeber it by the next time he awakes.”

A familiar voice defeats from behind Tommy. He knew it was a voice only he can hear, Technoblade’s unfazed ears a tell-tale. Tommy spoke back to her, though he kept his mouth shut. He has a feeling a death goddess (or whatever the hell she is) can hear his thoughts. Or maybe a double souled can put their thoughts in someone else’s mind? Who fucking knows? Not Tommy.

“Did you save him?”

Tommy pulls his hand out of Phil’s own sleeping one, staring ahead of him. He can feel Kristen's presence behind him.

“No. But it definitely wasn't the doctors.”

Kristen placed a soft hand on his soldier, a weight that felt suffocating. In this moment he wanted nothing more than to have not been the one with the ability to see the deceased Kristen Craft. It didn't feel fair to the other people in this room, nor the man in the hallway. He, a nobody to their family, could speak to one of the only people they need.

“What was it then? Fate?”

Tommy scoffed internally.

“You.”

Him? What the hell (limbo?) did he do? He didn't have any afterlife visits recently.

“You mean me flying him out of the warehouse? Cause you know that isn't what I meant by ‘save’ him.”

“No. I know what you meant, dear.” Kristen sighs, “YOU didn't save him, but rather the idea of you.”

“I hate how vague you are.”

“Tough love, dear.”

-

Wilbur couldn't help but pace, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. He walked four hallways down the way to escape the endless amount of cops that guarded his father's ward of the hospital. He found solace in a hallway near the well-baby nursery, happy tears and soft footsteps drowning out his own steps. He wasn't the only man in there pacing in panic, there were at least 4 others. But none of them were there for the same reason as Wilbur. They were worried about the impending doom that is fatherhood, Wilbur thankfully still has a few more months before he will be in their shoes. No. Today Wilbur is here for one reason and one reason only.

Thomas Innit. Craft.

His Tommy, his baby brother.

Why did Phil have to do that? Speak to their assistant as if he were the thing they've been searching for all of these 8 tortuous years. Tommy W. wasn't a solution nor was he the fix, Tommy W. was something else entirely. No matter how much Wilbur wanted to forget that.

“Which one’s yours?”

A voice asks beside him, cutting through his thought bubble. He realizes that he’s been at a standstill in front of the window that looks upon the nursery for god knows how long. Wailing infants sound in front of him behind the glass, rows and rows of little fleshy babies with a few random mutants.

Wilbur turns his head, a man stood next to him with his arms crossed. He was on the older side, most of his dark hair grayish.

“Oh uh… none.”

Wilbur clears his throat, suddenly feeling like a creep for standing here watching fucking babies. He didn't mean to, but he really doesn't want anyone to get the wrong impression.

“Lemme guess, got one on the way?”

The man tilts an eyebrow. He was surprisingly taller than Wilbur, his eyes burning down on him.

“Yeah. 4 months to go.” Wilbur nods slowly, both annoyed and grateful for the distraction.

“Nervous?”

“Not really? A little I guess. I haven't thought about it too much.” Wilbur shrugs.

“Oh you're gonna soon. Trust me, it hits you like a fucking train buddy. One second life is freedom and fun and lack of responsibility, and all the sudden all you can think about is that little munchkin sitting at home.” The man yapped on, patting Wilbur on the back. “You never stop worrying about whether or not you're doing it right.”

“I think I can handle it, I’m used to responsibility.”

“Sure, you're used to work responsibility or moral duty. But having a baby is something entirely different.” The man locks eyes with Wilbur, “It gets even worse once they're teenagers. You'll be villain number one in their eyes. Think back on you're teenage hood.”

“Trust me, good sir, I don't think any kid could be as bad as I was at that age.”

“Then it's in your blood,” The man laughs, “Goodluck, kid. You're gonna need it.”

With that the man wandered off, possibly to go greet a new grandbaby or niece. Wilbur is left alone, staring out at the sea of children.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Steal or not to steal?

Okay, so Tommy has commited too many crimes to even count at this point, but stealing high dosages or pain medication from an under-funded hospital could be the worst of them.

Sure, he hasn't done it (yet). But does that matter? He’s seriously considering it. He’s more than considering it at this point. He is full-blown planning it at this point.

He’s been sat in this rickety blue plastic chair for near an hour now, awkwardly just simmering in the tense room. Technoblade has moved around quite a bit since Phil fell asleep, switching between pacing and sitting antsy. A doctor has come in a few times to check Phil’s levels and stitches, but he hasn't made them leave. Hero privileges.

Wilbur hasn't returned yet, Technoblade was beginning to get worried, but Tommy didn't note much of either thing. His body pulsates with pain, vision filled with blur and mind running with one and one thing only. Relief. A break from the pain that overwhelms him.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” Technoblade breaks the silence of the room, his voice echoes in Tommy's head before he finally processes what was said.

“What for?” Tommy tilts his head subconsciously, too exhausted to be aware of his actions. Committing a Tommy Watson crime seems extremely tempting right now.

“For Phil.” Technoblade sighs, rubbing his hands together. It was weird to think that Tommy, just months ago, was damn near terrified of the morally grey hero and now he’s sitting in a hospital room with him being apologized to. “He shouldn't have compared you to my brother, it isn't fair to you.”

“It’s okay, Blade.” Tommy waves him off. “It wasn't that big of a deal.”

“It was, though. We promised that when we hired you we wouldn't let our losses affect you. And now we've grown too attached to you to just fire you after a mishap, but we can't just break that promise. You're not our Tommy and we're okay with that.”

Tommy was silent for a moment. He felt guilty for NOT being the Tommy they wanted. He’ll never fill that gap, nor can he. He has a life, albeit not one he fully enjoys, but a life. And they have a brother to rescue.

“Like I said, it's okay. Phil’s hopped up on drugs right now.” Tommy really wishes he was as well, “I do appreciate that promise, though.”

Not that it's done much for him. They still look at him with that same look in their eyes.

“I hope he’s alright after this.” Technoblade took a deep breath, “The fucking hero council LOVES to forcefully retire injured heros, no matter their status. Once they are useless, they don't get a place. Once they stumble and fall into injury working a job for the council they're no longer held on a pedestal by the council, banished from their life’s passion.”

“Reminds me of the story of Theseus.” Tommy comments, his mind slipping back into the origins of his hero name. AnAresGuy. Gotta thank that man one day.

“Huh?” Technoblade’s head perked up, he hasn't heard the name Theseus be used in that context in what felt like years.

“Oh it's this greek mythology story ab-” Tommy begins, realizing his nerdy reference probably wasn't catered to this situation. He was interrupted, however, by Technoblade quickly interjecting.

“I know the story. Very well in fact.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I practically know it word for word.” Techno nods.

“You probably know it better than me. I just heard this summary from this random guy on a greek mythology website.”

Technoblade went utterly silent, his mouth falling agape.

“What?” Tommy questions, a tad concerned. Did he say the wrong thing? Knowing his luck, he probably did.

“TomTheBigMan?” Technoblade asked after a moment, the words awkward and misplaced in his mouth. Tommy recognized the username immediately.

“AnAresGuy…” He breathed. He could lack at the irony. What a coincidence.

coincidence

coincidence

coincidence

“You’re the kid?”

‘Not a kid. You're the old man?”

“Not old…”

The familiar conversation echoed in both their minds, a sense of nostalgia in the air. To think Tommy was JUST thinking about the man on the website was crazy. What a coincidence?

“I can't believe YOU’RE the kid from the website… That was what? 2 years ago? You must've been like 17 back then.”

Tommy was ACTUALLY 14, but who's keeping score? Not the man that only knows Tomma through a fake identity.

“Pretty crazy.” Tommy chuckled softly, but laughter felt wrong in a hospital. Any emotion other than dread felt wrong when inside a hospital.

Technoblade was absolutely flabbergasted. “I haven't been on that website in years.”

“Neither have I.”

“You had a big Greek mythology phase in college?” Technoblade inquired, recalling information from his file.

“Uh- yeah. It was a little short lived, something I dabbled in when I couldn't sleep or was really bored.” Tommy nodded along.

“Hm.” Technoblade hummed. “Guess you really liked that story I told you then if you can remember it still.”

“It made me feel like a big man.” Tommy jokes, but it wasn't a lie. He had been feeling like absolute shit back then, he felt caged and small. He wasn't JUST a nobody, but he was also felt like a nobody. Before then he was just one of the useless sacrifices offered to the Minator, no worth to them other than to be killed. But once Technoblade told him that story, he wanted to become a Theseus. He wanted to be a hero, but he didn't want to be a hero the way Theseus was. He wanted to be a rebellion against traditional heroism.

“I’m glad it did.” Technoblade grinned, the tension that had prior thickened the room had faded. Tommy still felt out of place, but at least the conversation posed as a good distraction from his pain. Not that he still didn't feel it.

“Why weren't you feeling like a ‘Big Man’ in the first place?” Technoblade asks, making air quotes around his words.

Tommy considers his options for a moment before answering. It's not like he can just right out say ‘hey my dad locked me in my home my entire life and… oh yeah he beats and starves me! Y’know where the vending machine is?’.

He’s usually a quicker liar than this, but the longer he’s known the SBI team the harder it becomes to be his usual pathological liar self.

“Just teenage stuff. Low self-esteem and all that.”

“I getya man.” Technoblade sighed alongside him, “I never really got the chance to really wallow in my low self-esteem as a teen. I had way too much to do.”

“Mourning the loss of your family?” Tommy blurts out without thinking. Shit.

“Yup.” Technoblade snickered a bit at that question. “That along with some other shit going on.”

“What could you have even been insecure about? You're literally the perfect dude, and other than the losses in your life you were a fucking awesome teenager. Don't tell the others, but I've read every article about you guys.”

“Oh so you ARE a big fan of us. And here I thought we were hiring a dude completely uncaring of our ranks.” Technoblade jokes, “Well i’m flattered you see me as perfect and awesome, but have you SEEN my face?”

“Oh.” Tommy clicked his tongue, “Forgot people are idiots about mutation sometimes.”

“They really can be.” Technoblade shook his head, “But I’ve gotten over it now. My face is just the way it should be and those asshats can deal with it.”

“Fuck yeah!” Tommy cheered.

“How about you, ‘Big Man’? Why were you so low self-esteem? You graduated early, a smart boy.”

“Where do I even begin?” Tommy chuckled, not really amused though. “I’m red, I’m broke as hell, and terribly scarred up. Though I will say, gotta love some of my scars. They're cool as fuck, as mysterious as theu are.”

“I almost forgot you were a… uncharted avain.” Technoblade whispered. “Being red’s nothing to be ashamed of though. No fault of yours,”

“I know that. It's still cruddy. I am borderline disabled, I have stunted growth no matter how much I like to deny it.” Tommy sighs, “I do wish I wasn't red, a lot.”

“I don't think any avain WANTS to be red, maybe Theseus, but i doubt it.”

“Oh yeah. I forget Theseus is red.” Tommy lies.

“See. An idol for you to look up to who's red.”

“Theseus? An idol?” Tommy had to disagree with this one. He is in no way an ‘idol’. Hell, he ain't even a hero. He’s a criminal if anything, just one that works kinda for the good side without pay.

“Yeah. Theseus is pretty awesome.”

“Ya think so?”

“Don’t make me change my mind now, Toms. You're the one that's always supported the vigilante. Plus, I have a feeling you two would get along. You're more similar than you might think.”

Technoblade got SOMETHING right.

“I guess Theseus has gotten some more points in your books recently then?”

“I owe him everything. We all do.”

Thanks, Technoblade. Tommy smiled.

-

Shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck!!!!

Wilbur picked back up his pacing. Did the panic of becoming a father set in? Yes. Is he handling it well? No. Not at all.

Months can go by so fast, before he knows it it'll be her due date. What if something goes wrong? What if the baby isn't healthy? Oh fuck what if he’s a bad dad? What type of a kid could a recovering alcoholic hero raise?

And Phil… oh phil. What will Wilbur say to Phil? Will he be happy that Wilbur shall be a father? Will be be angry? Disappointed? Scared?

Better yet, what if Phil had died tonight? What if he died without ever having even known of his soon-to-be grandchild. Wilbur would never be able to live with himself knowing Phil never got to meet his baby.

All this time he’s been thinking of Tommy. Wanting Tommy to meet his child, be there to see his niece/nephew.

But Tommy isn't present. Tommy is a possible future or a fading past, but he isn't the present. Phil is now. His own father surely should know about his girlfriend? His child?

Fuck.

“My child.” Wilbur murmurs under his breath. It wasn't an alive fact until now. The baby has just been… the baby. It hasn't trult clicked in Wilbur's mind until now as a living thing, his own flesh and blood. Half him.

Will the baby be a siren hybird or a salmon hybrid? What about both? More like Wilbur or Sally? What about their personality? Will the baby be crazy? Energetic? Silly? Quiet?

What about medical issues? Will the baby be healthy? What would happen is if it came early while Wilbur was away on a mission? Would Sally be alone?

Likely… she doesn't know his family yet, and her relationship with her own is strained.

Wilbur's mind ran, like a true new parent’s. Questions filled his head. He wasn't ready for this. He has months to prepare still, but it feels like he’ll never be ready.

Wilbur halts himself, taking a deep breath. He strides out of the newborn ward of the hospital, walking down a more quiet hallway. He didn't even glancd at the sign thay informs him of it's name.

As he walked, he thought back on Phil. His father.

Truly, what would he have done if Phil had died tonight? Would he have relapsed? What would the outcome be for his baby? Wilbur doesn't want to raise his child telling mere memories of Phil, he wants the baby to HAVE memories with Phil. Growing up with Grandpa.

He would love for the baby to grow up knowing Tommy, his Tommy. Uncle Tommy, but at this point Tommy is already a memory. He can't live his life wanting something he might never have, no matter what information a lousy criminal gives them. How do they even know Slimesicle was telling the truth? They can't know. They're getting their hopes up.

Wilbur, looks up from the ground, finding himself to be in the NICU. The halls were silent, barren. Rooms with glass windows a hundreds of machines hooked up to one little fleshy mass. A baby.

Wilbur ran from the NICU, bursting through the swinging doors, back through the well-born infant unit, and into the emergency room section of the hospital. He doesn't slow until he is jogging in the brisk cold of the hospital parking lot. He forces himself to walk to a bench, sitting down against its cold metal frame.

He allows himself to act upon his anxiety, his shaking hands digging into his trouser pockets to grasp upon his phone. He immediately whips it out and turns it on, the bright home screen illuminating his presence on the bench. It was a photo of him and Tommy as kids.

Wilbur furrows his brows, unlocking his phone and clicking straight on the call app, pressing Sally’s contact under-

MY LOVE

The phone rings, rings, and rings. She doesn't pick up.

Wilbur dials a second time, his leg anxiously bouncing against the asphalt. It rings 4 times before beeping as the call confirms.

“Wil?” A groggy voice croaks from the other line, grumpy and concerned. “I saw the news. Is your dad alright?”

“Hey, baby.” Wilbur lets out a breath of relief. “He’ll be fine.”

“That’s fantastic.” Sally’a voice betrays a smile. Man he loved the sound of her silky voice. “Why’d you call, dear? It's like 4 am.”

“I just wanted to check on you, baby. How's the baby doing? Nothing off?” Wilbur asks, his questions almost felt frantic. Well, they were, but it was his tone that truly pushed that perspective.

“We’re doing great, love. Are you okay?”

“Uhm… I don't know.” Wilbur defeated, leaning back against the bench. “Everything hit me all at once. I’m going to be a father; my own father might have died not even knowing it.”

“Oh baby…” Sally is saddened on the other end, her voice a comfort to his anxious mind. It didn't matter what she said, as long as she spoke, and Wilbur could relax into it. “He didn't, though. He didn't die and he won't, the Craft’s are strong. You’re strong.”

“Not strong enough to just waltz up to my dad and tell him I’m going to be a father. I’m acting like a fucking teenage boy! I’m 21 with a baby on the way, not 16.” Wilbur half-shouted. His breath was cold in front of him, the freezing night air didn't bother him as much as the looming presence of a baby did.

“It’s okay, dear. I’ve been pushing you too hard when you aren't ready, clearly it's gotten to your head. Take your time, you don't need to tell him until you're ready.” Sally comforts.

“No, no it's not you, Sal. This is all me, and the old man in the nursery, talking right now.” Wilbur sighs, a flake of snow sticking to a tendril of a wavy brown curl. The night sky shimmered with stars peeking behind growing clouds, soft snowflakes gently floating down to the ground.

“I’m not even going to ask what that means.” Sally laughs. Wilbur wanted nothing more than to be there in the Arctic district of HIS city with her, crawling into their bed and sleeping warm beside two of the most important people in his life currently.

“I’m going to tell him, I promise. Just as soon as we get him home from the hospital, as we prepare for the upcoming holidays. I can't risk it.” Wilbur furrows his brows in determination. “I won't let my father die before meeting his soon-to-be daughter in law and soon-to-be grandson.”

“Woah. Loaded statement, Wil.” Sally giggles, “Daughter in law?”

“I love you, Sally.”

“I love you too, Wilbur.”

Romance settled in Wilbur's aching heart. He could imagine himself in a nice little home like the one he grew up in, a yard and in a nice school district. A little kid running around, maybe a few more in the future. A gorgeous wife in the pool. Drives to his childhood lake, children growing into teens. Coming home from work to a child on his leg and a pleasant smell in the air. Sobriety. Normality.

“Grandson?”

“I have a feeling the little munchkin in there is gonna be a boy.”

As Wilbur sits in the snow, uncaring of the pink chill that arises to his nose and ears, on the phone with his dear dear lover, the hospital also washes with a sense of happiness.

A woman reunites with her wife after surgery.
A mother holds a newborn.
An elderly man gets news that he is cancer free.
Cousins pile in with Christmas presents for grandma.
A husband hugs his daughter after hearing his wife was brought back to life on the operating table.
A young boy receives news of a heart on the way to replace his own.
A couple finds out a baby is in their near future.
And two old online friends catch up next to a sleeping avain, content again.

-

“I think I believe you now, Kristen.” Ziek sighs, floating above the tile of the hospital. A nurse walks through him, unfazed.

“Believe me?”

“That boy is special.”

“He really is.”

They stand outside the room Phil is kept in, the door open as a nurse or two check vitals. Tommy stands by the wall on his phone. He pauses, brows knotted. He immediately glances in their direction, his voice echoes in their minds.

“Sup guys.”

“Special. Very, very special.” Ziek shakes his head, poofing out of existence on earth. Kristen sighs, giving Tommy a wave, before following Ziek back into limbo.

-

Odd.

Tommy shrugs, the doorway yet again empty of any human or ghostly presence. Those two are incredibly vague, and weird.

He returns to his phone, checking to make sure Techno isn't watching. He pulls up Niki’s contact.

/Theseus/: Theseus reporting in. Mission was a partial failure, but I’ve observed a few things and have come up with a few theories. I would love to meet sometime soon once we return from the outer city.”

Tommy goes to shut his phone off, not expecting an immediate reply. He was shocked to get one.

/Kinises/: You did great, Theseus. I’ll set up a date to meet. Warning: The Blood God might message you soon. I’d recommend leaving the room to reply.

/Theseus/: How do you know I’m in the room with him, huh?

/Kinesis/: Cause you're Tommy Watson, right?

Fuck x2

Chapter Text

Okay, mental recap for Tommy here. In the last, what?, 5 hours he has been :

Discovered by an agent
Recruited to a super weird organization by said agent
Been called Tommy C.
Reunited with AnAresGuy.
And now…
BEEN FUCKING DISCOVERED IN HIS IDENTITT BY HIS CULT LEADER (is it a cult? A group? Fuck whatever).

His plan to steal drugs is out the window, mere things like being in excruciating pain are not noteworthy right now. He has so much stuff to think about, to simmer in.

Not to mention the moral dilemma that literally is his father.

Fuck.

Tommy shuts off his phone, making sure to put it on silent. He watches Techno type away in the corner. It was safe to assume he was typing to Tommy, but not Tommy himself. Tommy's alter ego.

Eventually Technoblade shoves his phone into his pocket, walking over to Tommy. For a half-second, Tommy almost thought he had been caught and Technoblade would grab him to arrest. But nope, Techno just walks over and leans back against the wall beside Tommy.

“How’s it going, kid?” Technoblade asks, his voice exhausted and strained. He hasn't had a moment's rest since the mission yesterday, the sun coming up to dawn the new day. Snow drifted past the hospital window, the ground beginning to hold onto it as a fluffy little layer was made.

“Fine.” Tommy replied, too tired himself to argue against being called a kid. “You?”

“Ready for two days worth of sleep.” Technoblade laughs airily, but it leaned more on the dry side than emotional.

“Real.”

“You can head back to the hotel, y’know? You don't need to be here if you don't want to.” Technoblade offers.

“No. I’d like to be here. Plus, it'll make my job easier. First-hand view of his condition for the report, medical forms straight from the hospital instead of through a lengthy email process. I’m going to need both you and Wil’s medical forms from last night as well… speaking of which, where is Hypnosis?”

“Not sure. Wil hasn't been back in a few hours.”

“And you aren't worried?”

“I’m worried as fuck, but whatever shit he’s getting himself into isn't as important as Dad’s condition. Wil can be handled, Dad might not have been able to.” Technoblade proclaims, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I see your point.” Tommy shrugs. “Just make sure to get me all the medical files as soon as you can, but no pressure. Phil’s well-being comes first.”

“No problem. Thanks, kid.”

“I’m your assistant. Not a kid.”

“And you can't be both?”

-

So Tommy makes yet another To-Do list.

Meet With Niki
Check Msgs
Figure out what to do about the Clay-Dreamer situation
Research PATC (is it real or a ploy?)
Catch up on work

Yeah, it doesn't seem that long, but each and every item on the list had like 15 steps and sublists underneath on what to do within that to-do.

And yes, healing himself is NOT on that list. Vigilante-Assistants don't have time for self-recovery.

So here Tommy is, fighting back the urge to yell at everybody in the room to shut up because he has a pounding headache as he reads through a stack of medical charts and reports. A report from each and every nurse caring for Phil, everybody in the operating room. He needs to get an emergency care report done, find a way to contact the ambulance drivers. He needs to get back to the hotel and collect copies of all videotape footage of the battle, watch over it, and make a plethora of reports for all three heroes and himself. And then he has to send this all to Fundy to be copied again, send the original copies to the record room, and send the new copies to the Hero Council. Did he mention he also needs to set up a hearing at the council office to go over morals and damage done during the battles? Debate financial compensation?

Yeah. Maybe he needs an assistant himself at this point.

Tommy's eyes scan the medical reports, the lingo and messy ass handwriting pure torture for his already blurry eyes. For people in charge of handling such delicate parts of the internal body, they were incredibly unorganized. The timeline jumping back and forth within the report, words trailing off the edges of the paper. He has to find a way to concisely organize this.

A doctor strolls in, a clipboard and folder in hand. He sets the folder on the desk Tommy was working at, adding to the pile.

“Here’s Mr. Craft’a transfer papers.”

“Transfer?” Tommy nearly barked out, it's getting increasingly more difficult to simply watch his tone.

“To the SBI personal medical unit?” The doctor said as if the answer was obvious. Tommy could literally strangle him right now.

“Of course.” Tommy grits his teeth, forcing a ‘pleasant’ smile. “When do we estimate transfer? Via what transportation?”

“We can't organize transfer without those forms filled out and both your signature and his signature or a signature from the next of kin.” If Tommy wasn't mistaken, but there was an ounce of exaggeration in his vowels. As if he were speaking to a toddler or furry little dog. Tommy ain't stupid, nor is he that young. This guy is pretentious.

“Got it,” Tommy swallowed the MANY insults he had building up in his throat. He’s a professional, he needs to act like it.

“Good. Bring those to me when you're done and I’ll submit them to call for transportation.” The doctor spins, sashaying off.

“Fucktard.” Tommy scowled, hastily grabbing the thick folder and beginning to skim through it, signing where he needs to and writing dates and names and medical information he has practically learned by heart at this point.

Not to be dramatic, but he could likely list off every single bone all three heroes have broken in the last 5 years in chronological order WITH specific bone names.

These people are insane.

-

Wilbur warms up in the hospital lobby, his mind clear and heart fuzzy. He had hope, great hope and near surety, that his father will be alright. There's no doubt about that. Phil is a strong man, he always has been.

He rubs his hands together, Sally’s voice echoing in his head. He had begun to formulate a plan on how to introduce her. They didn't have Christmas plans yet… which is sad. They used to have Christmas plans every year, decorations up everywhere and family coming to visit. But since their misfortune, Christmas has kinda just been a passing thing. They make a nice dinner, chat, occasionally exchange gifts, and go to sleep ready for the next day to patrol the streets. He wants to change that this year. He wants normality so bad.

“There you are! You've been gone for ages.” Technoblade shouts from the lobby doorway, waving him over. Wilbur, snapping from his good thoughts, hops across the tile to the doorway, following Technoblade back down the familiar hallways down to their father's room.

“Sorry. I had to make a phone call.” Wilbur defends.

“A three hour long one?” Technoblade scoffs.

“It’s been that long? Holy shit.” Wilbur chuckles, his cold hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

“Wait, let me guess, Sally?” Technoblade tilts his head as they walk, a little quirk the entire Craft family seems to subconsciously do. Even the family they don't know is family.

“Bingo.” Wilbur flushes, a tad embarrassed. Technoblade has NOT stopped teasing him about Sally since that knowledge came into his hands.

“Whatchu have to go call her for?”

“Just uh… checking on her and the baby.”

“Aw. How disgustingly adorable.” Technoblade made a face, more disgusted than cute aggression. “You’re so weird.”

“Hey! I’m just in love, something you never seem to have ever been in.” Wilbur holds back the very strong impulse to stick out his tongue. That'd be childish, and he’s not a child. He’s a father.

“I really don't understand that shit.” Technoblade clicks his tongue.

“I guess we finally found something I’m better than you. Romance!”

“Not a high achievement, but sure. If that's what soils your socks, bro.”

“And you called me weird..” Wilbur glares at his brother, the tension there before sinking away. He didn't need to ask about the bathroom situation, everyone has their issues. Who is he to judge or ask questions?

“Oh shut up, Wil.” Technoblade laughs as they walk, growing closer to the hallway their father resides in.

“You’re just jealous that I pull, and you can't.” Wilbur teases, elbowing Technoblade. Techno huffs dramatically, shoving Wilbur with his shoulder. They turn the corner, Phil’s room just a few doors down. Shouting is heard from down the hall, Tommy standing in front of the doctor that has been caring for Phil, holding a pamphlet of papers and wearing a frustrated expression.

“What do you MEAN these are the wrong files?! You gave them to me!” Tommy shouts in the doctor's face.

“They’re Mr. Craft’s medical EMERGENCY history, not his full medical history. Your sources sent us the wrong ones.” The doctor grumbled back.

Wilbur and Technoblade shared partially amused and fearful glances. They don't know too much about Tommy Watson’s temper, but they do know not to mess with him when angry. They've been victim to petty work added to their piles after pissing the young man off.

“Well go fucking get the right ones! You have the SBI’s email, oh wait. That's right. I ANSWER THOSE DAMN EMAILS!!” Tommy slams the papers into the doctor’s chest. “GET ME THE RIGHT FILES!!!!”

“Y-yes, Mr. Watson.” The doctor gulps, scurrying past Technoblade and Wilbur with the stack pressed against his white coat. Tommy fumes in front of the door to Phil’s room.

“STAT!”

The doctor practically sprints around the corner as Tommy's foot stomps against the ground.

“There you two are.” Tommy's head snaps to them, a shiver of terror running down their spines. “Now, I’m too tired to fucking dig through the files to find out which one of you are the next of kin to Phil, so you better know or I’m goi-”

“Me. It's me.” Technoblade interjects before Tommy can spill out whatever gruesome threat had been on the tip of his tongue. The assistant had snapped, finally, and lost all professional values. Not that the Craft’s cared, the work was still done with record efficiency and they liked this assistant, but it didn't make it any less terrifying to see the young man boiling over with rage.

“Good.” Tommy's eye twitches as he digs through his stack of papers and holds on out to Technoblade, “Read through it, or don't I don't really care, and sign at the bottom.”

“What’s it for?”

“Phil’s transfer!” Tommy shouts, rummaging through the stack and shoving a few folders into Wilbur's arms. “That’s your medical history. Thank you so much for being a walking textbook of injuries, it really, REALLY REALLY, made my job so much FUCKING EASIER!”

Wilbur gulps nervously, he could most literally feel the heat of Tommy's frustration and boy was it potent.

“W-what should I do with it?”

“CHECK IT FOR ERRORS!” Tommy banishes Wilbur to a corner of the hallway to go through his medical history.

Technoblade has already signed the transfer forms, holding it back out to Tommy.

“Here, spitfire. All signed, ready to go.”

“Take this. Do what Wilbur's doing. Don't bother me.” Tommy shoves a slightly smaller stack of medical history into Technoblade’s hands, who is then also more kindly banished to a corner of the hallway. Tommy steps into the hospital room and looks upon the mess of forms, documents, and reports. Fuck him.

-

“Is he ready for transfer?” Tommy asks the doctor, he had finally after what felt like hours organized the files and created a massive pile in the hallway separated by file type. He held 3 bulky folders in his hands of signed release forms, transfer papers, and miscellaneous forms. The doctor, since his outburst, has treated Tommy with significantly more respect (possibly fear, likely fear) since then.

“N-no, Sir. We still need to prep him.” The doctor gulps. Tommy rubs his temples, inhaling.

“Go do that then! Come on people! We have places to be, get off your ass, Susan!” Tommy shouts, specifically yelling at a certain nurse to get moving. If anyone didn't know any better, they'd assume he was the CEO or boss of SBI. Which at this point, he practically was running that whole shit show.

“Really taking care of business here.” Technoblade comments from beside Tommy, testing the waters.

“Between you two, who's riding in the helicopter with Phil?” Tommy asks, ignoring Technoblade’s statement completely. All he wanted to do was get home and wallow in his pain, but instead he’s here. In a foreign city (past his work date) screaming at poor medics. He’ll write apology emails once life has calmed down.

“Uh… I am.”

“Send Wilbur back to the hotel then. I need to get the delivery people here to collect these files and transport them back to headquarters. And yes, I am using the company credit right now like it's a life force. I’ve booked Wilbur and I a speedy flight back.”

“On it.”

Tommy is left alone for a second, he allows himself a deep breath. He hasn't felt a moment of peace since he and Technoblade had their nostalgic chat. Now it's all work, pain, work, pain, worry.

Tommy pulls out his phone, dialing a number he knows he shouldn't.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

The line beeps.

“What do you want?” Clay grumbles impatiently on the other side. He’s unhappy. Very unhappy. Does it have something to do with the Dream Team’s recent loss?

Tommy shakes the paranoid thoughts from his head.

“Hey, Dad. I’m sure you've heard the news by now. I’m pretty stacked up at work here, I probably won't be home a lot.”

“And? Good. Stay away.” Clay hangs up without letting Tommy get another word in. Tommy swallows a lump growing in his throat. Why is he even surprised at this point? What was he expecting? Clay to be sad? Miss him? Want him?

Why is he even saving his ass at this point? Hiding his identity as a dreamer?

Because Clay is like a drug Tommy can't give up. He’s addictive. Tommy yearns for the good moments shared with his father, and he can't give those up even if it means escaping the bad days with Clay.

Tommy shoves his phone back into his pocket, spotting a few agents walking down the hallway.

“Come on now! We don't have all day!” Tommy shouts, ushering the agents to collect the documents. They hurry them to the high-security van, running in and out of the hospital to carry the loads back and forth.

Eventually all the documents have been moved from the hospital floor to the moving van, Tommy stands behind it as the door is locked and secured. He shivers even in a heavy sweater, the brisk cold and falling snow sending his skin burning with icy coldness. He hopes the house's heating is back on.

“We’re ready to move, Mr. Watson!” An agent reports, handing him a clipboard with a pen attached by a string. “Sign there to confirm the move.”

Tommy quickly scribbles his practiced signature. “Make sure they arrive at headquarters promptly and safely!”

“We’ll call if there are any disturbances.” The agent nods, swinging himself up into the driver seat of the van. It pulls forward, driving out of the hospital in the light flurry.

Tommy watches as a black SUV pulls into the hospital entrance. Wilbur had left half an hour ago to pack, this must be Tommy's ride. He waves it down, it skids to a stop in front of him. He opens the back door and hops in, sliding into the middle seat. He lays the forms he carried onto the seat beside him, pulling out his work phone.

“Hotel, Mr. Watson?”

“Yes. Make haste.”

The SUV starts its journey to the hotel. Meanwhile, Tommy dials Fundy’s number in the back seat. He picks up almost immediately.

“Tommy, Fundy here.” Fundy’s voice was a little hoarse, and the apparent lack of a fun nickname startled Tommy more than he’ll admit it did.

“Hey, Big Guy. How're you holding up?” Tommy fixes his tone from what it had been for the past few hours, offering a more gentle and sensitive undertone. Fundy was a sensitive guy, and he also is Phil’s cousin's ex-fiance, practically family. He hasn't been able to see Phil since the incident. You see where this is going.

“Uhm… not too great, Tommy. I’ll be honest.” Fundy sighed, “What did you need?”

“It’s okay, Big Guy. I’ve got it.”

“No, tell me. I want something to do right now.”

Tommy considers it a moment, he understands the sentiment. All he has been doing since that stressful battle was distract himself, willingly or not.

“I’ve got a truck-load of documents that'll be arriving in a day or two that need to be copied. Phil’s torn apart costume is supposed to arrive soon, you wanna get on that for a bit? Also Wilbur needs another order of numbing darts.”

“Perfect.” Fundy hangs up. What's with people and abruptly hanging up on him today?

Tommy scrolls through his work contacts and clicks the next one on his mental list of people he needs to call.

Alyssa.

She doesn't answer as quickly, it rings quite a few counts before it beeps.

“This is SBI headquarters, give me a good reason to not hang up.” Her voice drones on.

“Alyssa. It's Thomas Watson speaking.”

“I would be very tempted to hang up if it weren't for the fact that SBI is damn near falling apart right now without you here. What can I do for you?” Alyssa asks, her voice shockingly nice.

“Thanks, Alyssa. Could you send somebody to the records room and pull all files we have on Dream, Sapnap, NotFound, Schlatt Inc, and Phil’s battle criteria? Have them sent to my office.”

“Hold up lemme write all that down.” Pen scratches echo in the background. “Anything else?”

“I have a shipment of documents coming in a day or two, make sure they're sent straight down to Fundy’s laboratory.” Tommy pauses a moment to think, “And if a Hero Council member calls or pops up, tell them to fuck off for a bit. I need time to collect reports before I can face them.”

“Well that'll be easy. I’d love to call right now and give them a little ‘fuck you’.” Alyssa scoffs. “Anything more?”

“No. Thank you, I mean it.”

“You're welcome. I’m getting another call, bye!”

At least this time he was warned before he was hung up on.

This is going to be an AMAZING holiday season of office work.

(author writes this with a lot of sarcasm)

-

“Ow.” George winces as Dream wraps a careful bandage around his shoulder. His phone sits astray on the table, he had just hung up on stupid fucking Tommy.

“Don’t be a pussy, George.” Sapnap huffs from the couch, sewing his own stitches. Was he jealous that Dream was giving such care to George and just leaving him with a medkit? One hundred percent.

“Shut the fuck up, Nick.” George snaps back, grimacing as his sling is pulled tight.

“That okay?” Dream spoke softly, stepping back from his work. George had sustained a dislocated shoulder, sprained wrist, and a few other stray injuries. He himself got nothing more than a few bruises, which mostly came from his second least favorite person in the world. Theseus.

“Yeah. Thanks, Clay.”

“Yeah, Thanks Clay.” Sapnap grumbled under his breath, snipping his thread to secure the wound.

“Don’t be getting blood all over my couch, Sapnap! Tommy's gonna see that.”

“Sorry.”

Dream huffed, stomping across the room. He’s incredibly glad that he made Tommy work with those pricks. He’s also glad he injured Phil enough to be knocking the blasted teenager into a workload so grand he won't be coming around the house often enough.

“Come on, guys. Let's get back to base.” Dream grabs their belongings, his mask slipping from the piles of things and falling underneath the couch. Only Sapnap noticed it.

He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitantly shuts it.

If Tommy finds it, then so be it. Maybe the kid deserves the truth at this point.

Sapnap won't have anything to do with it, but he won't stop it. He’s done with this fucking organization.

-

“Come on people! We need this stuff in the helicopter asap!” Tommy shouted, ushering the agents as they rushed all their belongings out to the parking lot. Tommy was able to argue with the hotel owner enough to get the lot emptied of cars, allowing the helicopter he hired to land there to be loaded. He did it for two reasons. One’s a little selfish.

He wants to get back to his city badly. He’s too exhausted and in pain to be in a foreign place much longer.
Wilbur deserves to be with his brother and father back at headquarters.

“You’re handling this well, Mr. Watson.” Agent Freddie speaks from behind him, almost catching Tommy off guard if it weren't for the fact he could smell the man’s horrid cologne from a mile away.

“I’m handling this like a cranky assistant with too much to do. You could be helping, y’know?” Tommy snarks.

“I don't feel like it.” Freddie shrugs. Holding a white card out. “Here’s a back up.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, very quickly taking the PATC card. This must've been the 4th one he’s received so far.

“And I thought you said I’m not required to join?”

“Heavily urged to, not forced.” Freddie patted his shoulder, waltzing off.

“Fucking asshat.” Tommy whispers to himself. Wilbur walks down the hallway to him, his eyes following the quick working agents as they carry bags and suitcases out.

“Are you in a better mood?”

“Shut the fuck up and get in the helicopter.”

“Yes, Sir.” Wilbur scurries off to the helicopter making a loud whirring sound in the parking lot. The final agent walks out holding not a single thing.

“Is that everything?”

“Yes. We triple checked.”

“Good. Time for take off then.” Tommy nodded promptly, taking the elevator down to the final floor. He gives the hotel owner an apolitical wave and makes his own way to the helicopter. He climbs aboard, the propellers loud and overwhelming in his ears.

Time to get home.

Chapter Text

Chaos.

Utter chaos.

That's all that ensued the minute he arrived back at headquarters. The medical unit locked off with access only granted to family, himself, and a select few others. Workers run around, answering phones and keeping the masses and paparazzi from swarming the building. Heroes ran in and out of the building, reporting any little sighting of a Dreamer. Some even brother in a few Dreamers to interrogate. It was a mess.

And they all looked at HIM for help.

All this time Tommy has been the assistant, nothing more and nothing less, but right now they all saw him as more. Phil OWNED SBI, and Phil is out of commission right now. Who other to look to for guidance other than the trusty right hand man? Thomas Watson.

“Mr. Watson! I got a repo-”

“Send it to my office.”

“Mr. Watson!”

“OFFICE!”

Tommy shouted as he clambered through the interns and social team and employees until he pushed into the elevator, swiping his key card to his floor.

This is going to be a long next few days.

Tommy leans back against the wall of the elevator, but not how he did his first day here trembling in fear. He leans back now in exhaustion, the pain that laced his body still apparent but not enough so that it clouds his vision. Maybe he’s going crazy, delusional even, to think he’s feeling okay. He won't be able to do this for long, he won't be able to hold this company from crumbling at its wits end. He’s not a leader, he’s not a strong hero. Right now, injured and bound by cloth with wings that can't take him anywhere, he’s nothing. He is lying in this corporation awaiting, not eagerly, the day he is caught in his disguise. Whether it be they find him for who he is, a vigilante, or for what his true identity is behind the fake id, a simple 16 year old boy without even a highschool diploma to showcase his talents.

One day he’ll be back to being nothing more than a boy with a hobby for defeating crime, no matter how much he likes his job here. Yeah, it sucks in times like today, and answering emails is fucking annoying, but he likes it. He likes how mundane it can be, how normal he feels here. He isn't a kid. He isn't a red. He isn't a belonging. He is just a human young adult with a 9-5 at a hero tower, occasionally it becomes more than that.

The elevator door chimes, sliding open at his stop. His footsteps are heavy and slow as they sludge down the hallway to the door that leads into the Craft offices. A headache pounds against his temples, his muscles ached. He just wants to sit at his desk, finish his work, and go home to a house that may not even be welcome to him.

Tommy pushes the door open, expecting to find the usual clean space of the chill area and the clear hallway leading to his office. Instead, he finds a mess. Chaos.

Folders and stacks of paper clutter the room, filling up every surface they can along with parts of the floor. The stacks lead past the SBI team office doors and down to his, his door ajar. He doesn't even want to know the horrors that await him there.

“Fuck me. I ain't ever getting home.” But did Tommy REALLY want to go home? Not really. Did he want to be here, alone, working for hours? Not really either.

Tommy strides straight to the coffee pot, carefully uncluttering it of stacks of paper. Once the little area around it is barren, he grabs his personal mug, and fills his first cup of coffee of the day.

“You best be ready for me, files. I’m going to demolish you.” Okay so Tommy is definitely beginning this workday delusional, sending an empty threat to the room of files and reports.

-

All while the chaos ensues, Tommy's landline ringing every other minute with a new caller asking a new question from a different department, the rest of the Craft family feels a sense of peace for the first time in hours.

Phil was hooked up to his monitors, bandages changed and drug dosage lessened. He was beginning to stir awake, Technoblade and Wilbur relaxed in much more comfortable chairs at his bedside. The medical ward was designed by them especially for this aspect. Private rooms, warmer toned lights and a nice shade of paint on the walls. They chose cushioned chairs for all the rooms, so a guest should feel comfortable.

“-no way that really happened, though. How could the fish just end up inside your apartment?” Technoblade bit back a chuckle, though his question was genuine.

“No, it actually happened!! I swear one of our neighbors has a grudge against us and did it as a prank or something.” Wilbur protests. These were the first things Phil hears as he comes to again, the banter of his sons.

“A fish?” Phil groans, peeling his eyes open. “Why a fish?”

Wilbur and Technoblade go quiet for a moment, before bursting into fits of laughter.

“Oh it's nothing, Dad.” Wilbur giggles, leaning back into the chair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Phil grumbles, sitting up. One of his wings was wrapped firmly in a bandage, a few stray blacl feathers peaking out between the bandages. “Damn villains.”

“Damn them is right.” Technoblade huffed back. “You did well though, Dad.”

“I’m just glad to be alright, even more so glad that you two are alright.” Phil glanced between the two of them, his darling sons. “How long has it been since the battle? Did we win?”

“You asked that already, Dad.” Technoblade shakes his head, “If you're an optimist, we won. Pessimist, we lost terribly. Overall score? Both sides retreated.”

“Not too bad. At least we didn't lose.” Phil sighed. “Have I been out long?”

“No. It's just been a day or two since you were last awake.” Wilbur assured. His head turned to look at the door, which was partially open. Outside it a few custodians were dragging a cart of Christmas decorations, hanging garland on the bridge between wall and ceiling. It's the holiday season.

“That’s good.” Phil took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the medical room. “Fuck man, this is going to be a pound of work.”

“Hell yeah it is.”

Yeah. Maybe it will be. It is. But not for the Craft family. They're laughing and joking in their room, relishing in simply being alive and together. The holidays are upon them, a brisk yet jolly feeling in the air. Phil had almost died, but he didn't die. That's all that mattered.

Wilbur calls his girlfriend, who he hopes to make his fiancè, and plans a Christmas dinner for all of his family. He wants one holiday where things are semi-normal. A girlfriend next to him, a baby on the way, a father and brother across the table. A feast with candles.

Technoblade refuses, though no one forces him to, leave his father's bedside. He remains there, not allowing his mind to falter. One wrong mishap and he’ll fall apart, but he won't let that happen.

Phil can't make his face truly frown, no matter how much pain he is wallowing in. He’s content with being with his sons, 2 out of 3. As long as they're together, it's okay.

“I love you, boys,” Phil smiles, for what feels like the millionth time of the hour. His children don't hear his voice over their arguing, something about whether or not mustard is a kind of ketchup. “I love you very, very much.”

-

“I hate you very, very much.” Tommy retorts at the landline on his desk. He had finally dug a path through the office, the walls lined with papers and folders. But there's a pathway through them, to his office, the door, and the coffee station. He’s on his 4th cup.

He was currently on hold with the truck driver bringing the files. He ALMOST wanted all those files to just disappear. That'd be more work though, a lot more work. So instead he is groaning, hitting his head against the desk as he awaits to be let off hold.

BEEP.

Tommy sits up, grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear. “Update?”

“We’re snowed in.” The agent sighs, snow crunches in the background. “The truck can't drive any farther. We’re going to lock it up and find a motel.”

“Are you kidding me? Tell me this is a fucking joke.” Tommy barks, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s been up here for HOURS working endlessly, progress is useless. No matter how much he does, it feels like not a single point of progress has been made. Not a dent in the mountains of work he has ahead of him.

He feels gross from sweat and dust, still in his clothes from a day and a half ago. His wings feel almost numb in their binding, his likely sprained wing pulsating with a numbing ache. His bandages are most certainly bleeding through at this point, and he doesn't have the time nor will to change them. Every muscle in his body feels tense and on the verge of collapse. He's been running on coffee and a meal he ate like 2 days ago.

“No, Sir. I am serious. We won't be able to head out for a day or… three.”

“FUCK!” Tommy shouts into the phone, slamming it down into the box. He needs those files to do half of this work, or scrounge up medical files here and do it all by hand. Which will take him ten times longer.

Tommy stands up at the desk, grabbing his mug and taking it to the lounge. He clears off a small spot on the table and sits down, grabbing one of the files and beginning to sort through it.

If he can't work, he might as well organize to make his job easier later.

He reads through each file on the table, finding corners of the office to stack them. Everytime he finds a file of the same genre he puts it on top of that other file. He uses all three other offices to help. He has Phil’s files in Phil’s office and so on, the files in each office separated by report, medical, miscellaneous, or personnel.

All files that aren't person specific go into stacks in thr lounge and kitchen area.

It's a good way to ignore the nagging cloudiness in his mind and the pain that envelopes him. Mindless work.

Grab file.

Skim file's contents.

Place the file in the correct stack in the correct room.

Repeat.

He continues and continues, allowing himself to become a work drone. His downed coffee after coffee on an empty stomach, legs automatically dragging him to every corner of the room.

Millions of files. His read file, after file, after…

File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
File.
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File
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File.
File.
File.
File
File.
File.
File.
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File
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File.
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File
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File.
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File
File.
File.
File.
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File
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File
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File
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File.
File.
File.
File.
File

….

….

Everything is cold, freezing cold. A shiver runs through his body, his eyes shut. He can't open them, his eyelids feel like weights. His head hurts, excruciatingly so. He doesn't know where he is, nor who he is outside of the fact his name is ‘Tommy’.

Huh.

Someone shuffles beside him, his overly sensitive ears leaning to find the source. Their footsteps are soft and light, like a sneaky spy. A drawer is opened, the wood screeching against the wheels. Hands rummage through materials, both hard and soft.

Finally, whoever is searching for what, finds it. A small satisfied breath escapes their nostrils, the drawer sliding shut again with an even worse screech. It's like nails against a chalkboard, he cringes internally at the noise.

The footsteps glide across the room, around the bed he is laid upon. The mattress is hard and damp? A blanket covers his legs up to his torso, rough and uncomfortable.

Footsteps halt. Something porcelain is grabbed, clanking against a wooden cabinet. The footsteps walk away, fading in the distance but don't disappear.

Tommy tries to move his body, or open his eyes, or speak. He can't even shift his leg, or lift a finger. His body is numb and paralyzed. His eyes are still weighted down, his vocals frozen. All he can do is breath and wait.

In the distance a faucet turns on, water gushing out and sloshing against a bowl. It fills for a few seconds before the water is turned off, a droplet drips into the sink and the small clink echoes. Footsteps begin again in Tommy's direction.

The porcelain is set on what sounds like a nightstand, the bottom clanking against the wood. A bit of water splashes out.

The person besides him begins humming a tune, a soft and gentle tune that holds an ominous undertone. Spooky.

Tommy, at this point, hears a towel slosh into the bowl. Presumably, that's what this mysterious person had rummaged in the drawer to find. It dunks in and is rung out, the water dripping back into the bowl.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Suddenly he feels it press against his forehead, the coolness stinging against what feels to be a wound. The water drips down his face from the towel, soaking his skin. A shiver presented itself through his back.

“There we go, bud. All cleaned up.” The (man) finally spoke, his voice unfamiliar and quiet. He had a soft and smooth tone to his voice, but it held no comfort for Tommy. In fact, a new type of fear wiggled its way into his mind. Who is this man? What is Tommy doing here, paralyzed?

The man continues to dab his forehead, occasionally dipping the towel back into the bowl to wring it out. Eventually he sets it down a final time, opening the drawer again. He pulls open the same drawer. Tommy despises that sound, the screeching and the way the drawer hesitates halfway through its opening.

This time he pulls out what sounds to be a plastic box, it clicks open with familiarity.

A medical kit?

Tommy tries to open his eyes again, only a streak of light peeking out beneath the darkness. He could see nothing past the bright light, though. It brought no new information for Tommy.

“Stay still now.” The man speaks, a gloved finger presses against Tommy's head. It's not like he’ll be able to move anyway.

Dread pools into Tommy's stomach.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-”

…

…..

…….

“Did it work then?” A new voice asks. More familiar this time. What happened?

“Yes. He won't remember a thing.”

“He better not.”

-

“GUH!” Tommy gasps, sweat dripping off his skin and soaking into his clothing. His breath is heavy and loud, lungs heaving to regain oxygen. His head had shot up from the table. Had he fallen asleep?

Tommy clutches his chest, his heartbeat rapid below his skin. A file is spread open in front of him, his coffee half drank in his stained mug beside it.

What the fuck happened? What was that dream?

Was that even a dream? Was it another memory?

Tommy almost doesn't want to know. It felt too real to be a dream, but… it was horrific. The pain…

Tommy's finger subconsciously reaches to touch his scar, tracing over the white puffy spot. Where HAD he gotten it?

Tommy lets his hand fall, pushing the dream from his mind. Some things in life might be better left forgotten, right? Kristen will have to deal with it. He doesn't want to know.

Once Tommy was able to breath properly, grounding himself, he peers around the office. The window looked upon the darkened city, snow falling over the buildings. Tommy stands up on shaking, weak legs and makes his way to the window, leaning against the wall next to it.

The streets below were covered in snow, Christmas lights and decorations strung up on the shops and light posts. He felt the cold radiating from the window, icicles hanging from the window sills. A shiver rakes through him again.

What day is it even? He hasn't really read the date in a few weeks now.

Tommy tugs his phone from his pocket, flicking it on. His battery was low again.

DECEMBER 21ST

Is it really this close to Christmas already? Where'd all the time go?

Christmas… he’s such a grinch for Christmas. But not as in he hates everybody else’s happiness, in fact he loves to see the jolly expressions and united families.

But that's also why he hates it. He doesn't have Christmas, truly. Clay has only celebrated a few Christmas’, each and every one has ended in disaster. He sometimes wishes for a warm house, the smell of sugar cookies, a lit tree covered in lights and ribbons, and time with his family. He doesn't care for presents. He just wants the warmth. The joy.

Tommy sighs, pushing away from the window. He had gotten a majority of the room organized before he fell asleep, in reality he should be heading back home now.

He doesn't want to.

He doesn't want to walk into a house that either will be cold and dark and empty, or where Clay awaits. In a fucked up way, he’d rather Clay be there. He’d rather walk into a warm, lit house with an enraged father sitting by the door than be met with loneliness. It's fucked up, he knows, but he can't let that thought go. He just wants to be with somebody.

Tommy looks down at his dishevelled self. He knows he’ll be spending a majority of his time in the next week or two here in the office. He should probably grab some stuff.

With a sigh, Tommy slowly grabs his messenger bag and heads out of the office. He’ll be back tonight. That's for sure. He doesn't want to stay at home, no matter which way things go.

The rest of the building is moderately empty. A few stray workers remain doing overtime in conference rooms or their offices. Christmas decorations have been strung up across the entire building. It SHOULD be getting Tommy in a jolly good mood, but it only weighed him down more.

Alyssa was still at the front desk, clicking her pen against the counter. Why is SHE still here?

“Alyssa? What are you still doing here?” Tommy asks, breaking the quiet of the lobby.

“Huh?” Alyssa perks up, she looks half asleep. Tommy is sure he doesn't look any better though. “Overtime. I’m going through the digital files and reorganizing shit.”

Tommy nods, leaning against the counter himself. He almost felt a little too weak to be standing right now, his head swirling with a wave of dizziness.

“Are you heading home?” Alyssa asks, eying him up and down. “Damn, man, you look like absolute dog shit.”

“Rude…” Tommy grumbles, but not arguing against the truth of her statement. “No, I’m just heading out to get changed and grab my things. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“I’m not even going to clock you out at this point, dude.”

“That’s… fraud I think? Thievery?”

“I don't know, but you're working fucking hard. Take the extra two hours worth of pay asshat.”

Tommy shrugs, leaning off the counter and to the door. He glances back at the medical ward for a moment, wondering what's going on back there. Is Phil doing okay? Are they all okay back there? Does Phil remember anything from his deathly experience?

Tommy shakes off the curiosity and worry, pushing the glass doors open and stepping out into the frigid cold night. His skin instantly froze, the small hairs on his arms standing up and goosebumps sprouting underneath his clothing. Still, he forced his feet to move through the sidewalk. Thankfully, the Arctic sector has amazing street workers that keep the sidewalks well and cleared of snow. Tommy isn't excited to get to L’manburg, he just knows at this point of the day every road and sidewalk will be covered in a thick layer of snow and slush.

Tommy wraps his arms around his body as he walks. The stores are all still open, Christmas lights hung around their tapestries and doorways. The streetlights have garland wrapped around the body of them, candy cane lights hung from the side of each one. The town is happy and bright at this time of night, music plays faintly inside an open cafè down the way.

“Baby all I want for chri-”

Tommy scowls, grabbing his earbuds from his bag and shoving them in, not even playing music but rather blocking out the outside noises. He walks to his train station, bounding down the steps. When he gets to the bottom a hand presses against his chest, a cop in front of him.

“Sorry, kid, but the train is shut down right now due to maintenance issues. Find another way home.” The cop grumbled.

“Fuck, really?” Tommy curses, both externally and internally. He waves the cop away, turning and climbing the staircase back up to the road. He sighs, leaning his back against a pole.

“What the hell should I do now?” Tommy ran a shivering hand through his dampening hair, snow lodging itself into the blonde strands.

Tommy begins walking, hoping an idea will come to him. He digs through his bag to see if he has enough money for an uber or something, but finds it barren of anything more than a crusty 5 dollar bill.

He sighs, walking faster. He’ll just have to go dig into his secret stash of cash when he arrives at the house. Clay has been taking 95% of his income, and Tommy has spent most of the other 5% on necessities. Most.

Over the past few months he’s been able to collect a little over a hundred dollars. It's not a lot, but he’s added it to the money he saved from his prior job and has accumulated around 300 dollars. He is saving it for the day Clay eventually kicks him out and tells him not to return for the final time. It's enough money to get him started with some food or even a small rental if he’s lucky.

He’ll go home and grab 20 or so bucks from his stash. That's easy.

Nothing

Could

Go

Wrong

Right?

-

“Hey, Dad?” Wilbur, after almost an hour of hesitation, finally speaks up. His father sets the book he was reading down, not ready to go to sleep yet.

“Yeah, kiddo?” Phil looks at him.

“What do you think of having a really nice Christmas dinner this year? The whole thing. Food, candles, guests?” Wilbur takes a breath before he spoke, his voice coming out quickly.

“That sounds amazing, Wil. Who are you thinking of inviting?”

“Uhm…”

“His girlfriend.” Technoblade butts in.

“HIS WHAT!?!?!?”

-

Tommy was right.

L’manburg is practically buried in snow.

His feet trudge through a layer of cold, slush. It soaked through the fabric of his shoes, soaking his socks and freezing his feet. His legs hurt from walking for a little under an hour, knees feel like they're about to snap. He sees his house down the road, no car in front of it. He was both thankful and disappointed.

Tommy dragged himself down the sidewalk step by step by freezing cold step. Snow fell profusely, sticking to his skin and clothes and hair. The bottom of his trousers are drenched, his legs and toes beginning to feel a little numb.

He moves quicker, borderline limping through the snow. He finally reaches his gate, pushing it open and running up the pathway leading to the steps. Bad idea.

A layer of ice had frozen on the walkway, his balance gives out and he slips.

Hard.

His wings fluttered in their binding instinctually, but it didn't do a thing. He falls backwards, landing painfully on his back with a loud thump.

“OW!” Tommy shouts, biting back a louder scream. He doesn't want to alert any neighbors of anything occurring. He felt his wings crush beneath his weight, his head ricochets against the ice and a pain shoots through his already aching head. The back of his head pulsates, wings clenching in their binding.

It takes Tommy a solid 10 minutes to make it to his again, vision blurred and body wobbly. He can't tell if it's from not having eaten in a while or the fact he might have a concussion. Or blood loss.

Maybe all three.

Tommy grabs onto the porch railing, pulling himself up the steps and to the front door. He digs in his bag for his key, struggling to find it for a few seconds. When he finally does, he shakily shoves it into the keyhole and turns the knob, walking into his dark and frigid home. Fuck. The power is still off.

Or is it?

Tommy goes to flick the switch, no lights turn on. Except the house isn't freezing. It's cold, but he can smell the lingering scent of their heaters. It was on recently.

Is Clay really that cruel?

Did he come home, turn things on, and when he left again turned it all off? TOMMY pays for this house at this point. The heating, the water, and electricity. But he can't even use it?

Tommy holds back a frustrated sigh, closing the door behind him to preserve the tiniest fraction of warmth in the house. He moves quickly up stairs using his phone’s flashlight, taking himself past the bent banister and to his door.

Once inside, he digs around for a change of clothes. He finds a thick pair of brown slacks, a black button up, and a red sweater with a random stripe down the center. It's warm and blood proof.

Tommy changes as fast as he can, reapplying bandages in the cold room. He tries not to stay undressed for long. Once his wounds are rewrapped, wings tightened, and clothes tugged on he finds his fluffiest socks. And then boots. His cheap combat, off brand doc Marten boots. It's better than sneakers that can soak up the snow quicker than he can breath.

He collects a few back up chargers, socks, a roll of bandages, expired granola bar, gloves, cash, and a few other things. Everything gets placed into his bag, he uses his phone flashlight to back it back downstairs.

Just as Tommy is about to leave a charging brick falls out of his bag via one of the many holes that line the bottom, rolling across the living room floor and hitting the leg of the coffee table. Tommy sighs, walking over.

He bends down to pick it up, his flashlight shining it on it. He reaches for it, grabbing it. His peripherals spot a shine of something white to his right, underneath the couch.

“What…?” Tommy murmurs, bending lower to try and get a better look at it. White. It's white and round, like a plate. But there's an odd black strap on it.

Tommy shifts closer, reaching his hand under the couch to grab it. His fingers inch closer… closer…clo-

RING RING RING!!!!

His phone screeches in his back pocket, vibrating. Tommy jumps, ripping his hand out from under the couch without the object. He sits on his knees, fumbling for his phone.

“Hello?”

“Is this Theseus?”

“Who are you?”

-

“Techno!” Wilbur shouts, sweating quite a bit more than he was before.

“What? I knew you wouldn't do it.” Technoblade shrugs, leaning in the doorway.

“You’re such an asshole!” Wilbur stands abruptly, a deep scowl painted across his tired face.

“Calm down, Wil. It's okay.”

Wilbur doesn't hear Phil, nor does he acknowledge him. He stomps to Technoblade, just a few inches shorter.

“How d-”

“WILBUR!” Phil shouts for the second time in the past minute. “I said… it's okay. I was just surprised.”

“Wait… really?” Wilbur pauses, turning to face his father.

“Yeah. I’m happy for you, Wil.” Phil smiles, gesturing to the seat Wilbur used to be. Wilbur nods, slowly coming back to his side and taking the seat. “Tell me all about her, son.”

“Her name is Sally-”

Wilbur begins. He’ll tell his father all about the fun times with his girlfriend, all about their encounters and what she's like. But not her pregnancy. Not yet.

-

“Who are you?” Tommy repeats, his voice sterner than before. Who would be calling him ‘Theseus’ on his personal phone? Other than Tubbo, and this isn't Tubbo. This is a mysterious number.

“I can't believe it…” The voice whispers, almost to themself. “It’s really you.”

“WHO is this?” Tommy barks out, standing on his feet again. Panic settled into his stomach, digging a hole in him.

“Are you Tom?” The voice asks. They're voice is on the deeper side, but it still felt nostalgic for some reason.

“That’s it. I’m hanging up.” Tommy huffs, going to click the red hang up button.

“Wait! Please!” The voice pleads, “You don't remember me, and honestly I might be delusional right now. But… I can't help but think you're the Tom I knew.”

Tommy pauses, something telling him to NOT hang up. Intuition? Curiosity?

“Who. Are. You?”

“You called me Boo.”

Chapter Text

“Boo…?” Tommy whispers, the name familiar and nostalgic. He remembered it from a flashback he had a week or so ago, right before he left for the mission in the other city.

Boo…

His Boo…?

“Tom?” They spoke again, his voice quiet and low. It held undertones of disbelief and hope, but also a portion of fear.

“How… what…” Tommy stammered. His brain felt clouded, foggy. He didn't know what to say or do. He kinda knew who Boo was, but did he really? He remembered one small thing.

“Tubbo told me about you.” Boo spoke, their voice offering a bit of explanation. “I’m Ranboo.”

“YOU'RE Ranboo? As in potion-making-mysterious-never-home Ranboo?” Tommy spat out. THIS is Ranboo? The ‘Boo’ from his dreams is the same Ranboo as the one Tubbo is close friends with? Lives with?

Fucking Coincidences.

“Yeah… potion-making-mysterious-never-home-Ranboo…” Boo chuckled faintly on the other end of the line, amused by the odd nickname. “It’s nice to hear your voice again…”

“Uhm.” Tommy swallows a lump that had formed in his throat. Boo… who is Boo?”

-

“Daddy I don't wanna go to daycare!” A little boy pouted, stomping the ground. He wore khaki shorts, small little sneakers, and a red tee shirt with a fire truck on it. His blonde hair is curly and bright, skin scarless. His mind is free of pain.

“Come on kiddo, work with me here.” The man in front of him pleaded, squatted. Yet again, Tommy can't see his face. His voice is familiar, but distant. He can't place who it belongs to. “Dad has work, Mama has work. Tommy needs to be a big boy.”

“I AM a big boy, but big boys don't need to go to daycare.” Tommy crossed his arms, pouting his little plump, pink lip. The sun shone down on the two, they stood before a colorful daycare. The town appeared to be a Kiniko one based on the rural homes and sunny streets. Shops surrounded the daycare, a big streamer outside the door claiming ‘FUN AND PLAY FOR KIDS 2-10!!!’. Tommy believes he’s about 4? Maybe 5.

“Big boys DO need to go to daycare instead of causing a scene in front of the door.” The man runs a hand over his face. Despite him seeming frustrated with the boy, Tommy wasn't afraid. He was stubborn, but unwavering. This man wouldn't hurt him, he doesn't know why he knows that or how he believes it.

Mother's and father's carried their little ones past the two and inside the daycare. Kids bouncing down the sidewalk, running across pavement with parents chasing them. A sunny summer day. The smell of cinnamon sticks wafts through the air. A bakery is down the street, opening its doors to customers. The sky is a bright shade of blue, fluffy white clouds around but never once covering the sun.

“Nuh uh.” Tommy glared at his ?father? in frustration, but a little kid being frustrated is barely anything. It's amusing to some of the passersby, annoying for the man standing in front of him.

“Thomas Innit -(WHO?????)” The man says his full name, but the last name echoes in his head and disappears. Tommy who? What is his last name again?

“Daddy!!!” Tommy shouts, a part of his kid self knew he was losing this battle of the daycare. He might've been acting like a bit of a brat, but he still respected his ?father?

“C’mon Tommy. Just go inside.” The man urges, gesturing to the daycare door. There were quite a few kids inside, meandering about the lobby as the parents left. Would he be left too? What if the man doesn't come back for him?

“I don't wanna.” Tommy sniffles, holding his head low. His big blue eyes well up with glossy tears, threatening to burst at any moment. When Tommy cried, he CRIED.

“Kiddo.” The man took a breath, softening his tone. “I’m sorry. It's okay, I promise. Why don't you want to go inside?”

“I don't wanna be left behind!” Tommy cries, his tears falling down his pink, freckled cheeks. The man places his large hands on either side of the Tommy, holding his arms gently against his side in a comforting manner.

“Shh.” The man hushes, rubbing his hands over Tommy's sleeves. “You won't be. Mama will come pick you up in a few hours. I promise.”

“No she won't!” Tommy yells, stomping his little sneaker against the sidewalk.

“Kidd-”

“No! No! No no no no!”

The man was losing control of the situation faster than he could believe. He was trying his best to comfort his boy, the judging eyes of other parents making it increasingly more difficult. His boy was yelling and crying. The man TRIED to pick him up to carry him inside, but somehow the boy had found a way to plant his feet on the ground and make his stubbornness extend to even the laws of gravity. He was impossible to pick up.

“Tom-”

“Hello.” A terrifyingly calm voice said from behind the man. He nearly jumped from his squat. Behind him was a little kid with white and black hair, multi colored eyes, and pale skin. He stood there alone.

“Uhm… hi?” The man tilted his head, almost forgetting the screaming toddler in front of him for a moment. When Tommy screamed louder the man returned his attention to him, starting to lose his patience.

“Tom! Get your booty into that daycare!”

“No! NOOOOOO!” Tommy screamed in return, his vocals reaching pitches the man hadn't known were possible for a human being. He let go of the boy's shoulders, pressing his fingers against his temples as a headache began to form beneath the skin.

“Allow me to try, Good Sir.” The little kid nodded, his vocabulary and pronunciation surprisingly elevated for a child that appeared to be about 5 to 7 years old.
The kid stepped forward, placing their hand on Tommy's shoulder. He was easily a few inches taller, their hand patted Tommy's shoulder almost awkwardly.

“There there, Young Boy. It all shall be okay.” They comforted as Tommy cried. “Would you like me to escort you inside? I shall keep you company! That way you are not left behind, but simply placed under my care for the day.”

Tommy sniffled, looking at the kid with mild intrigue. “Y-you would do that for me?”

“Of course I shall, my young friend!”

“Friend!” Tommy perked up. The kid in front of him wiped Tommy's face from his tears. “Daddy I made a friend!”

“It… it seems you did.” The man blinked, astonished. This young child had calmed Tommy faster than he ever has, simply by patting him on the back and designating himself as Tommy's protector? How odd.

“Now come, Sir Tom. Let us take over the daycare together, and when your dear mother arrives to escort you home I shall be with you to assure you are not left behind!” The kid cheered, his peculiar eyes glimmering with passion. Either they were a kid that was EXTREMELY interested in medieval games or simply highly intellectual.

“Yes!!! We take over the daycare!” Tommy cheered along. “Bye Daddy!”

Tommy and the little kid run off into the entrance of the day care. The man glances around in hopes of finding the kid’s parents, but finds nobody. Just where had that odd child come from?

“Hello, Ma’am. We are here for our care of the day. Where shall we dispense of our shoes?” The kid asks the daycare attendant, Patricia, with Tommy holding his arm stoically.

“Well aren't you two cuties! Right over there by the cubbies, love. Might I get your names for your nametags?” Patricia leans over to speak to the two children.

“I am Sir Ranboo.”

“I am… Sir Tom!”

“Sir Ranboo and Sir Tom? What a wonderful pleasure to meet you both.” Patricia chuckles, writing exactly what they told her on two stickers and placing them on each kid's chest. ‘Sir Ranboo’ and ‘Sir Tom”.

“Farewell now, M’lady. Off to the shoe cubby we go!” Ranboo bows, guiding Tommy to the cubbies. Together they strip off their shoes and place them in the same cubby.

“Boo! Let's go play!” Tommy shouts, already choosing a name he’ll call his new friend that isn't his actual name.

“Right on, Tom!” Ranboo cheers, running alongside Tommy as they find a spot they would deem their own. Like they will everyday for the rest of their daycare career, they take the building blocks corner. No one will be able to force them to share the area. It's their land.

And at the end of the day, Sir Boo escorts Sir Tom to his mother, and then runs off to wherever it is Ranboo resides.

Like that, a friendship is made.

-

“Sir Boo…” Tommy spoke subconsciously, a warm smile stuck on his face from the pleasant memory of Ranboo. He can remember a few other instances where the two played now, but none of extreme importance. Simply things that brought a fuzzy feeling to his chest.

“I remember that!” Ranboo cheers on the other side of the line, their voice holding a sense of victory. “I’m beginning to realize that I was a weird child.”

“You definitely were…” Tommy almost whispers, “But a damn good one.”

“I guess.”

“Do you remember the name of that daycare?” Ranboo asks. The question felt sudden and out of place. Shouldn't he know? Tommy is the one without any memories of his childhood before 8, they should have the answers.

“I don't… hell I barely even remember you.”

“Fuck.” Ranboo swore.

“Fuck what?” Tommy groans, pacing as he speaks to his ?friend?

“I was REALLY hoping you remembered everything…” Ranboo’s voice comes out defeated and quiet, annoyed almost. Tommy isn't really one to notice too much, but he has a decently keen sense to be able to recognize emotion. That might just be his anxiety though.

“Let me guess, you've got some weird amnesia thing too then?” Tommy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Wait- you've got it too?”

“Yup. Barely remember anything from before I was eight, things have been slowly coming back but it isn't enough.” Tommy narrows his eyes on a hole in the drywall, trying to remember which incident involving his father that it came from. He’s forgotten about the shiny object that has been beneath the couch.

“Twelve for me.” Ranboo murmurs. “I have terrible memory day-to-day sometimes as well.”

“Yeah no I don't think that's my issue. I probably got hit on the head or something based on the terrible scar there.”

“Huh.”

“Huh.” Tommy echoes, a shiver running through him. It's cold here. He needs to get back to work before it really seems like he’s committing fraud, or he gets hypothermia.

“C… can you call me if you remember anything else about the daycare? I neee to know what happened to me, what happened to YOU. There's something about you that feels important. Something I need to recall.”

“Y-yeah. Do the same.” Tommy reaches to hang up, but a thought crosses him. “We should meet soon. Maybe seeing each other's faces will bring something to the front of our minds?”

“Good idea. I’ll be in Tubbo’s lair when you go out again.”

With that, the call ended. Tommy is left cold, alone, and a mind full of thoughts. He starts his journey back to the tower, leaving the cold memories of the house behind along with the mysterious object beneath the couch.

Chapter Text

Tommy makes his way back to the tower, tired and wet and cold. He hadn’t been able to avoid the snow, the bottoms of his pants soaked through. By the time he made it back to the tower he felt like digging himself a hole and crawling into it. The weight of future prospects and jobs he has to complete inside the tower presses onto his back, a stress headache forming.

Alyssa had already gone home, the tower is decently empty minus the night shift folks and overtime marketing teams. Tommy likes the peace and quiet, climbing the elevator and reaching his office again. The piles upon piles of files overwhelm him at first, but he gets into the rhythm decently quickly. It makes it easier to ignore his thoughts and conspiracies. Ignore Ranboo. Ignore Kristin. Ignore Death. Ignore Clay. Ignore Phil. Ignore Dream.

It might’ve been about six am when he seemingly comes back into his consciousness, his eyes gliding off the page as he finishes reading a random document. He looks up and sighs, viewing the piles of documents finally skimmed over. In front of him sits a multitude of reports he has written from the documents.

“Wow.” Tommy lets out a breath of air, sulking in his loneliness. He’s both glad and conflicted about the fact that there’s no one else around. He won’t explain that any further.

Tommy stands up, knees creaking and groaning from a lengthy time sat with them bent at the same angle. He makes his way to the window yet again, watching down on the busy streets of morning. The work day has begun for countless people, the road stuffed with traffic. This is one of the last days of work for most people before they get a Christmas break for the holidays. The streets are melted of snow, the early morning drivers laid down an absurd amount of salt to melt it. Still, it’s white and cold out there. Despite the cheery decorations, Tommy feels an ache in his heart. He hates this season, for too many reasons.

Sighing, Tommy turns away from the window and heads back to the coffee pot. Staring out over the city was giving his wings an antsy shiver, which sent a jolt of pain to his surrounding wounds. Oh how he’d love to fly right now-

He pours himself a steaming cup of coffee, chugging as much as he can in one go. He probably has enough caffeine in his veins currently to last him a lifetime. That’s not a good thing, huh?

Tommy wants to go home, but not home? There’s something in his chest that longs for something that he’d like to call home, it yearns and aches for it, but he can never achieve it. He can’t go back to the house, maybe out of his own fear but also out of self-preservation. He’d freeze to death back at home, at least in the tower there’s heating systems. But he doesn’t want to be here any longer. He’s overly aware of Phil’s presence down in the medical wing, that fact makes him a little woozy.

“You should put that cup of coffee down.” A familiar, female voice mumbles from the corner of the room. Tommy doesn’t even need to look up to know who it is. The late mother of the Craft family, a woman Tommy shouldn’t be seeing. Her ACTUAL family should be the ones that have this weird fucking soul, death, bond or whatever this is. He hates it.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy gets straight to the point, but listens to the woman. There’s something strangely terrifying about her demand. Not in the same way that Clay’s demands make him fearful. He hasn’t felt THIS type of… willingness to obey before.

“Checking in on you.”

“Don’t need to.” Tommy grumbles, closing his eyes as he leans back against the countertop. He doesn’t need to be verbally answering her ever since he figured out mind communication with present limbo members. He doesn’t understand it, but it works so…

“I do think I need to.” Kristen’s footsteps inch closer. Tommy is sure that the sound of her walking isn’t a real sound, no one else can see or hear her except him. “It’s my duty as your m… mentor?”

“Mentor?” Tommy scoffs, opening his eyes to glance at her. She looks just the same, but the bags under her eyes were a little more apparent along with some faint puffiness from tears. Huh. Lady Death can cry. He doesn’t know why that surprises him.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Ziek calls you my ward at times. You’re a Souled, I found you and stood up for you- against like the actual God of Death- so I have at least mediocre responsibility over you.”

Tommy can tell there’s something more to it than that. Maybe something to do with his memories? Now that he has time to think, Ranboo’s situation comes to the forefront.

“Hey- I have a question.”

“You know I likely won’t be able to give you an answer, but go ahead.” Kristen sighs.

“I recently got a call from a dude that I apparently knew before my eighth birthday-” Tommy begins, voice steady. Kristen quickly interrupts, hope glistening on her facial expressions.

“Wait- Really? What did you learn?!”

“Hold your horses.” Tommy cuts her off. “The guy ALSO seems to be having some memory issues. He called me hoping I would be able to tell himself. Unfortunately, the only thing I was able to recall was playing with the kid when I was in this daycare when I was younger. He helped me calm down from an embarrassing tantrum, then played with me everyday. At least that’s what I think I remember. His name was Ran-”

-Boo.” Kristen finishes for him, brows furrowing. Without another word, she poofs back into limbo again. Tommy nearly lets curiosity get the best of him, considering following her into limbo. He half slipped into it, some of his surroundings had changed a bit and he heard the train running. Instead, he decided against it and fully placed himself back into reality. He’ll give her some privacy. Plus, he doesn’t feel like being found passed out and unresponsive as he’s in the limbo by someone.

“Shit.” Tommy smacks his forehead, feeling like a character for a moment from the action. He’d forgotten about his makeshift to do list when he got to the tower, the work drowning out anything else.

Meet With Niki
Check Msgs
Figure out what to do about the Clay-Dreamer situation
Research PATC (is it real or a ploy?)
Catch up on work

Had he finished any of it? The last one? Almost. He’s still behind, but he’ll be fine. SBI should hire an assistant for their assistant.

Tommy’s mind lulls over the list. He really ISN’T in the mood to mentally, morally debate his father’s standing as a dreamer and Tommy’s own heroic responsibility to defeat him. So, instead, he does something he should’ve done a day ago. He checks his messages on his vigilante burner phone.

He has way more than he expected.

Kinesis
Blood God
And… Quackity?

Theseus decides to check Kinesis first since she’ll be the easiest to answer right now.
/Kinesis/: Cause you're Tommy Watson, right?
/Kinesis/:It’s okay. I won’t be sharing your secret.
/Kinesis/: Let’s meet up soon. To talk about the mission and other things.
/Kinesis/: You’re a good liar.
(hours later)
/Kinesis/: Hope you’re healing well from the battle. I went over the footage and you looked pretty roughed up. Let me know if you ever need anything, dear.

Tommy almost scoffs while reading the messages. She’s such a sweet woman, if he knew what a sibling relationship felt like he’d probably compare her to a sister. Tommy types back a response, anxiously.

/Theseus/: Heya. Yeah I’m doin alr. Healing up. I’ve got some things to tell you. Meet u sometime in Jan after the holidays?
/Theseus/: …
/Theseus/: you really won’t say anything?

Tommy was about to click off the messages to look at his others when he saw reply bubbles. Does Niki have nothing else to do other than message him? She’s such a fast responder.

/Kinesis/: Sounds good. Casual attire or vigilante?
/Kinesis/: I won’t say a word. I know how to keep a secret.
/Theseus/: Hm… Casual I guess. How’d you figure it out?
/Kinesis/: I have my ways. I’ll explain when we meet. Text me a date, time, and a place.

Tommy shakes his head. He’s awfully curious as to how she figured it out so quickly, but he’ll have to wait for their meetup to learn anything about it. He’s nervous, but Niki is a presence he mildly enjoys. He clicks off the message tab and clicks on Technoblade’s next. The messages are dated back to their time in the hospital.

/BloodGod/: Hey, kid. I want to say thanks for saving our asses in that fight. I owe you not only my father’s life, but all my gratitude. Know that you have gained a fucking ally for a long time, kid. Call me if you’re ever stuck in a battle in which you need me, I’ll show up without a moment's hesitation or a question. Also- are you doing alright? A 16 year old with those injuries probably won’t stand healthily for a while. Msg me if you need medical help.

Tommy’s heart warms at the text. Technoblade doesn’t know that he’s speaking these kind words to his assistant, but the fact that he’s offering all of this to THESEUS of all people is insane. Though he does wince at the mention of his true age. He is kinda shocked that Techno never made the connection between Tommy and Theseus, but the whole age thing probably ties into it. For once, he’s grateful that he told Blood God his real age after that one meeting. It makes a line between him and his persona, even if his identity doesn’t exactly exist.

/Theseus/: Thanks man! You’re a real one for that. Hope everyone is healing well, especially the big guy! I’m doing fine.

Tommy doesn’t wait for a response and instead opens the messages he doesn’t understand why he got. From Quackity.

/Quackity/: Kinesis out your # in my contacts as she did everyone else's, I was gonna ignore it but- oh well. Look, man, I don’t trust any of you. I don’t care for anyone in this stupid “Syndicate” thing, but you’ve caught my eye. You recently got into a battle with Schlatt inc. right?

Tommy types back. The guy was cold, but there was something about him that made Tommy curious. He was a powerful man, but his past irks Tommy in a way. Makes him feel… guilty?

/Theseus/: yup.
/Quackity/: Was… Schlatt there?
/Theseus/: yes.
/Quackity/: Alive?
/Theseus/: yes?????
/Quackity/: Brown hair? Ram horns? Gun guy?
/Theseus/: Yup. Why?
/Theseus/: hello?????
/Theseus/: Ducky-man?????

Tommy goes ignored, sighing as he shuts off his burner and shoves it into his bag. He’ll reel over this later. He mentally crosses it off the list for now though.
Meet With Niki - CHECK (planned)
Check Msgs - CHECK!
Figure out what to do about the Clay-Dreamer situation - IGNORED
Research PATC (is it real or a ploy?)
Catch up on work - CHECK(ish)

Tommy grabs his cup of coffee again, sipping from it. A part of him feels rebellious doing so after Kristin had forced him to put it down. He finishes it and sets his mug in the sink, heading towards his office. He’s found a bit of comfort in the familiar, somewhat decorated space. The black office chair calls for him and he slumps into it, opening his laptop so he doesn’t fall asleep sitting at his desk. He opens his email first, hoping there’s not much in there to answer to. He scrolls through emails from doctors, agents, et cetera. However, one pops up at the top that makes him audibly groan.

Title: Hero Council Call to Order

“Fuck me. I literally temporarily blocked their email!” Tommy clicks on the email begrudgingly.

-Dear Thomas Watson-
-You and our heroes have been difficult to reach, and that snippy little front desk lady has been testing our patience. We have had to resort to forcefully unblocking our email from your account. Apologies are not due on our end. We are calling you to the Council on January 2nd, three pm on the dot. No excuses, not a no-show. Come or we will have to be more drastic. Don’t ignore us.
-The Hero Council

Tommy rereads the email about a hundred times, boiling with rage but also fear. He can’t be getting threatened by the council as a literal vigilante. One wrong move and they can find out, and he’ll be ruined. Fuck the Counci.

“How’s it going?” Technoblade’s voice startles Tommy from his reading, he nearly jumps from the chair. The email is still bright on his screen.

“Fuck you scared me, man!” Tommy shouts, settling back down against the back of his chair. It’s comfortable. Man is he exhausted. “It’s going as well as you would like to assume it’s going.”

“Shitty then? You look like absolute dog-shit.” Technoblade leans back against the doorframe. “It’s a mess in here. When did you arrive this morning to work again?”

“I barely left.” Tommy runs a hand over his face. “I stopped by my hom- house to pick up clothes and came back, it’s been a long night.”

“Really? Damn.” Technoblade’s face softens in what looks like… pity? Regret? Guilt? “Have you drank anything? Eaten? Slept?”

“Coffee. All coffee.” Tommy sighs, spotting another notification on his screen from the Hero Council email chain.

Title: Follow-Up

-Dear Mr. Watson-
-Don’t try anything funny.-
-The Hero Council-

Tommy groans.

“I’ll be circling back to what you just said, but first- what is it?” Technoblade walks around the desk and peers over Tommy’s shoulder at the email. He narrows his eyes and opens the first email back up. He reads it quickly and a low growl admits from under his mouth through his pointy teeth.

“Yup. Annoying motherfuckers.” Tommy crosses his arms.

“Fucking hell.” Techno scowls, eyes straying from the screen and to his assistant and (friend?). “Assholes shouldn’t be threatening someone like you. I’m fine with them fighting with me, the hero, but you? The innocent fucking assistant? It’s cruel.”

“It’s fine. I signed up for this job.” Tommy clicks off the email, wanting to ignore it.

“Not fine.” Technoblade grumbles. He smells like antiseptic and sweat. When’s the last time he’s showered?

“Pew. You stink.” Tommy grimaces. Technoblade steps away a little shamefully. “Go shower.”

“Only if you go grab something to eat.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

-

Tommy did in fact go find something to eat. He only managed a batch of leftovers in the fridge, but technically he kept the deal. He decided, afterwards, to push off continuing to work and do something he should’ve done the moment he arrived at the tower. Check on Fundy.

The tower is bustling with life. People work hard for their last day before the Holidays. Rushing about, making sure all their deadlines are met before going on break. It’s nice, but busy. Tommy is able to quickly make his way to the stairs to the basement, trudging down the stairs with only a lot of pain. He makes it to the bottom and very casually strides into the laboratory. A part of him half expected to run into something exploding immediately, but was surprised by the lack of chaos in the room. In fact, all he saw was Fundy very silently tinkering on Phil’s hero items.

Quiet.

That's the most concerning part. Fundy always is making a mess or loudly talking to himself, he also always notices when someone arrives. Tommy believes it's some type of fox hearing or sense thing, but it doesn't matter what it is. Fundy hasn't done that this time. He seems unaware of Tommy's presence, zoned into his work. It also appears like he hasn't blown anything recently as shown by the lack of toxic fumes in the air.

Tommy makes a slow and careful approach to the fox, peering over his shoulder.

“Hey there.” He whispers, startling Fundy. In the matter of seconds a sharp scalpel is pressed against his neck, right where his Adams apple is. He swallows carefully. It's not like he hasn't been threatened before, he’s had countless knives against his throat and guns against his head in the past. But this? This is jarring. It's his friend.

Fundy’s eyes are wild and tired, sleep deprived. It takes the man a few moments before realization hits him and the scalpel is drawn away from Tommy's neck. He can feel a slight sting from where it had been, a tiny droplet of blood. Nothing serious.

“Oh fuck! Holy shit shit shit shit shit.” Fundy rambles, throwing the blade to the floor and taking shaky steps backwards.

“Hey there, Fun-Man. What's got you so jumpy?” Tommy asks, trying to make himself seem unharmed and casual. Freaking out will not help Fundy’s freak out in the slightest. His hand reaches to wipe the blood of his neck, thankfully it was barely a graze. Unfortunately the action seems to drag the blood and make it look a little… worse.

“Oh- oh my fuc- oh sh-” Fundy stumbles, trembling like a wet dog. “Shit- no. Fuck!”

“Swearing like a sailor there, Fun-Man.” Tommy chuckles nervously, swallowing a lump. “It’s okay. No biggie. I’ve probably done worse to myself simply cutting carrots.”

Tommy has never cut carrots in his life.

“Relax man. What were you working on here?” Tommy gestures to the trinkets. He knows exactly what the man was working on, he’s a vigilante. He knows more about his (ex?) opponents weapons then even they do at times. They were easily recognizable.

“Uh- P-phil’s stuff.” Fundy gives him an answer, though his eyes never leave the cut on Tommy's neck. Tommy can almost FEEL to horror in Fundy’s mind. He knows he'd feel the same if he hurt one of his friends, but at least he’s used to it through his vigilante work. Fundy is just… sweet ol’ Fundy who seems to be going through more than he lets on.

“C’mon. Let's sit down, alright?” Tommy flops into one of the stools. Fundy takes a moment to follow, sitting down as well. His leg bounces aggressively under the workstation counter. “You doing okay, man?”

“I-” Fundy averts his eyes. “I am unsure.”

“That’s okay.” Tommy, honestly, channels an inside part of him that remembers these words being spoken from someone else’s mouth.

-

“I don’t know why I’m crying, Mama.” A young voice erupts, sniffling softly. His body is cradled onto the warm lap of a woman, face pressed firmly against her blouse. Her presence comforts him, despite not having got a clue as to why exactly he’s so distraught.

“That’s okay, baby.” Her hand gently caresses his head, running through the neat tendrils of his golden curls. “Sometimes, we just need to be upset. Sometimes, we just need a good cry to alleviate our stress. And, oftentimes, we DO have reasons for being upset, they just don’t want to come to the surface. Facing our problems hurts more than not knowing the-”

-

“-why.” Tommy finishes, realizing he had been reciting the words that had echoed into his head to Fundy. At some point, his hands had found Fundy’s and held them, running his thumbs over the fur. “You, Fun-Man, have PLENTY of reasons to not be alright. Even if you didn’t, it would be okay to be feeling like this.”

“When did you get so smart, Tom-Man?” Fundy sniffles, tears staining his cheeks and fur.

“I’ve always been like this.” Tommy stoically grins. He feels… a sense of completion after being able to help his friend. The worst is not over for Fundy, Tommy knows the worst will never be over for this tragic, go-lucky, man. Tommy doesn’t even know the full extent of that.

“Of course you have.” Fundy chuckles faintly through his quiet sobs.

“Want to talk about it?” It’s a hand to be offered, a hand to someone at their lowest. You hear people offering that singular statement all the time, but there is rarely anything genuine behind it. Care has become a mere common policy, something as simple as ‘hi’ or ‘have a good day’ at this point. Tommy doesn’t open the conversation in that light.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to know. Lead with your heart if you’re comfortable, it doesn’t even need to make much sense at all.”

“I just…” Fundy swallows back a choked sob, “I’m scared, Tommy. Phil he- he’s a good man. He didn't deserve what Dream did to him, he doesn't deserve any of the bad shit. Sometimes I feel like I might be a problem for him. I mean- I tore his relationship with his brother apart! And now? I can't even make weapons or hero costumes good enough to protect him.”

In more ways than one, Tommy and Fundy are similar. They're guilty.

“Yes, Phil is a great guy, but so are you. Don't think of it as ‘you tore them apart’ but rather ‘Phil cared so much about you that he’d choose you over his own blood’. Doesn't that make more sense?”. Phil isn't the type to blame you, nor would he like you thinking like this.”

“That… screw your logic!”

“Just admit it.” Tommy grins. “I’m right.”

“But-”

“Don’t wallow in your own self-pity, Fundy. Go talk to him.”

Fundy nods slowly, eyes lighting up in determination. The sly fox rises from his seat, steadying himself against the counter. His lip quivers.

“Let me guess, you haven't seen Phil since he got injured?”

“Nope.”

“Go on then.” Tommy stands up as well, pulling Fundy by the shoulders in the direction of the doors. “I’ll keep this running down here.”

Without another word, Fundy darts from the room and up the stairs. The unspoken thank you hanging in the air. Tommy can't help the smile that plays on his lips, nor the warm tingly feeling in his chest. It's fuzzy and soft, but it… hurts. Why does it hurt?

Maybe because Tommy wishes someone would help him the way he helps others, pull him from his chair and force him to do what he needs to do. Maybe it’s the familiar part of things that gets him aching. There's something about comfort that makes him shudder and pull away. He wants it, don't get that wrong, but he can't grasp it. He runs from it, at times he can't tell whether he’s running towards it or away from it.

Tommy takes to Fundy’s work. He knows the man doesn't usually like people tinkering with his things, but Tommy is Tommy. He doesn't touch any of Fundy’s current projects, the methods that man has are way too explosive to safely try and finish, but he does easily find new materials to sit down with. It probably isn't the most productive use of his time, but he wastes it away anyway. He’s following Fundy’s makeshift blue prints to recreate Wilbur’s dart shooters and chemical vials, even taking the risk of adjusting the formula slightly and alternating the dart shooter’s panels to make it less wind resistant. Is it a good idea to be helping his rival by fixing his gear? No. Does he think Wilbur will be coming after him now that he’s saved his ass? Doubtful.

An hour ticks by, Tommy working meticulously. He eventually found Fundy’s speaker systems and started playing some music, indie pop. He feels at home down here, in his element. A part of him wonders if this could've been his calling if his life had gone differently, but he quickly shoves the thought away. His life DIDN'T go differently, he’s stuck in his current and he can't change his past or future.

“Heya! You down here Fu-” A voice sounds as the lab doors fly open. Tommy fumbles to turn down the music and spin around in the chair to look for the source. His face is covered in a little soot from a formula gone wrong, his fingers and hands dry and filthy underneath the gloves he wears. He has goggles pushing his hair back, scar loud and proud on his forehead. “You aren’t Fundy?”

“No shit?” Tommy chuckles, studying the person. The Captain. “Hi there, Cap.”

“Hey, Toms.” Puffy shakes her head with a smile, eyes tired and heavy. “It’s been a hot second since I've run into you. Whatchu doing… tinkering in Fundy’s lab?”

“Just getting some work done for him. I’m also sick and tired of file sorting and avoiding HC emails so this is pretty much a vacation.” Tommy shrugs, spinning in the stool. The dizziness that follows it is adjacent to flight disorientation, which he so greatly misses right now. Oh to be flying through the city right now!

“Hero Council.” Puffy growls under breath. Her disdain for the HC is always quite apparent, even to the public at times. Tommy can't help but share the sentiment. “Well, are you safe at least? I know this place is usually two chemical droplets away from blowing to a crisp.”

“I am totally safe! I spend lunch down here, and you know how much Fun-Man likes to talk. I practically know everything I need to know at this point.” Tommy proudly professes. Puffy doubtfully walks up and glances at what he’s doing.

“And more.” She huffs, impressed. “Hypnosis will be grateful to have dart serum that works.”

“I know. His has been a little faulty lately.” Tommy fidgets with one of the vials. “Did you need something, by the way? You came in calling for Fun-Man.”

“Oh uh- nothing. It's nothing. I’ll just wait for him to return.” Puffy nervously stammers out. Something is definitely up…

“C’mon, Puffs! I can help ya out.” Tommy's voice is casual and cheery, but his eyes tell a story of observation and curiosity. “If it's a secret, trust that I’ll keep it. Especially if it's a hero related secret. SBI says enough shit on a day to day to get the entire public and HC turned against them in a heartbeat.”

“I’m just having him work on a little project for me. Nothing special. I was just coming to get an update on it.”

“Alright then.” Tommy narrows his eyes on her. Project. Secret. Syndicate.

Tommy doesn't know how he reaches that conclusion (that's been happening a lot more since he first went to limbo. His ?intuition? Has been strangely good) but the dots connect. Puffy is the only one that can't be seen taking down Dreamers in her free time, but knowing the hero she likely still wants to help. Tommy wouldn't put it past her to create a type of… secret identity.

“He’ll be back later. Come by in a few hours.” Tommy salutes to her, shoving his goggles back down on his eyes.

“Will do!” Puffy salutes back with a giggle, heading to the door. Before she leaves, she turns back to him. “By the way, Phil requests you come to his room whenever you're free.”

That's exactly what Tommy has been avoiding.

Sigh.

Chapter Text

Phil?

Wants to see Tommy?

Tommy has been avoiding seeing the man since they've arrived back at the tower. There's a multitude of reasons for this, many of which are just general anxiety.

He isn't family. He doesn't deserve to waste Phil’s time when it could've very well been his last moments alive.

What if Phil is angry at him? Tommy doesn't know why this would be the case, but for some reason it's a worry nonetheless.

And other reasons include, well to put it short, fear. Tommy, unbeknownst to everyone else, was the last person to see Phil before he was carted off to the hospital. He heard his heart flutter and he felt the absence of breathing from the man. He was there.

Will Phil be the same?

Tommy saw him the day he visited the hospital, but the pain clouds his distinct memories. He can't exactly recall any observations outside of Phil’s insistence that he was his son, which honestly hurt more than it comforted.

So, does Tommy want to see Phil?

Yes. He does.

Does he fear it? Absolutely fucking shit.

Tommy finishes up making the next batch of formula, stalling. He can't keep Phil waiting forever, he also can't just not show up. You don't do that to a man on his hospital bed.

After a near 45 minutes, Tommy finally (unfortunately) finished his batch of dart formula, resisting the urge to tweak it instead of visiting his Boss. But, duty calls! Tommy takes to his feet and disposes of his goggles and gloves, washing his hands, and heading up the stairs and away from the laboratory. He enjoyed his time down there, more than he assumed he would. It's a given that he’ll likely come back, maybe he’ll risk it and make himself a little something for his vigilante persona. Fundy wouldn't miss the supplies, right? He literally works for a multi-million dollar organization of heroes run by his almost brother-in-law.

Tommy reaches the top of the flight of stairs, bones aching and muscles tense. He’s really got to get into better shape, huh? The lobby is a medium level of busy, heroes walking between people to get to coffee stations and workers chatting together about their Christmas plans. A heartwarming sight, for most. Tommy just feels envy.

The medical wing is an easy walk away, and surprisingly an easy entrance as well. People stood guard, but no one battled him against entering. He almost wishes they had.

The halls are long and white, even if the medical wing is much more cozy and warm compared to usual hospitals, it still has the same vibe. It doesn't take Tommy long to find Phil’s room, it's at the end of the hall and has an array of gift baskets sat outside of it. The door is ajar. He can hear the consistent beeping of a steady heart monitor.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Phil is breathing and his heart is beating. Tommy knows that, he KNEW that, but still… The sound of it brings relief to Tommy's mind. He stands against the wall a few feet from the door, just out of sight, as he listens. He hears the turning off a page, a small hum. Phil is likely reading a book. Is he terribly bandaged still? What do his wings look like?

Wings.

“You can come inside y’know, Tommy.” Phil’s voice breaks into his mind, and for a moment it doesn't sound real. It's so calm and clean, much unlike the raspy and erratic voice Tommy had last heard in the hospital.

Sometimes Tommy forgets that avains have enhanced hearing despite being an avian himself. He internally cusses his own stupidity out.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy steps forward into the room ready to face his fears. The sight wasn't as unkind as he had worried.

Phil is sitting in a comfortable gown, still a hospital type of one but made of a better fabric and enclosed better. His back is supported by a pile of pillows, his wings wrapped neatly and spread at his sides. His hair has been washed thoroughly recently, still damp. His eyes have gained a bright life to them. Alive.

But there's also something else about him.

Tommy doesn't know how to describe it except as the remnants of limbo. They linger on Phil, he can feel it. It feels similar to how he feels when he exits one of his dreams (travels?) to limbo. But darker.

Is this what death looks like? Feels like?

He never knew death could linger on someone, but then again he didn’t know that death was really something actually tangible until recently. Maybe he has seen the lingerings of death before but never recognized it. Who knows? He just learned about this whole “Souled” thing.

But whatever it is that surrounds Phil, it spooks Tommy. The only reason he hasn't fully panicked is because of an underlying aura. It feels a lot like Kristen. He has to assume that she helped bring him back, no matter how against the rules that seems to be based on what he’s seen thus far. And didn’t she say that HE brought Phil back?

This hurts his brain.

“Hey there, bud.” Phil puts his book down and smiles at the boy. “It has been a hot second, hasn't it? How are you holding up?”

Tommy takes a little while to bring himself to answer, words feel like a struggle. “I’ve uh- I’ve been good for the most part, just busying myself with work and all that fun stuff.”

“So fun.” Phil chuckles sarcastically, folding his hands on his lap. “You’ve been making sure to take care of yourself?”

“Don’t worry, Blood God has made sure of that.” Tommy laughs back, but it’s short and dry. Is it bad that his injuries REALLY are starting to hurt again now that he isn’t busying himself with something? He regrets not stealing painkillers from the hospital in the other city.

“Hypocrite.” Phil shakes his head. “I need to remind both of my other boys to go eat or rest. I’M the injured one and yet I need to be taking care of them. Fatherhood, am I right?”

“Never been a father so I can’t say, but I’ll take your word for it.”

The light hearted banter feels like it should be normal, but it doesn’t ease Tommy’s soul(s) not one bit.

“Trust me, kid, it's a beautiful thing, being a father. People always talk about maternal instinct, but paternal instinct? Phew.” Phil smiles softly. “The need to protect, nurture, and hold. Maybe it's just avian, but I like to think it's my paternity. Even applies to kids that aren't even my own.”

“That’s…nice, Phil.” Tommy rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Deep inside, he felt angry. He felt angry that Clay didn’t treat him the way Phil treated his kids. He felt angry at Clay, which is something he’s never truly felt before. However, he was just as angry at himself. For never noticing just how bad his own life was, for being mad, and for yearning. He yearns for the relationship Phil has with his sons. Always caring for them and loving them. Tommy yearns for that care from his own father, instead of his boss giving it to him. As much as he likes Phil’s kindness, it'll never replace Clay.

“My bad. I was rambling there.” Phil shakes his head with a slight sigh. “Now, you're probably wondering as to why I called you here.”

“Oh yeah- right.”

“First, do you have any Christmas plans?” Phil asks, and the question kinda stings. Tommy DOESN’T have Christmas plans- he’s never really had Christmas plans. If Clay ever did anything for Christmas, it was always spontaneous. Even that was rare. Tommy has spent every Christmas he can remember sitting in his bedroom, sleeping in or out on a patrol of the city. Saving people on Christmas always felt better than any other day. Most heroes were home, and the city was buzzing with life. He’s saved people from death and trouble on a special holiday, and he more often than not lets a criminal go on Christmas. Of course he beats their asses first, then gives them an inspiring message (threat) and sends them off. Christmas is about mercy.

“Uh-” Tommy hesitates. Should he plan for a patrol this Christmas? He considers it, but given that he’s terribly injured still, it isn't the best idea. “No, not really. I usually spend it with my father-” A lie. “- But he’s away on a uh- work trip this year.”

“Ah. That sucks.” Is it just Tommy, or did Phil’s face flash with malice when he brought up his father? “Any other family you usually see? Or friends?”

“No. It's just me and my dad!” Tommy cheers, trying his hardest to sound happy about that. It's not an easy feat. “I was just planning on catching up on some work these holidays, though. I don't care much about the whole Christmas or New Year thing anyway-”

“Would you…” Phil hesitates, clearing his throat before speaking once more. “Would you like to join us for Christmas dinner this year, Tommy?”

What. The. Fuck.

Tommy stands, forcing his mouth to remain shut and not hang agape. Spend Christmas? With the Craft’s? With their family?

Why does he even want Tommy there? Is it a pity thing? Is it that whole ‘reminding them of their late Tommy’ thing? Is it simply because they WANT him there?

The latter is the least believable.

“Uhm-” Tommy stammers.

“You don't have to if you don't want to!” Phil assures him. “I just wanted to put the offer out. It'd mean a lot to us if you'd come. You're a close friend of ours now, and the boys just adore you.”

Why does Tommy's heart hurt? It's like a hand is squeezing around it, tugging at it. It hurts.

He doesn't like it.

“And if you don't have any plans, I’d hate for you to spend Christmas alone.” Phil finishes his sentiments.

What does Tommy do? Does he agree? Does he turn down the offer?

Well, if it means that much to Phil, then how could Tommy not?

That's the excuse he’ll use.

“Uh- Sure. I’ll stop by.” Tommy mumbles. At the same time, a loud sigh of relief sounds from Phil’s mouth. “Anything in particular I should bring?”

“Oh, no, kiddo. Just yourself.”

Phil’s face is beaming with a bright smile.

Scary.

“Is that all you needed to see me for then? I have some work I need to attend to-”

“Oh. Yeah. Go ahead.” Phil nods sadly. “Don’t overexert yourself or I’ll put you on PTO!”

Tommy nods, dashing from the room the minute it becomes appropriate. His mind races, but he can't latch onto a singular thought or idea. Just fuck!

-

“So.”

“So?” Wilbur echoes. The two brothers are standing across from each other at the kitchen counter.

“Sally.” Technoblade hums, mindlessly spreading the butter onto the slice of bread as he makes himself a grilled cheese sandwich.

“What about her?” Wilbur huffs defensively, jumping to defend his fiance's honor before her honor was even questioned.

“You’re finally bringing her around.” Technoblade comments mildly. “Either, something has changed, or you're finally growing balls.”

“I’ve had balls.”

“Obviously. You got her pregnant.” Technoblade scoffs, tossing two slices of orange cheese between the buttered bread. “So, what is it? Holiday spirit got you feeling brave? Something going on in that little brain of yours?”

Wilbur grimaces at Technoblade’s joke, but pushes aside his fluster to consider the question. What HAS been going on? Exactly.

He can't determine whether it has something to do with his sobriety, or if it's to do with Tommy. His little brother.

Why DID he decide to suddenly bring Sally around?

Why isn't he as upset about not having Tommy around?

Why is he… why is he moving on?

Just as there becomes the possibility that they can get Tommy back, he moves on. He has accepted the fact that Tommy is no more. The boy died the day he disappeared, and no matter if they find him or not, he’ll remain dead.

Wilbur wishes he didn't come to this conclusion, or maybe he wishes he came to it sooner.

He’s spent his life in waiting, waiting for his baby brother to return home. But he won't. His little brother, the brother he knew, will never return. It'll only hurt more to hold onto him. It'll hurt Sally.

Sally and the baby are his priority now.

“Just… I've finally seen it clearly.” Wilbur sighs. Technoblade gives him an odd look, scrutinizing him.

“What does-” Technoblade pauses, trailing off. His red eyes study Wilbur, knowing. “Oh.”

“How do you always do that? You always just… know.”

“I’m a big brother.” Technoblade smiles softly, teeth hanging out of his mouth. “Go on. Explain it all.”

Wilbur goes to speak, but closes his mouth (BETTER NOT LET FLIES GET IN IT). He glances to the side, pushing off the countertop.

“You’re burning your grilled cheese.”

“OH FUCK-”

-

There’s been a strange look in Clay’s eyes lately. He can’t exactly explain it, other than that it utterly scares him.

Everyone has begun to finally heal from that forsaken battle. George is okay, Clay is okay, he’s doing fine. The tension around the base has been thick. All of Clay’s little followers have seen it, they’ve withdrawn from making reckless moves.

Nick doesn’t know what scares him more.

The fact that they LOST to Theseus,

Or,

The fact that Clay isn’t angry about that.

Yes, he was angry about losing the weapons they were buying off of Schlatt co. He was mad about Theseus intervening- that vigilante pisses Dream off almost more than Father Crow. But, much to Sapnap’s astonishment, he isn’t upset.

He’s seen him walking about lately. There’s a gleam in his eyes. There’s a sparkle of achievement.

He’s planning something.

And that scares Nick. Truly.

He’s known Clay most his life. He knew Clay back when his sister was killed in that attack. He knew Clay the day he ran from his marriage. He knew Clay when his mind began to snap and become something horrific. And he supported him through it. He’s gone further than he should’ve gone.

And he doesn’t know if he should continue.

It was one thing to commit petty crimes and start a hero / government uprising. It was another to commit terroism.

It was something else entirely to kidnap a hero’s son, and torture him for years. Psychologically. Emotionally. Physically.

And the boy is none the wiser.

Maybe that’s why he left that mask there. Maybe that’s why he has never laid a hand on the kid, even with Clay and George’s support. He doesn’t want harm to come in the kid’s way, no matter how much he loves Clay.

Maybe that’s why he’s here today, in Clay’s house, alone. Without Clay’s knowledge.

He pushes the key into the keyhole, the key he knew was under that stupid dead potted plant on the porch step. The door opens easily, and he shuts it behind him. He immediately shivers at the cold darkness of the house, but not from the physical freeze but from the sheer turmoil that radiates from the house.

Clay turns off the heating and electricity sometimes. It’s a power play for him. In his words, it keeps the kid guilty enough to give him the money. Oh yeah, the money? It’s mostly a power play as well. They’ve got millions under their belt. The money from the kid is just for Clay’s own mind, though he sometimes uses it whenever they get low in the organization.

Nick moves quickly, checking under the couch.

“Still there.” He sighs, standing up and pulling away. The kid will find it. Eventually. “I hope.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

Nick moves quickly, climbing the stairs two at a time. He passes a brown banister, down cold wooden floors blood stained. Tommy's room is easy to spot, the bent door handle and the odd dent from hurried knocking and pounding. He slips inside.

He hasn't really ever been in here before. He never had a reason to be in the kid’s room, other than of course grabbing him for Clay during dinners.

It certainly had its… character.

The walls are painted grey, Nick remembers helping paint these walls way back before the kid was even in the picture. The room feels like it belongs to a hoarder. Piles of clothes, books, trinkets, bags, boxes, et cetera. The walls have been covered at every mark and corner in pages of notebook, and random things.

Nick reaches into his pocket, pulling what he had brought with him.

A note.

It took him a long time to sit down and write this. It took days of excruciating guilt and internal conflict to write it. But eventually, he did. He kept it short and sweet, well not sweet, but oh well. There’s no surety that it’ll even do anything, it might not even be found.

But…

Nick sighs deeply, glancing around the room. Where to put it?

The desk? No. There’s about a million things on that desk, and putting it somewhere too obvious might be dangerous in Clay’s home. The bed? No. Weird. The dresser? No. Again, too obvious. The closet? Maybe…

He walks into the kid’s closet, not all that surprised by the sheer messiness of it. Clothes on the floor, clothes squeezed two at a time on a hanger, clothes shoves BETWEEN hangers, clothes in bundles, clothes folded in stacks.

“Just where does he get it from? Clay’s the most organized man I kn- oh yeah…” Sapnap sighs solemnly. At times, he kinda forgets that the kid isn’t Clay’s kid. It doesn’t take a genius to notice how similar Clay and Tommy look at times. As his Uncle, he’s got some genetic connection with the kid, but the two are just so… different. Are they? He can’t tell.

Now where to put it in here?

He can't just throw it into a corner, but he always can't put it somewhere too obvious.

A tote in the back of the closet, labeled something he can't exactly read due to messy handwriting. Ah yes. That'll work, no?

Nick squats, phone held in one hand, note in the other. He goes to slip the paper into the small crook of the crate, but the lid is ajar, and by touching it he makes it fall off.

“fuck.”

He cusses, reaching to grab it. However, something inside the tote catches his eyes. Red.

He angles the phone flashlight to directly shine on the contents.

“Oh fuck. Major fuck.”

Chapter Text

I'll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree
Christmas Eve'll find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
I'll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

Bing Cosby

…

December 24th

This is Christmas.

Tommy doesn’t have many happy Christmas memories. In fact, he barely has any memory of Christmas at all. He has a few bad memories, as he does with likely any day out of the 365, he has a year. But on occasion, Christmas has been worse than other days.

There’s been years in which Clay had left him to rot in his room for the weeks surrounding Christmas, starving and unwashed.

There’s been years in which Clay had led him into a false sense of security, played happy music and cooked a half-decent meal, just to rip him by the ear to the floor, and beat him senseless.
But this Christmas?

This Christmas is different.

This Christmas he won’t be patrolling the city, saving the unfortunate few caught in the midst of the chaos makers or desperate criminals. He isn’t laid bleeding. He isn’t sitting crying, stomach twisting in pain.

This year?

This year he stands in the elevator wearing the one Christmas sweater he owns (green and red stripes, plush and comfortable. An old lady gave Theseus it from her shopping bag last year after he saved her from being run over by a semi-truck) and holding three gift bags. He felt pressure to get his bosses something given they invited them to their home for Christmas dinner.

To be honest, he drained his bank accounts to purchase these things.

The elevator plays a cheery little Christmas tune, it’s better than regular elevator churning silence. However, it only adds to his anxiety. How does one act at a FAMILY dinner with people that aren’t your family? Better yet: How does one act at a dinner???

The restaurant outing with them was one thing. Semi-public environment, more of a work-like discussion. No pressure (that’s a lie. Only SOME pressure). But this? This is something detached from work. This is something more… emotional. Friendly. Familial. Personal. Kind.

Snapping him from his thoughts, the elevator comes to a stop near one of the top floors. A small bell dings and he stands inside, the doors not yet open. He hears the sounds of beeping as a code is punched in on the other end, and the doors slide open.

(Deep breaths Tommy. DEEP FUCKING BREATHS!!!!)

“Tommy! So glad you could make it! Come in, Come in.” Phil greets. Tommy, as Tommy, hasn’t been in the SBI suite yet. So, when he steps out from the elevator, his eyes scan the sleek and modern design of the living space. Phil wears deep blue jeans, loose men's fit, sneakers, and a fun Christmas sweater with a dad pun on it stating ‘What happens when you give a Christmas tree a present? It lights up!’ with a necklace of twinkling Christmas lights. He holds himself on a crutch, wings still in bandages behind him and a few bandages peeking out under his clothes.

“Thank you for having me, Phil.” Tommy nods, stepping into the house. He read an article about guest etiquette on the train ride over; it said to use that phrase. Does he take off his shoes? Phil is wearing shoes, but Phil lives here. Should he take HIS off? Or would it be weird? He wore his best socks, but they are still off colored…

“Of course, Tommy!” Phil smiles brightly. Technoblade comes running into the entrance hall. He wears jeans and a red long sleeve, a Santa hat on his head of pink hair. It’s surprisingly festive for the hard guy, but with a brother like Wilbur and a dad like Phil, he isn’t all that shocked that he got roped into the festivities.

“Dad! You’re supposed to be sitting down, doctor’s orders!”

“Oh, cool it, Techno. I’m just getting the door.” Phil rolls his eyes, still smiling. “Come on in, bud. Techno’s finishing up dinner. Wilbur’s setting the table.”

Technoblade grabs Phil under the arms, forcing him to put his weight on him as he guides his father into the kitchen. The aroma is strong, a mixture of seasonings and warmth. Tommy almost shudders, his wings twitching in an odd sense of… want.

Phil is helped into a bar stool, though Tommy can tell that he doesn’t fully need it. Once he’s settled, Technoblade rushes back over to the stove, during a small pot. Tommy remains standing on the edge of the kitchen, holding the presents carefully in his hands.

“Uhm… Where can I put these?”

“Hm? Oh, Tommy kiddo, you didn’t need to get us anything!”

“Well, I did, so where should I put it?”

Phil sighs, leaning back in his seat, gesturing to the large, well decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the living space. “There.”

Tommy nods awkwardly, leaving the kitchen and making his way to the tree. Quite a few presents are underneath. Tommy picks a small corner near the wall to place his three gifts, each labeled with one of his three bosses' names. His eyes move to scan over the other gifts laid about, each one tagged from different people for one of the three people in the apartment. A couple are labeled for someone named ‘Sally’, and oddly enough, himself as well. Tommy.

He stands, simply looking at the tree itself. A part of him feels an ounce of envy for the life that bubbles inside this home. The warmth, the simple joy. Just the tree with gifts makes his chest tighten. Not even the fact that they get gifts, but the… Well, to put it short, the joy.

He’s always hated the word “merry”. It felt more like a tv-show term than something real. He knows now that a sense of merry does exist, and it exists inside the Craft home. Despite the pains they’ve faced, the people they’ve lost, they’re still happy. Still together.

“Oh, hey Tommy!” Wilbur’s voice cuts through his storm like a carefully sharpened dagger, that silky voice comforting. The siren-effect may never be able to affect Tommy directly, but he has to admit, Wilbur’s voice has that natural smooth charisma to it. “Welcome.”

Wilbur wears a Christmas themed cardigan and black pants, his curly hair carefully done, glasses (for the first time) actually cleaned.

“Hey.” Tommy greets, clearing his throat as he steps away from the tree. His ribs ache and wings, even if they are injured and bound, twitch to be released. His instincts, just by being in this home, are going crazy. He’ll start fucking chirping if he’s not careful.

“How come you’re feeling all avian-ee in here, Tommy? C’mon.” Kristen’s voice hums in his ear. Tommy holds back a wince, replying in his head.

“I know this is your family, Kristen, but please, don’t whisper in my ear mid-conversation.”

Just as Tommy internally replies to Kristen, his mouth moves to speak to Wilbur.

“Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Merry Christmas to you as well.” Wilbur smiles softly, looking strangely nervous. “How’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you since the trip.”

“Yeah, I haven’t really had the time. I’m guessing you haven’t either.” Tommy forces a soft conversational chuckle. Is that the right move? The article said that laughing makes conversation more light-hearted, but over-laughing makes you seem crazy. Was that too much of a laugh, or too little? Or is this not the time to make conversation light-hearted?

Fuck. Why is socializing so hard? Formally.

“You’ve got that right.” Wilbur nods along.

“Tommy! Just rechecking, do you have any food allergies?” Phil shouts from the kitchen, sitting half-backwards in his chair.

“Uh… Just Chocolate, and avocado.” Tommy replies. He can still recall the first few times he had avain toxic foods. He was throwing up with a high fever for hours with those two. He made sure to deeply research avian toxins after that, but he has special sensitivity to those two.

“Oh?” Phil tilts his head knowingly, wings twitching in his bandages. He might not know Tommy is an avian, but… Tommy has to be more careful about this shit. Fuck. He should’ve just not mentioned it. What are the chances those foods would’ve been served? Low. He could’ve just avoided it if so. “Same, kid. Except chocolate just gives me a few cramps, and I’m also like dying if I eat Cassava.”

“Haven’t tried it.” Tommy can’t exactly say he can’t have Cassava either without making it a little too obvious that he’s avian. Technoblade already knows (also, note, Technoblade has been eyeing him oddly since he said that about his allergies.)

“Why weren’t those allergies on your file?”

“I never actually went to the doctor. But whenever I eat chocolate or avocado, I start puking my guts out.” Tommy shrugs.

“I’ll be sure to add them for you.”

“Uh… thanks.” Tommy nods awkwardly. He turns back to Wilbur, looking him up and down. There’s a nervous look on his face. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine, Toms.” Wilbur smiles softly. “Just a little jittery. My uh… I invited my girlfriend to dinner tonight. She’s meeting the family for the first time and I’m a bit nervous about it.”

GIRLFRIEND???

Well… Tommy never expected that, to be fair. He has to admit, he nearly choked on air at this statement.

“Well… That’s certainly a shocker.” Tommy murmurs softly, voice coming apprehensive as if it were scared of its own sound. “Didn’t know you had a girl, mate.”

“Oh yeah. I completely forgot to tell you.” Wilbur laughs for a moment, a rich and rumbly sound that rattles down in the bottom of his chest. It reminds Tommy of happy childhood memories that he can’t exactly reach, or a sense of longing that he can’t distinguish. “Yeah- I’ve got a girlfriend. Sally.”

“Sally.” Tommy echoes the name, testing it on his tongue. It explains the presents under the tree signatured to this mysterious ‘Sally’ person. “I’m happy to meet her.”

Happy can be synonym for scared senseless.

It was already terrifying enough to be invited to a family dinner, on Christmas, nonetheless. But a dinner in which the family meets a new addition? That’s even scarier. It means to be invited to meet someone new in the family with the family, it means permanence. Why introduce someone new to someone that isn’t there to stay? To someone non-important?

Tommy doesn’t know just why he was invited today. Was it to replace their old Tommy? Was it out of pity? Was it, the least likely option, just because they want him there?

“I’m happy to introduce her to you.”

Something that smells like sweetness and a warm blanket wrapped around you in the cold hits Tommy’s hyper-sensitive nostrils. He sniffs the air, brows tightening together like polar forces. His mouth waters.

“Smell something good?” Wilbur tilts his head, a motion that goes over Tommy’s head, but the familiarity is there. Head tilts. The brown-haired boy sniffs the air as well, clicking his tongue. “Techno! Whatchu making over there?”

Wilbur begins to turn and head towards the kitchen. Tommy, excitedly, tries to casually follow behind. The two stop near the island. Technoblade stirs a red pot, every movement calculated as if he’s stirring explosive chemicals and the most suddenest of movements will set it off. The scent is stronger, sending Tommy’s senses tingling.

“Cranberry sauce. Mom’s special recipe, with the orange peels?”

“Ah. I remember that sauce.” Phil shudders like a man who tasted something from his early childhood for the first time in decades. “She made it every Thanksgiving and Christmas. We always eat it hot, instead of cold like cranberry sauce is usually eaten.”

“I dug up her recipe from the boxes from the old house.” Technoblade smiles, bigger than Tommy has ever seen Technoblade smile, which isn’t all that big, but it slides like butter across his face. He stirs it one last time, grabbing a spoon and scooping a small spoonful up. He holds the spoon out to Phil. “You knew her best.”

Phil’s shoulders slump, tension unravelling from his muscles. He grabs the spoon from his son bringing it to his lips. Tommy watches, feeling like he’s intruding on a moment he shouldn’t be intruding on. He feels like an outsider at the moment.

“Wow.” Phil sniffles, his eyes pooling in a sort of teary gloss. The tears don’t spill, but they bubble within his eyes. “That… that’s amazing, Techno. You’ve always had her skills.” His eyes turn to Wilbur, his hand coming up to dry the corners of his eyes. “And you’ve always looked the most like her.”

“Thanks.” Technoblade nods. He turns back to the cranberry sauce, taking it off the heat. He clears his throat. “You uh- wanna try some, Tommy? You can judge my actual skills given you’ve never had it before.”

“Uh… Sure.” Tommy nods, tearing his eyes away from Phil and Wilbur. The emotions are thick in the room. He can feel Kristen behind him; he can hear her mind racing with guilt and sorrow and longing. In this moment, he’s never felt sorrier for Kristen’s position. She has to be there and watch as her family mourns her, cries over her, and she’s never able to reach for them, comfort them, or apologize. Not until their lives have ended and she’s been long gone.

“Here.” Technoblade grabs a new spoon, the silverware drawer clinking as he picks out the spoon. A spoonful of cranberry sauce is soon thrusted into Tommy’s face. The smell is oddly… nostalgic. Like something he’s eaten before, but he’s never had cranberry sauce in his entire life from what he knows of the second half of his life.

“Oh uh… Thanks.” Tommy takes the spoon. He pours the contents down his throat onto his tongue. It tastes twangy, but sweet. A hue of orange behind the strength of the cranberry tingling his taste buds, sweet yet somewhat bitter at the same time. It feels like the holidays, tastes like the very essence of the holidays. He doesn’t know how that is possible, but somehow it is. But, beneath all of the surface level flavors, there’s something deeply rooted within it.

“How is it?”

“Spectacular.”

A memory slips to the forefront of Tommy’s mind, pushing past an internal wall that feels like it’s slowly turning to slosh. Is it a wall, or a dam?

-

“Mama! Mama! Can I help? Can I help?” He calls, grabby hands tugging at his mother’s skirt. The kitchen is warm and smells like bread, seasonings, and the bright smile of a kid that just played with their older brother for the first time in weeks.

“Sure, you can, Dear.” His mother smiles wide, but he cannot recall exactly what that smile should look like on what exact face, but he knows it makes him feel safe.

“Yay! What’s my job, Mama, what’s my job?” His littles legs bounce up and down, excitement shaking in his bones.

“Hm…” His mother rubs his chin thoughtfully, the type of action a mother only does around a young kid or pet. Animated, emotions presented and easy to read for someone so young. “How about you be the official taste tester?”

“Yes!” Tommy giggles, feelings happier than he’s ever felt before. A spoon emerges in front of his face, and a familiar cranberry sauce reaches his lips.

-

“Good.” Technoblade nods, taking the spoon back and throwing it into the cluttered sink. “Hand me that dish?”

Tommy’s mind feels foggy with distant memories, flashing images and scents and tastes and feelings into his body. He processes Technoblade’s request too late to be normal, earning a curious glance. He grabs the blue porcelain serving dish, passing it over to Techblade across the counter. The piglin hybrid keeps his gaze steady on Tommy for a moment, before hesitantly taking the dish and beginning to load up the warm cranberry sauce into the dish.

The kitchen is an organized mess of dishes and foods, ingredients laid lazily about. Stuffings, ham, dinner rolls, et cetera.

Tommy can hear the elevator rising closer to their floor. His head, instinctually, turns and looks at the door. It beeps a moment later.

“Oh shit!” Wilbur nearly jumps from his skin, smoothing his hands over her sweater, adjusting his gold rim glasses.

“That must be her.” Phil sings, a fatherly smile crossing his face.

“Do I look alright?” Wilbur mumbles, “Never mind, it doesn’t matter what I look like. You guys better be on your best behavior tonight!”

“You know us, Wil.” Technoblade retorts, piling green beans onto a dark purple flat dish. “We’re never on our best behavior.”

Phil snorts, patting Wilbur’s back.

“Don’t keep her waiting now, son.”

Wilbur runs off to the door, punching in the code. Tommy keeps his eyes off of it, forcibly blocking his ears from accidentally eavesdropping.

“Do you need any help taking all of this to the dining room?” He asks, already moving forward to grab a dish.

“No- No!” Phil sternly shakes his head. “You’re our guest, put that down.”

Tommy glares at him, not true anger or malice lingering in the playful glare. If he doesn’t do anything with himself right now, he might just crawl out of his own skin or rip his bindings off and flee the nest.

“You can’t stop me.” Tommy sticks his tongue out, following Technoblade to the small dining room.

The table is long, about 6 seats. One on each end, two on the other sides. Laying across the table is a silky red table lining, candles amongst the small decorations. Technoblade places the Ham in the center, Tommy follows suit and sets down the stuffing near the ham, making sure it's angled at what seems like a proper angle.

The article said offering help with meals or setting the table is good guest etiquette.

“So…” Technoblade begins, whispering low. Tommy knows that volume. Just low enough for Tommy to be able to hear, low enough that Phil’s own avian ears won’t pick it up. It must be a thing you know how to do after being raised by an avian. “Are you stretching your wings enough?”

Tommy sighs, mumbling low into the same volume. “I regret letting you know about that.”

“I won’t tell anyone about it, but don’t doubt that I’ll be fretting over you.” Technoblade adjusts the stuffing, shifting it half an inch from how Tommy has placed it. “Answer my question.”

“Yeah. I stretch them.” Tommy puffs. He probably doesn’t as much as he should, but the whole vigilante gig counts for something huh?

“Good.” Technoblade nods, letting his hand fall off the edge of the stuffing dish. “Let me know if you ever need anything, anything at all.”

“You’re just saying that.” Tommy mumbles under his breath. Before Technoblade can get out another word, Tommy heads back out to the kitchen and grabs another dish. He ignores the three people standing in the living room, ignoring Sally and Wilbur and Phil, for the moment at least.

Technoblade is quick to shadow him, grabbing the cranberry sauce. He continues to whisper.

“I mean it, Tommy. From what I know about avians-”

“I don’t need your prying, Tech.” Tommy interrupts, his voice hurried like he won’t get it out in time. His chest is tight with multiple things. Frustration. Sadness. A deep, avian part of him wants help, wants to be pruned and given the affection he’s always craved from father figures. But his human part of himself, wants nothing more than to change the topic. Avoid this discussion, avoid the feelings that come along with it.

“I’m not prying, I’m just concerned.” Technoblade huffs, setting the green beans on the left of the ham. “Are you taking care of them well? I know reds are more prone to injury and illness- are you taking care of yourself?”

“Technoblade.” Tommy whisper-yells, spinning on his feet. His eyes lock onto Technoblade, frustrated and wild. There’s a thunderous feeling in his chest, like a storm approaching its prime. Lightning will strike eventually. “Stop.”

“Tom-”

“Techno! Tommy!” Phil shouts from the living room, his voice a savior.

“This discussion isn’t over, Tommy.” Technoblade scowls, turning on his heels and heading towards the living space. Tommy shakes his head, walking behind him nervously.

Phil leans on his crutch near the tree. Wilbur stands next to a woman with bright reddish orange hair, green eyes, and a clear distinction that she’s a marine hybrid by the looks of her. His hand is wrapped around her waist, holding the edge of what very much might be a pregnant belly. She wears a cherry red sweater and a long flowy black skirt, fake antlers on her head. Sally. This is Sally.

“Sally, this is my older brother, Technoblade, and this is the company’s cherished assistant, Tommy.” Wilbur gestures to each person respectively, his anxious demeanor seems to have slipped away for the most part. Sally smiles brightly at the two.

“Ah! I’ve heard so much about you two. It’s a pleasure to meet you guys.” Her smile reminds Tommy of the warmth of sunshine on a summer morning, or like a field of lilies. Or like a movie scene where a butterfly lands on the tip of the serene character’s nose. “Tommy, I hope this guy isn’t giving you too much trouble at work.”

“Your hope is pointless. He’s utterly useless.” Tommy chuckles faintly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Can’t even get a form back to me in time.”

“Not all that surprised. I ask him to wash the dishes, and it takes him like an hour just to begin, and by the time he does begin them he’s so loud that I have to pause my television!” Sally laughs loudly, the sound of a song.

“Hey!” Wilbur feigns offense. “C’mon, man. Don’t need you two teaming up against me now.”

“I like the kid, Wil.” Sally giggles. “I’m keeping him.”

“Not a kid.” Tommy corrects. Phil pats him on the back.

“100% a kid.”

The family all take their seats at the dinner table, together and united yet so broken. A struggling alcoholic, a suffering schizophrenic, an abused boy with a fake id, a girlfriend who sees her boyfriend’s pains, and a never-ending grieving father. The father sits at the farthest end, by the back of the room. To his left is his sober son, the girlfriend on the son’s side. To his right is his mentally unstable son, his assistant next to his son. The food is beautiful and well cooked, better put together than the broken family. A family that’s missing pieces.

“Wow! This meal looks amazing!” Sally cheers.

“Thank you.” Technoblade murmurs, his voice just loud enough to be heard. It’s not a timid deer, more of a solid and neutral voice. He doesn’t show a lot through it; he doesn’t give away his emotions. Sometimes, after being so casual and normal with The Blade, Tommy forgets that Technoblade is such a… intimidating and distant persona. It’s been a while since Tommy has seen the man being off-putting.

“Wil always said you were a good cook. I can’t wait to try it!”

“Well, everyone, let’s dig in!” Phil claps his hands, unfolding his napkin.

The meal is quick to begin, people dishing out their food and sharing small words. Plates get filled, tastebuds watering. The atmosphere is warm, snow falling outside the window yet on the other side of a single pane of glass there’s warmth and comfort. Tommy has never had a dinner like this before in his life. He’s never sat at a table with people who all love each other. He’s never been in a position like this before. Eating a home cooked meal, in a warm home, with a family. He doesn’t have to fear shouting, or an ulterior motive behind the meal. He doesn’t have to worry about what happens after the meal, or whether or not the warmth will last.

He doesn’t have to.

But he does. He knows these people, but they’ll always scare him. The fears that Clay has imprinted deeply into his person.

As much as he loves his father, he can’t… he can’t pretend that he’s a good person.

Fuck.

That hurts Tommy to admit.

“Tommy?” Phil’s voice slices through his thoughts, again.

“Hm?” Tommy hums, his fork pushing the green beans around his plate.

“Did you hear the question Wil asked?”

“Oh, he asked a question?” Tommy feels himself flush with embarrassment. He probably looks like a full-on blunder-head right now. He takes a breath, setting down the fork. “No, Sorry. What did you ask, Wilbur?”

“I asked the table what their favorite holiday memories were. We were going to start with you.” Wilbur repeats. Tommy can feel the worried looks and eyes focused on him. Eyes. Boy, does he dislike eyes at times. They’re the most vulnerable part of a soul.

Soul? Why’d he connect it to his fucking soul?

“Oh.” Tommy clears his throat. “Uhm… I don’t really know. We don’t really celebrate the holidays, my father and I.”

That’s almost fully true.

“Oh?” Phil tilts his head. Tommy doesn’t miss the flash of irritation flashing behind the man’s eyes.

“Yeah. We’ve never really made a big deal about the holidays. Maybe because we’ve never really had the money for lavish gifts or meals, especially around the winter where energy bills are up.” Tommy shrugs. These are the excuses he’s told himself his whole life. Money issues. It still, in his head, might be true. But he also knows that Clay just doesn’t… doesn’t have the heart to treat Tommy the way Phil treats his kids. He wouldn’t ever have a tree, or gifts, or… well anything like this.

There’s an awkward silence at the table for a moment. Tommy broke a rule of the article: it said never to bring up anything dark or overshare. FUCK!

“Sorry, kiddo.” Phil sighs. “This might be an inappropriate question as your boss, but has everything gotten better with that?”

“Uh.” How does he explain that he has forked over 95% of his paychecks and he still will have to return to home without light or heat tonight? “Better.”

Phil nods, but Tommy can tell that he doesn’t quite believe him. Finance might not be the issue anymore, but there’s admittingly an issue with his home. Somehow.

“Sorry. What about you guys then?” Tommy deflects the originally asked question away from himself. He wants to release the tension lacing the room. “Sally?”

“Me?” Sally perks up, chewing a bit of the mashed potatoes. She quickly swallows, setting her fork down. “Uhm… Probably my 8th Christmas. My father and mother took me to the ocean for the first time. We got to swim freely for Christmas in the hot sun, free to be our instincts. It was a perfect holiday.”

“I’ve never seen the ocean.” Tommy smiles. He can almost feel Sally’s nostalgia. The emotions radiate off of her, slipping into the air. Tommy catches each one like a child with a butterfly net, latching onto them and feeling them. Joy. Memories. A small sense of sadness. Is this a new power of his? “That sounds lovely.”

“It was.”

“Mom took us to beaches and lakes all the time.” Wilbur smiles softly. “For Christmas one year she took us to the lake, our favorite lake-”

Phil’s mind seems to race at the mention of the lake. Tommy can feel his tension, his wondering.

“-Even if it was frozen over and the paths covered in snow, she still dragged all of us out of our Christmas pajamas and away from the tree to go walk around the lake. She sang carols-” Wilbur hums under his breath. “I'll be home for Christmas. You can plan on me. Please have snow and mistletoe-”

His voice is like a river of sugar, flowing freely. The voice of an angel, the voice of someone who’s safe. The melody dances, the tunes sing. His lyrics are soft, smooth against his tongue. Tommy can almost hear the instrumentals behind the lyrics, Wilbur’s throat rumbling with the song.

“And presents on the tree-” Kristen’s voice continues the song behind him, singing in time with Wilbur. Her voice has a similar rhythm to Wilbur’s. He gets his voice from her. It doesn’t matter if Wilbur’s a siren; he gets his vocals from Kristen. Clearly. “Christmas Eve will find me. Where the love light gleams-”

“I'll be home for Christmas. If only in my dreams.” Tommy finishes the song, in time with both the sweet and dulcet voice behind him and the rumbly, fluid voice across from him at the table. He’s never sung before, but he felt the need to sing now. His own voice, albeit nowhere near Wilbur or Kristen’s level, is surprisingly melodic and soulful. It blends well with Kristen’s, and Wilbur’s. They all tone out well together, creating a sound that shatters something in Tommy’s chest. He’s the only one that can hear her voice. He wishes they all could hear her sing once more.

Silence settles over the table.

“She loved that song.” Phil whispers slowly, taking a deep and rejuvenating breath. “Every Christmas.”

“I remember our first Christmas with Tommy. Mom wouldn’t stop dressing him in these cute Christmas costumes, taking a million photos of him. Dad dressed him up in this little mistletoe costume and held the boy above his head, and Mom couldn’t stop laughing as she went up to kiss him. I thought it was absolutely disgusting, but… I miss those times.” Technoblade beside him speaks up.

“Oh man, I remember that. They only stopped kissing when Tommy shat his diaper above them and the smell became rancid.” Wilbur laughs.

“I didn’t even know they were watching us from the banister until they started yelling ew’s.” Kristen’s voice whispers behind him. He feels her hand rest on his shoulder, it’s cold yet it warms his insides. There has always been something disturbingly familiar about Kristen, even at their first meeting in his terrifying dreams. Back when his dreams were just- well- nightmares and not… world jumping?

“I bet they didn’t know you guys were there.”

“We definitely didn’t.” Phil chuckles faintly. “They started shouting ‘EW’ and we pulled away laughing.”

Tommy spots Kristen out of the corner of his eyes. The purple cloaked woman glided across the room. She stops right behind Phil, fingers tracing his shoulder. Tommy knows he shouldn’t be watching her, staring at what looks to the rest as empty air. Phil shivers slightly when her fingers slip around his shoulders. To anyone else, he looks cold. To Tommy, he’s being touched by death herself.

The lingering of limbo becomes louder, easier to see. Kristen’s touch leaves small particles behind. He can’t really see them, but he knows they’re there.

“You guys seemed like a happy family- SEEM like a happy family.” Sally comments, her presence here like the presence of a painting that gets hung next to a dusty, vintage painting. Newness without replacing the old. Tommy feels like a painting hung next to that dusty, vintage painting that is an attempt at a replica, but his oil paints were too dull in spots and the colors don’t work the same without the age.

“We try.”

Dinner continues on, everyone eating until full. Tommy’s stomach feels warm and fuzzy, full. Hydrated as well. Everyone finishes their plates, chatting for a while. Eventually all help bring the dishes back to the kitchen and package up the leftovers. Wilbur washes the dishes (loudly. Sally was right). Phil scoops leftovers into Tupperware. Technoblade wipes the counters and puts away the tools used to make the meal. Tommy takes the leftovers from Phil and puts them in the fridge. Sally dries the dishes and hands them to Technoblade to put away in cabinets.

Once the cleaning has been done, the family moves their party to the living room. Phil takes an armchair. Technoblade takes the edge of the couch. Sally and Wilbur sit closely together in the center. Tommy sits on the arm of the couch, hands on his legs.

Sally and Wilbur speak about their relationship. Tommy can’t fully pay attention. He feels full and rejuvenated, but his ribs ache and wings burn within their bindings. He craves some type of relief.

Tommy shifts where he sits, moving to kind of half-stand. Seeing this family, a family he shouldn’t ever be a part of, he feels an emotional weight. They’re all so happy. Sally is being introduced, integrated. She deserves a place here in this family, she carries a part of this family presumably. Tommy HAS a family. He has a father; he has a home. What is he doing in someone else’s? What is he doing with someone else’s father?

His pocket feels heavy.

He hasn’t stopped carrying around Clay’s necklace. He never WEARS it per say, but he keeps it on him. It must be a form of self-harm to be constantly holding onto it. Constantly reminding himself of, despite the pains he experiences in his home, he belongs there. It’s his home, his father. No amount of other family relations will change that. No amount of envy will take him away from his father.

He could never cut his strings; else he’d be motionless.

“Everyone! Let’s do gifts.” Phil claps his hands, gesturing to the tree. “Who wants to go first?”

“Ooh- Me!” Sally cheers. She stands up from Wilbur’s side, walking over to the tree. She bends over and grabs four presents. They’re all meticulously wrapped and tightened. She hands Phil a rectangular gift, Technoblade a larger box which makes an odd noise when she sets it down in his lap. She hands Tommy (what?) a small box.

“I didn’t know what to get you, but Wilbur talks about you all the time, so I hope this is suitable.” Sally smiles guilty.

“Oh my gosh you didn’t need to get me anything.” Tommy rambles, looking down at the small green-wrapped box in his hands.

“Well, I wanted to.” She winks, handing her boyfriend his gift (a smaller box) and sitting down at his side again. Everyone digs into the wrapping paper.

Tommy stares at the box in his hands for a moment longer. He hasn’t received many presents in his lifetime. Minus the necklace, and a few random meals, he hasn’t been given much that he doesn’t absolutely need.

Feeling awkward, Tommy carefully unfolds the seams of the wrapping paper until an oval case slips out. He opens the case, it has tight hinges that snap open. Inside are a pair of… glasses?

“You spend all day staring at a computer screen. It must not be good for your eyes or head. Those are Bluelight glasses. Wear them while you work if you’d like. They’ll help limit eye pain.” Sally explains at his slightly confused face. She’s thoughtful, practical.

In Phil’s hand is a book on long-term care for wing injuries. Technoblade holds a box of beautifully grown potatoes, his eyes glistening. Wilbur holds a guitar pick with an orange salmon on the front of it.

“Thank you, Sally.” Tommy easily slips a smile on his face.

“Your welcome, Tenacious Tom.”

Tommy raises an amused brow at the alliteration, looking down at the glasses once more. They have a purple shimmer to them when the light reflects. The frames are clear and have a round square shape.

“I’ll go next.” Technoblade announces curtly. He takes to his feet, methodically grabbing four boxes. The gifts are wrapped a little less neatly than Sally’s had been, but still clean. He used the same, plain, forest green wrapping paper for everyone. Their name is written in the corner of each box. He hands everyone their respective gift.

Tommy's heart clenches at being handed yet another present.

He doesn’t take as long to begin unwrapping this time. However, he still goes slow and careful with the paper. He doesn’t want to rip it, for some reason. Finally, the paper falls off and he’s left holding a book: How To Care For An Avian For A Friend; What Do Wing Colors Mean?

That silly piglin hybrid.

Tommy shakes his head with a slight huff, looking up and locking his sparkly blue eyes onto Techno’s red ones. He winks slightly, and Tommy rolls his eyes, placing the book down next to him face down.

Wilbur received a small frame with what looks like a gold coin inside, words engraved below it. Tommy can’t see it, but he doesn’t have to. He knows it has something to do with Wilbur’s sobriety. A few tears well up in Wilbur’s eyes.

Sally holds a blanket with a small ‘C’ embroidered in the corner. It looks like a baby blanket.

Phil holds a photo album, the cover decorated in purple flowers.

“I’ll go next-” Phil begins to push to stand up, but Techno is on his feet before Phil can even lift his ass from the chair. Phil sighs, shaking his head and slumping back into the armchair. “The ones with the penguin wrapping paper.

Technoblade hands out Phil’s presents for him. Once he sits back down with his own gift, everyone peels their paper, Tommy included.

For him is something confusing.

A key.

And a lease.

A not sits on top of it in Phil’s curly handwriting”:

||| Below is the key and lease for an apartment down the block from the tower. It is reserved and ready to move in. You don’t need to accept it, you don’t need to ever even look at it. But it’s there for you. If you EVER need it. If shit happens at home, or if you need a place to go, it will be there for you. |||

An apartment.

Phil got him a fucking apartment.

Tommy doesn’t know what to feel. He knows that Phil knows, he knows he has his suspicions about Clay. Fuck, he is in his right mind to be suspiscious of that relationship. But to get him an apartment? Give him an out…

Tommy doesn’t know how that SHOULD make him feel.

Angry?

Guilty?

Grateful?

Numb.

Tommy looks up and meets Phil’s gaze. The man nods softly, turning away.

He’s too good for his own good.

Technoblade received a tooth grinder (his teeth overgrow and he has to trim them down sometimes so they don’t start puncturing his gums).

Sally and Wilbur received a shared gift of a receipt for a crib.

“Who next?”

“Wi-”

“Tommy.” Wilbur cuts Tommy off. “Go ahead, you go next. I’d like to go last.”

Tommy nervously glances at Wilbur. The gifts he scrounged up seem to be so cheap and basic in comparison to the things he has received and seen others receive tonight.

He stands up and grabs the three bags. Green for Phil, Red for Techno, and Blue for Wil. He hands them all out, his eyes a silent apology towards Sally. He really is pissed no one told him she’d be attending.

He takes his seat again, watching anxiously as everyone opens their gifts.

For Phil, a glass crow paper weight.

For Technoblade, a vintage copy of ‘The Art of War’

For Wilbur, a special tea that helps heal vocals after overuse.

Despite his anxiety, each man expresses gratitude and joy at the gifts. It slightly eases his mind, but it doesn’t heal every worry.

Wilbur goes next, a nervous giddiness about him. Tommy can tell that he’s got something up his sleeve.

He hands Phil, Techno, and Tommy presents.

Phil received a painting. Technoblade received a few hair pins. Tommy, a necklace with three charms: A music note, a sword, and a wing.

He feels his eyes water.

Finally, he approaches Sally. He holds out a small cube box. She unwraps it. It's a felt box. She gasps slightly when she opens it, Wilbur falling to his knee. Inside is a shiny ring, an engagement ring.

Phil’s mouth hangs agape.

“Sally, my love. I want you to be in my life forever. I want you to be a part of my journey, and stay on the path. You carry my child, would you also carry my last name?”

“Yes! Oh fucking hell yes!” Sally laughs-cries-shouts, falling forward into his arms. The sight is heartwarming, smelling like the first rose given at a ballroom dance, or the sound of the song a couple dance to at night.

Phil claps, Technoblade follows suit, and Tommy quickly as well.

He doesn’t feel right to be here during a fucking family engagement, but he is happy for the two.

“Whoo!” Tommy whoops, smiling at the happily, newly engaged couple.

The night is young and beautiful. Celebrations concur. Christmas songs played and sung. There’s no limit to the warmth of the home.

They’re all standing around the kitchen island, sharing a strawberry cream dessert. It’s sweet and refreshing, fluffy and light. Tommy eats a large portion of it (Phil served it for him). He’s lost in the joy of the night. He isn’t thinking about Clay, or about every bad Christmas he has ever experienced. Just this one.

“-no really! He had such a bad phase in highschool.” Wilbur shouts, nudging Technoblade. “Greek mythology books to the ceiling! He was in a club.”

“Don’t get started on phases, Wil.” Technoblade grins slyly. “Want to talk about your EYELINER phase?”

“Oh shut up!”

“You go through any embarrassing phases in highschool, Tommy?” Sally asks, taking a bite of her own dessert.

“Not really. I was homeschooled.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Hey! What is that sup-” Tommy begins defensively. His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, still shouting his question. However, his heart falls when he sees the contact name above a text message.

-Dad-

: Where are you? It’s fucking Christmas and you aren’t even fucking home? You left your father on Christmas? What type of kid are you? Y’know what, fuck you. Don’t even come home again asshole.

Dread.

Chapter Text

Please Come Home for Christmas

Bells will be ringing the glad, glad news
Oh, what a Christmas to have the blues
My baby's gone, I have no friends
To wish me greetings, mm once again

Choirs will be singing "Silent Night"
Christmas carols by candlelight
Please come home for Christmas
Please come home for Christmas
If not for Christmas, by New Year's night

Friends and relations send salutations
Sure as the stars shine above
This is Christmas, yes, Christmas, my dear
The time of year to be with the one you love

Then won't you tell me, you'll never more roam
Christmas and New Year's will find you home
There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain
'Cause I'll be happy, happy, once again

Ooh, no more sorrow, no grief and pain
'Cause I'll be happy, Christmas, once again

. . .

The Second Christmas:

December 24th

. . .

-Dad-
: Where are you? It’s fucking Christmas and you aren’t even fucking home? You left your father on Christmas? What type of kid are you? Y’know what, fuck you. Don’t even come home again asshole.

Dread.

It sinks into his bones like a familiar ache. It freezes over the warm water that had been boiling in his heart. A chill settles into his throbbing chest, hollowing out the amazing feeling that had been warming him. Reality sets in. He isn’t a part of a happy family of supportive hybrid heroes, he isn’t a boy that can sit at a table or around a counter with a smile and a full belly.

Why did he let himself have hope? Why did he let himself come here tonight?

It only hurts more. It hurts more than sitting in his freezing home without lights, hearing the sounds of L’manburg citizens singing or fighting on the holiday. He’d rather be alone.

Why would he spend Christmas with another family? He has a family, he has his father.

Fuck.

What the actual fuckity fuck?

Guilt swarms inside of him like a building electrical storm. Regret. Anger. Dread. It all mixes together like a brewing pot of emotional stew. Pain. He can’t decide which emotion is the strongest, but he knows that all joy and love has been washed away like a wave over sand. The good moments are gone.

“Tommy? Hello?” A voice swirls in with his mind’s chaos, touching his ears but not tapping at the dams that hold the emotional turmoil.

“Buddy, you okay?”

Another voice shatters a glass wall in his mind. Everything is too much, everything scares him. Where is he? Who is talking to him?

He wants to go home.

Tommy’s mind slips into limbo, only a part of it. The train zooming by eases a small part of him, the shudderingly cold air and emptiness. The void of it all. This is better. Voices still yell at him from the other plane, but it doesn’t matter. Here is safe. He knows it.

“Honey.” Kristen’s voice emerges in front of him. He’s had his eyes closed?

Tommy peels his eyes open, a small buzz within him like a million bees pushing to burst past his skin. “Oh. Hi.”

“You’re getting better at jumping,” Kristen smiles sadly, a sigh forming a backtrack to her words. “But you have to return to life, dear. If your soul slips any further into limbo your body will have physical reactions, reactions that won’t affect you but if someone sees those reactions questions *will* emerge, dear.”

“But I don’t wanna.” Tommy whines, feeling like a little kid. He *is* a little kid at heart, truthfully. Sometimes he forgets that he’s 16- not 19. “Everything is harder back there.”

“But everything can be better, nothing will ever change here. Everything will be the same, nothing will grow. Go home, baby.” Kristen places a hand on his shoulder. “Please. They’re worried about you.”

“Tommy!?”

“TOMMY? HELLO?”

But he doesn’t want to go back. Maybe he wants to stay here forever, maybe he never wants to heal or grow or change. Maybe he just wants, for once in his life, for something to just stay the same. Clay has always been erratic, his mood changing faster than the weather. Tommy just wants some consistency. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

“Go back.”

Kristen reaches forward, pressing her hand against his forehead. He feels his soul tugging back to reality. He wants to fight it, he wants to latch onto limbo and never return.

But he knows Kristen has a point.

“Fine.”

Everything whirls, twisting at a nauseating speed. He hasn't pulled himself into limbo fully while awake, and fuck he regrets doing it now feeling the return.

Voices fade and echo as his body sways, his mind untethered. It feels like he’s a piece of metal being pulled towards a magnet. Conflicting sides of him tug and pull, but he knows he needs to let go. Kristen, begrudgingly, is right. He can’t hide in limbo. He must face it all.

“TOMMY!” Wilbur’s voice. That’s who has been calling for him- those foggy, distant voices becoming clear once more. He can feel his arms, legs, and his skin. It’s all overwhelmingly sensitive. Every fiber of his sweater, every adjustment of the air around him.

His eyes (they were open) blink as he regains movement and control over his earthly body, his soul and mind and body rejoining together as one. Wilbur is waving his hand in front of his face, the wind that forms disgustingly strong on Tommy’s skin. He rolls his shoulders, swatting away his hand.

“Hm? Need something, dickhead?” Tommy, grouchier than he means to come across, barks out. Everything is still slow to come back, but he can see the… odd expressions on the faces of his employers.

“You were out of it for a bit there. Are you okay?” Technoblade butts in before Wilbur can grumble out an annoyed response at Tommy’s insult. His eyes glance warily down to the ground below Tommy’s feet. Tommy follows his gaze, instantly regretful.

His phone.

Shattered.

At his feet.

The screen had already been cracked and chipping, but the phone lays at his feet with glass spreading out. He couldn’t afford a phone case, he would’ve preferred to spend his money on food rather than a case, but he regrets it now. The entire backside of the phone broke into pieces, he can see the insides of the phone from up where he stands.

“Fuck.”

Tommy curses under his breath, ignoring Technoblade’s question. He squats down to grab the device, the glass clinking together as more falls out of the to shatter further into the kitchen tile.

“Aw. Oh no.” Phil makes a disappointed face. “That doesn’t look good.”

“I’ve never seen a phone break that bad before.” Wilbur, forgetting his annoyance, wonders, raising an eyebrow. “How do you even do that?”

“Don’t even talk, Wil. You’ve literally snapped a phone in half.”

A few short bursts of laughter ring through the group, but Tommy doesn’t look one ounce amused. The text message circles through his mind, along with the numbers. Money. How much is in his savings? Can he retrieve the sim card from this one? Should he just use his work phone-

“No worries mate! We’ve broken dozens of phones. Just head down to a shop when they open again and have them transfer your data and plan. You won’t lose any of your information.”

They don’t understand.

Tommy can’t fully expect them to understand.

He knows the Crafts- he literally has access to their bank statements and oftentimes signs off their bills. They’re loaded. They’ve always been well off- Kinoko residents back before they moved to the Arctic in their hero lives. He literally had to sign off and help Wilbur purchase an entire new work computer last month when he smashed his in frustration.

Their medical bills are worth more than Tommy.

They wouldn’t fully understand that Tommy can’t just laugh this off, or even shrug it off and be minorly inconvenienced.

“What happened? You seemed a little… shocked?” Phil asks, one of the only few of the group that sort of saw Tommy’s despair.

“Oh uh- nothing, Phil.” Tommy swipes away the small pieces of glass and shoves the destroyed phone into his jean pocket. “I’ve actually got to get home early, if that’s alright?”

Phil eyes him suspiciously, Wilbur seemingly isn't over his annoyance and gives him a goofy glare. Technoblade, ever hard to read, just seems… sad. There's a certain dim behind his eyes, a sort of sadness that just makes Tommy squirm. He hates pity.

“Would you like help with your bags, dear?” Sally offers, her voice such a gentle wave through the storm that radiates from Tommy, a storm far more obvious than he believes. He can't be rude to her, despite how terrible he feels.

“I’m okay, Sally. Thank you.” He tries to offer a kind smile back, but it feels lopsided. His fingers still tingle numbly, as if life had slowly been slipping from him and is returning. Is that what happened? He’ll have to experiment a little once life gives him a fucking break to pay attention to his new found abilities.

“Take home some leftovers, buddy.” Phil pushes to stand off the stool, but Tommy is quick to wave him down.

“It’s FINE. I just need to get going, okay? Is it that hard to understand?” Tommy grunts out, taking a few steps back from the warm bustle of a quickly tensed kitchen. “Happy Holidays.”

Bitter.

Gosh, he sounds so bitter.

He can see the hurt lingering on Phil’s face, the slight anger that rose to Wilbur's cheeks. He’s such a terrible person.

“Tommy- kiddo!” Phil tries to call for him as he begins to back away quicker towards the hallway. A sudden flush of uncontrollable emotion floods through Tommy, something he’s usually able to control. Limbo left him raw and unstable.

“No! NO! You do not get to call me that. I am not a child! I never was, I never will be.”

“Tommy, don't fucking talk to D-”

“Shut up, Wilbur. Please. Fuck.” Tommy's hands shake at his sides, cold, tingly, and bubbling with emotions, with words he’s never gotten to say and never should be saying. “I. Am. Not. A. Kid. I am not YOUR kid! Don't treat me as such! I know I’m just a replacement for you guys- I know this little fake sense of connection that's being built here won't last. So fuck you guys, leave me alone! Let me leave!”

His chest heaves, a coldness settles into him that he hasn't felt in a LONG time. A coldness terrifyingly familiar to a time before he had distractions.

“I don't want you to do this! Having THIS wasn't in the job description when you hired me! I wasn't hired to be a part of this-”

Technoblade, not-so-surprisingly fast, appears next to him. A hand grips his upper bicep, not so tight to hurt but tight enough to trap him. Everything goes still all at once. That feeling of empty emotional chaos unravels and melts away, as if all disruption caused by his shift to limbo never existed. His head clears until a throbbing headache. The pain in his body returns. All that's left is regret, guilt, and fear.

“Calm down, Tom.” Technoblade’s voice lowers, not gentle but somewhat firm. It's kind of what Tommy’s brain needed, but it stings. “I don't know what's going on with you, but you need to calm down, okay?”

“Get your hands off me…” Tommy is able to mumble out, “Please.”

Technoblade instantly releases his hand, staring Tommy down with curious, almost sad eyes. He goes to speak once more, but before words exit his mouth Tommy spins on his feet and is power walking to the elevator.

No one tries to stop him.

No one makes a peep in the Craft Kitchen.

It's silent as the elevator doors shut, and stays silent until the elevator is already halfway down the building.

-

Tommy can't bear a single thought as his feet, cold and heavy, drag him down the streets of this city. They don't stop for the very little traffic, they don't even try to catch a bus.

He walks.

Empty.

Cold.

Not even afraid.

Does he return home?

Does he go anywhere at all?

He hasn't felt quite this numb in a long time. It's like every care has left him, like there's a hand wrapped around his heart squeezing just lightly. His limbs feel cold, as if his blood isn't really warm. Everything just feels wrong.

Fuzzy.

He can barely get out a clear thought. Even his wings, which had been oh so alive just an hour ago, feel heavy and stiff against his back. The cold seeps into his already chilled bones, making every step torture.

It's hard for him to describe just how he feels. It isn't anger, but it feels like it. He’s not exactly sad, per se, but rather… done. He’s so tired. So, so, so tired. He doesn't want to sleep, but he doesn't really want to be awake.

He regrets what he said to them. He doesn't even fully believe those words (he doesn't want to, at least). Wilbur looked so… angry. Phil looked so hurt. Technoblade… man. Making Technoblade upset probably hurt Tommy the most. He’s connected with him the most.

He’s been there for Tommy more than he can even bear. He’s never judged him. And one of the only things Tommy had done back tonight was yell.

He pushed him away when all Technoblade wanted to do was to help.

He yelled.

He bit.

He wasn't a good person.

-

Tommy's feet somehow drag him down alleys and around corners. They never take him home.

Home.

Where even is that? Does Tommy have a home?

He has a house. He has a bed, he has a kitchen and a fridge and a couch. They're all Clay’s, but he has them. They're where he belongs.

Does he even deserve to let himself avoid the place?

He was told not to return, but is he a coward for letting himself run away? He should fight for his family even when he isn't wanted.

Clay is all he has.

Well…

All Clay has is him. He lost his sister, could the man bear to lose Tommy as well?

Tommy can't stand to let that sit on his conscience. So, intentionally or not, his path changes. Every cold, icy step is taken towards a house he never deserved but always got. He has to be home, for Clay. Clay is home, for once. He gets to see his Dad.

He hopes Dad is home.

Home.

-

Silence rings louder than anything. Just the sounds of breathing, maybe a gulp here and there, ring over it. Phil’s stool creaks when he slightly shifts to settle into it again, Technoblade’s arms fall from where they had been raised. Wilbur grits his teeth, hands clenched at his sides, Sally sucks in her lips with furrowed brows.

“Is he alright?” Sally finally decides to brave the silence, her silky slight accent ringing into the tiled kitchen. Phil, whose eyes hold a water he hopes no one notices, shakes his head.

“That little fucker! How dare he-” Wilbur starts up, riled and wild.

“Don’t.” Technoblade’s voice shakes the room, metaphorically. He’s always been intimidating, but not towards his family. His family made him what could be described as a mother hen, or at least that's what he’s been for a while. Fretting over Wilbur, assisting his father. He’s their rock, stone hard and stable. “Don’t.”

“He’s a fucking dick! We welcome him into our home and he-”

“Wilbur- stop.” Phil’s voice cracks, and suddenly the room twists towards him. The steady, strong and happy man is holding his head with his hands, tears stream down his face slowly. “Just- no.”

“Dad!” Technoblade rushes over, instantly ushering to try and check his father for pain. “Are you-”

“That boy needs us.” Phil breaks out, his voice unsteady and so fragile. His shoulders rock with his slight trembles. “He- We shouldn't have let him go.”

“Dad?”

Phil’s body rocks with each tear. His medication has been heavy as of late. He dosed up before the dinner, but it's been hours. He was bound to get loopy.

His strawberry cream desert sags in front of him, still partially eaten, and unlikely to be finished at this rate.

“I didn't mean to- I ruined it all, didn't I? Why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut- that poor boy! I ruined it again- I ruined it-”

“Hey, hey. Dad, c’mon. It's okay.” Technoblade murmurs soft words to his father, pulling him up. “Let’s go, Dad. Let's get you to bed now, okay? Your pain meds are due for another dose.”

-

The lights are on within the residence of two, housing only one but soon approaches the second.

The lights haven't been on in what feels like weeks, and a strange warmth somewhat bubbles from the home. Surprising. The surrounding area is cold as drunkards and poor men tuck into thin blankets in apartments and houses they can barely afford, bellies empty and holiday spirit cold.

There's barely a twinkle on the street, just a small house here and there with dim colorful Christmas lights put up to keep their children's youth. They try their best, even in times of despair.

Tommy pushes open the squeaky gate to his house, his nice shoes soaked through as he trudges his way through the snowy sidewalk leading up to his porch. A part of him has hope that his father is inside with a cup of hot milk, or that there's a hug awaiting him.

It's futile as neither thing has ever happened, nor ever will, but a young, vulnerable part of him misses that. Misses something he doesn't even remember having.

The door is unlocked when he reaches it, terrifyingly steady hands twist the knob and pushes the door open. In he walks into a house he’s always been trapped in, yet has never felt strong and tall.

Inside is warmth, for the first time in a long while. Seems Clay turned the heating back on, and the lights. The kitchen light is on, same with the upper hallway and the living room lamp. Music is playing, Christmas music.

Strange, Tommy thinks, Clay hates Christmas music.

He closes the door gently behind him, only making a soft click that is muffled by the music. Someone is humming to the tune, off pitch.

“You can still go home, Tommy.”

“I am home, Kristen.”

“One day you'll understand, my dear.”

Tommy pushes past any lingering dread that makes him nauseous and steps into the kitchen. His father's back is turned to him, he’s stirring something. It'd look normal, but trained (traumatized) eyes can see the whipping of an elbow with each stir that's unmistakably aggressive.

The spoon keeps hitting the side of the bowl. Clink. Clink. Clink.

He doesn't dare move, doesn't dare speak. What even is there to say right now? Clay didn't even want him here.

Tommy didn't realize how hard it was to look at his father again.

He hasn't seen him since he… he discovered the Dreamers memorabilia in his closet.

It's hard to come to terms with knowing his father is a Dreamer. Part of the literal group Tommy is devoting himself to taking down. Following the people that almost killed him, that DID briefly kill Phil.

It makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Yet, he can't bring himself to be angry.

“Dad.” Tommy manages to force out through numb lips, the warmth of a house rarely warm sinking in through the cold, yet he doesn't feel any warmer.

Clay's movements still, the spoon dropping into the bowl. There's nothing inside of the bowl, nothing he had been stirring except the air.

“So.” Clay’s voice rattles the cabinets and the silverware within the drawers. His forearms grip the edge of the counter, back still facing Tommy. There's a green glow in his veins, something that isn't usually visible when he uses his abilities, let alone before even activating them on someone. “You had fun? Got all the joy you could out of someone else's home?”

“Da-”

“I thought, I truly did, Tommy, that even though I couldn't provide much for you, that you'd still at least see the value in family. Do you really want other people that bad? Want love from someone else?”

Guilt builds as a black pool within Tommy's heart, eating at his every doubt and every bad thought about his father. It hurts, it bites and chews the lining of his stomach, lighting a match to his paper heart.

“I've spent my life for you. I wasted time I very well could be spending doing anything else! I might've been able to leave this damn city of it weren't for a fucking child eating away at every check I make!” Clay’s voice cracks with emotion that to Tommy feels like a heart break. “You haven't let me live my life, I’m aging everyday and I haven't gotten anywhere! And you can't even appreciate that. You run off every chance you get- you steal from me, you complain, you prefer your fucking boss to me! That's the greatest betrayal. You'd rather spend Christmas with a HERO, the hero that KILLED MY SISTER!”

Clay whips on his heels, suddenly too close to Tommy. The glowing arms reaching, veiny hands grabbing at his shoulders, holding him tightly in place. It makes him still, whether from fear or from green control is undecided.

“If I can't even get my own son to love me, what's the point at all? Tell me, Tommy! Tell me! Do you want me gone?!” Hands shake his shoulders, rattling fragile bones. Although his words ring of true despair, there's a bright shimmer to Clay’s eyes.

-

“He’s slipping, Clay.” George murmurs as he changes his own bandages, voice silky and sure of itself. Dream sighs, leaning back against the wall. “You’ve kept him well, but this little SBI thing is pulling him away. You need to reel him back in. We’re so close to the finish line and we can't have our bait escaping before we make our big catch.”

“I know, I know!” Clay grunts, unable to fully form a scowl at George’s words. “I’ve been confusing him. Keep him waiting for me.”

“What did I teach you about manipulation, Clay?”

“You need to get them to love you even when they hate you, I know.”

“Well, he’s losing that love. Fix it.”

“How?”

“They’ll stay as long as they feel obligated to. Make him feel like you NEED him.”

The two, still slightly injured villains smiled softly, eyes locked. It's always been easy with the two, and as more goes right, the easier it becomes to learn from one another.

-

“Uh-”

“So you DO want me gone then?” Clay’s eyes water in a way that inexplicably squeezes Tommy's lungs. He’s always been hurtful, never hurt. “It’s not like you even care! You don't even want to spend the holidays with me.”

Clay pulls his hands away, stepping back from Tommy. The teen is confused, scared, but confused.

“N-no! No- I don't! I just didn't expect you'd be home anyway, Dad-”

“Oh, so you didn't even think to ask me?” Clay’s nose flares as he steps backwards towards the drawers of the kitchen. “You don't care. I see it in your eyes- you don't want me around!”

“That’s not true-”

“IT IS!” Clay shouts, the Christmas music playing slightly through his voice. It's a muffling sound, the neighbors won't hear through it. “What’s the point anymore if the single thing in life that I have doesn't even want me?”

His father's voice drops terrifyingly dark. That hand that's hurt Tommy all of his life slides into the sink, pulling up a shining kitchen knife. It's the best knife in the house. Sharpest. The blade is thin and it slices smoothly. It was their most extensive knife, around 25$ alone. Tommy bought it last year with money he saved up from his old job, it was a gift for his father. Clay always complained about the knives in the house.

Was it stupid to purchase his violent father a sharp knife? Maybe. Did Tommy care about the possibility he’d be murdered with the very knife he gifted? No. In fact, he’d rather be killed that way.

Maybe today's the day.

“My life is a waste, and you have wasted it.” Clay’s hand grips the knife’s handle tightly, knuckles white with that green glow coursing through his blood, making his veins stick out.

Tommy accepts his fate, letting his shoulders slump.

His father holds his arm out, and holds the knife against his own skin, the slick, sink-damp blade pressing against his own skin, right along a green vein. Tommy stiffens, his mind racing a million miles a second.

“No! No- Dad! Dad, please. Just.. Uh- please. Put the knife down! Hurt me- hurt me instead. Put it down-” Tommy steps forward, ready to lunge for his father's hands.

“Don’t get any fucking closer, Tommy.” Clay commands, his voice unstoppably strong despite being on the brink of possibly killing himself.

“Please, Dad. I beg of you- I plead. C’mon, I love you, Dad. I’m so, so, sorry.” Tommy’s knees wobble, all of his physical pain just a buzz in the distance of this true torture. “We can still have this Christmas together! I’ll go to the store, buy us some flour and sugar and icing- we can make cookies! Or I can, and I’ll put on a nice Christmas movie too- I know you hate those, we can make fun of all the stupid cheesy one liners and the city girl tropes. I’ll make you a nice dinner soon-”

“You think you can just fix it all in one night? I've already accepted that I don't have my boy anymore- there's nothing you can do.” Clay’s eyes drip a semblance of tears, such a perfect muse he is. An actor.

“It won't just be tonight, Dad. I’ll come home more- I’ll quit my job, work from home. Please- please, Dad. Let me have another chance.”

Clay shakes his head, and before Tommy can let out another word, slices the knife across his forearm.

Chapter Text

…

…

…

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Blood slides down pasty skin, splashing a slow puddle onto the dirty tile, sticking to the darkened grout. It's smooth like a European hot chocolate turned red, every drip loud even through the blaring Christmas music.

“Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle All the way-”

Keen hearing picks up on every sound being made and imprinted into a fragile mind. The slide, the rush of the blood, quickened heart rate. The sound of skin being torn from skin replays in his mind, the vein being split apart and blood gushing out. He can still hear the slice.

Clay’s hand shakes slightly around the knife, the shimmering steel now coated in a slimy layer of blood. Blood stained in streaks of fading green, disappearing fluorescence. He makes the move to slice a second time, higher up on his arm, a smile spreading across slightly chapped, broken lips.

Tommy’s brain finally works, and using just instinct and adrenaline, he lunges across the kitchen, tackling Clay to the floor.

He pins his father's forearms to the side, wary of the deep gash, forcing the knife to go clattering onto the tile, sliding away. With an outstretched (painfully) leg he manages to kick it further, assuring it can't be reached.

“You idiot!” Tommy blurts out without thinking. It's a strange position to be in, to be holding his father down rather than the other way around. It hurts to see. It hurts to see Clay’s watering eyes and to see the blood leaking from him caused by Tommy's own stupidity. His own selfishness. “Fuck-”

Clay begins to laugh, somewhat hysterically, not fighting Tommy’s grasp.

It's pure cruelty to see this.

To witness his father falling apart at the seams. To see the strings he holds Tommy by bow and snap (but really only grow thicker than he can see).

It makes the emptiness that had taken hold of him crumble, and for sobs to wreck through him. His hands pull his father into possibly the only hug he’s ever shared with him, holding his floppy limbs together.

“I’m so sorry, I’m awfully, awfully sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.” Tommy stumbles out, uncaring for the blood that's soaking into his nice Christmas sweater and slacks. Bloody, warm, the metallic smell burning his nostrils. The smell of damp dishes, iron, and the slight stink of unwashed hair fill the room, overwhelmingly strong.

Clay’s head slides onto Tommy's shoulder, resting against him, eyes shut peacefully. Tommy's hiccups choke through his sobs, gripping the pack of his father's tee shirt painfully tight.

Who cares if he’s a Dreamer?

To Tommy, this is just his father, a broken, sad man who's gone through painful grief.

A father that needs him right now.

He can't afford to leave.

-

Technoblade tucks his father into bed, nurturingly making sure the covers are enveloping and awkwardly fluffing a cream colored pillow. The guy is a TAD high on his pain medication, but that's okay. He seems to be slipping into sleep a lot easier right now. Eyes already slightly shut, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he mumbles intelligibly under his breath; his cheeks are still damp from tears shed.

“Hm.” Technoblade hums, a wave of tiredness washing upon him. He’s tired. He’s tired of always mediating and tucking other people in. He misses Tommy, both of them, really.

He doesn’t like how tonight ended. It was a really good night.

No one was having a meltdown.

He had almost everyone he needed with him.

Mom’s recipes finally tasted almost like she cooked them.

Memories were good.

It felt like they were finally healing, as a family. Wilbur brought in two new additions, albeit one unborn and still technically a secret.

Maybe he got too comfortable, too used to Tommy's presence and too used to feeling somewhat content.

After trying to kill himself, he’s been trying. Trying to ignore his hallucinations and trying to be more steady. Not pretending to be steady, but actually steady. Strong, but vulnerable.

This feels like a punch in the gut.

He’s never been good at friends, but he had been hoping Tommy was some sort of friend, as young as the guy was. He was sort of like family, but a friend. It's been nice, and he’s been strangely protective of the guy. He’s a good one, that Tommy is.

And knowing about the wing thing, about possible scenarios of neglect, he understands where Tommy had been coming from tonight. He was obviously freaked out.

It still stings.

Technoblade doesn’t want to lose the assistant, being that the kid is more than just an assistant. He’s part of the three of them at this point.

He isn’t a replacement for Tommy in his eyes.

He’s a new addition.

But he knows it can be hard to see that.

Technoblade sighs, feeling a little… overwhelmed. Tired. Especially tired. Hearing snoring, he decides it's best to leave his father be. He shuts off the lights with a flick of a sleek white switch and shuts the door with a gentle click. Two soft voices slightly echo from the kitchen, one sounds consoling and the other regretful.

Sally is good for Wilbur, that's what Technoblade knows. He doesn’t know exactly how much the lady knows about their family, or even Wilbur himself given the man has got his own plethora of problems, but she is exactly what Wilbur needs. She's a steady presence that doesn’t let him get away with shit, but she seems to be the structure he needs. The attachment he needs.

For years, Wilbur's only focus has been on their little brother. Finding him, fighting for him, getting over him, trying to move on but never really being able to. Everything Wilbur did and didn't do revolved around Tommy and Kristen. His affairs were distractions. His addiction is a vice. His career choice curated directly into trying to be as close as a part of the investigations that have long been ended, but restarting now.

There hasn't been much done that didn't seem tied to their brother. Even Wilbur's music all seemed to be connected, one way or another.

So, for Technoblade to see him, engaged to a woman, finding a life outside of their family, it feels good.

There's someone else to care for Wilbur other than him. While it's kind of sad watching him grow away, it's also comforting. He doesn’t have to be as responsible.

His brother is grown up.

“Tech.” Wilbur clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, leaning off the counter where Sally stands awfully close to him at, a hand resting on his lower back. “How’s Dad?”

Technoblade goes to speak, but a tightness forms in his throat.

Damn it.

He feels like punching something.

He’s been good for almost a year now! He hasn't had a single verbal issue for so long, he nearly, NEARLY, forgot he had them sometimes.

But tonight was stressful.

“Mm. Okay.” Technoblade manages to mumble out, sighing quite deeply. There's pressure in his words, a squeeze to his brain that just makes speaking feel awkward. A sense of tiredness from moving his lips.

“Is he asleep?"

Technoblade nods, sliding up to the counter and leaning forward on it, opposite of the couple. He finds it sweet how quickly Sally has been integrated, she looks so natural standing in this kitchen, in his home.

He misses when they had a house. This glorified apartment doesn’t feel like their home.

Dad sold their house after Kristen died, maybe a year later? Technoblade doesn’t like recalling. He does remember he was speaking again by the time they moved because he was just turning 18 at the time.

He bought the house when Dad sold it. It took some finessing, had to dig deep for a pretty dirty lawyer to try and buy under a fake address and get the property at only 17. It's been under his name since.

He has someone go and clean it once a month to make sure it's not rotting.

But he hasn't stepped foot in that home since they left.

The memories are too strong.

Hanging from the ceiling, blood dripping-

“Tech? Are you alright?” Wilbur speaks up, head tilted just slightly. Technoblade almost giggles. Being raised by an avian gave them both a habit of the occasional bird trait.

“Mhm.” Technoblade hums a response.

Wilbur's eyes narrow slightly, knowingly. “Non-verbal right now?”

Of course he’d know.

“Lil.” Technoblade grunts, staring down at the countertop. It's so embarrassing to be doing this at his age. Yes, he’s had moments like this ever since his big non-verbal streak, but it's always a little shameful. He CAN speak, he knows he can. There's nothing wrong with his voice. It's just hard for him to find the will to do it.

“That’s fine. Need anything?”

Technoblade shakes his head, making brief eye contact with Sally (who doesn’t look at him with judgment, pity, or confusion. She just looks… fine. Understanding.) and then Wilbur. “Break.”

“Okay.” No arguing, no confusion. Just a nod, and a small smile. “I can handle Dad when he wakes up. You go do whatever you need to do for a bit.”

Technoblade gives a nod of appreciation, which is as much of a thanks as Wilbur needs.

“Just… don't do anything rash? Call me if you need me, text me. You don't need to say anything, but I’ll be here.”

Technoblade feels a little safer knowing his brother can be there.

He doesn’t like relying on others, especially others in which he knows are struggling, in which he helps, but he lets himself just nod. He lets himself be cared for, at least for a moment.

He can feel guilty later.

-

“Okay, there we go, Dad. All better.” Tommy murmurs softly, wrapping gauze gently around his father's forearm.

He had managed to carry him, mostly dragging, upstairs to the bathroom. Using his own medical kit, he stitched him up and wrapped his wound. It was hard to bite back tears with every step, every stitch in which Clay winced, every sniffle from his father.

Dad has always been strong. Even if he hurt him, he was always strong. Through the punches and the yelling and the control, in Tommy's eyes, Clay was strong.

So to see him break, to see him fall apart, it broke Tommy. It hurt more than any beating ever could, than any fork ever has. It eats at him, it makes him feel guilt greater than he has ever felt before.

He left his father, he began doubting him.

He genuinely considered taking his father in as Theseus for being a Dreamer.

It was a thought.

How could he?

What's wrong with him?

He couldn't get out of his own selfish desires for one moment to stop and think about how his father felt.

He never gets to see Clay anymore, part of it his fault. He works all the time. Clay is always out of the house. As much peace that he found being away from home is broken knowing his father DID want him around.

He let himself get too comfortable.

And he let his father fall down the same hole he once had as well.

“Doing okay, Dad?” Tommy whispers, reaching for the damp rag to delicately wipe the drying blood from Clay’s arm surrounding the gauze. “Need any pain medication? I bet I could find something hidden around here somewhere.”

“No.” Clay shakes his head, wincing at what may be a headache. “Go to bed.”

“Want to go to bed?”

“Yes. I fucking said that, didn't I?”

“Right… right- sorry.” Tommy feels small, he doesn’t feel like a vigilante that saves people or a literal asset to the SBI. He feels like a 16 year old. Which, to be fair, he IS. But he hasn't truly been a teen for years. So why, why right now does he feel so innately finite? As if he can't just fly anywhere, as if he doesn't have freaky ass death powers, as if he isn’t cherished ( at least was ) by the biggest heroes in the tri-city area.

But he feels so condensed.

Like no one at all.

Like just another kid he would've saved.

“Do you need help-”

“No. Move out of my way.” Clay smacks Tommy's hand away from cleaning him and hops off the toilet bowl, still streaked in his own blood. “Don’t bother me.”

Before Tommy can stop him, Clay is already down the hallway, and with a loud slam, his bedroom door shuts aggressively, rattling the foundation of the house.

Tommy worries for him there. He’s alone, he could do anything. He could hurt himself again.

Defeated, Tommy heads across the hall to his bedroom, heart racing with pulsating anxiety. He hasn't been in his room, truly just in his room to be in his room, for a while now. Yes, he’s changed in his room and stopped by to collect stuff in the cold darkness of his house before Clay got back, but he hasn't just… sat.

Calmness scares him, to be honest. Calm means his thoughts can run wild, and right now, after all of that, the thing he wants to do the very least is THINK.

His room is just as cluttered as he keeps it. Mess of clothes, books, trinkets, bags. Broken cords he occasionally messes with, piles of mechanical junk he’s found on patrols that he never got around to giving to Tubbo.

He doesn't feel like going back downstairs and cleaning the blood from the floor yet, or scrubbing that knife clean. He doesn't feel like seeing it. Again.

The slice of a blade across pure skin, spilling the blood of someone who has spilled his plenty a time. Blood gushing out and down to the floor, a paling face. Gushing, rushing, pooling. The knife clattering to the floor-

“Stop.”

Tommy hadn’t even realized he’d begun panicking, his hands trembling against the door handle of a door just shut. His chest tight, tightening.

“Hey, Kristen.”

He mumbles back, not sure if he spoke aloud or in his head.

A head buried into his shoulder, wet tears of a father he’s never truly understood soaking his sweater alongside blood. Blood that still stains him, stains his shirt and stains his hands. The blood is on his hands, he’s too blame-

“Baby, stop. Shh- c’mon. It's okay.”

Why is she talking like that? It isn’t okay- it's not going to be okay. Why does he feel so lightheaded?

His hand reaches and clutches his chest- bloody hands. He stumbles (why are his feet so weak?) to the front of his bed and slides himself carefully onto the floor against it.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Kristen comforts, her voice is so familiar. Why is her voice familiar? Why does it make Tommy feel like breaking down into a pile of tears?

A hand is on his shoulder, he knows the feeling of death touching him and has gotten used to the slight strangeness of it. The more he has travelled to limbo, the more familiar everything involving it has felt. It's gotten easier to travel, to speak telepathically with Kristen, to feel the intangible things in the air, in the soul.

“It’s not your fault, baby.” Kristen’s voice chokes slightly over her words, hands sliding to wrap him up against her, even if she's not entirely there. “It never has been.”

“I don't understand- I don't understand! I don't know what he wants. I don't want to hurt him but it hurts so much.” Tommy breaks down, words coming in sloppy, sniffly jumbles and his body leaning into the coldness that is Kristen, a type of cold that feels warmer than this house has ever been.

“It’s okay, It'll be okay. You’ll be free- By death I hope you’ll be free soon. I promise you, baby. You’ll remember- it'll work out.” Kristen’s heart breaks every second of this. It's one thing to watch her son disappear, it's another to watch him be abused, to watch every memory he has of their family be wiped away. It's something else entirely to be able to comfort a boy who does not know to call her Mom.

“I’m tired, I’m so tired of it all.” Tommy sniffles; raspy and breathing a little fluttery. He feels guilty for breaking down just right when his father needs him to be strong the most, right when his kitchen has been bloodied by another's breakdown and here he is? Also falling at the seams?

He’s already ruined his relationship with SBI, there's no way he’ll ever be allowed back there after the mess he caused tonight.

“Why is the life I never had falling apart, Kristen?”

“Oh, Baby.” Her voice cracks, a glacier splitting with an echoing click. “It’s not. It's JUST starting. Your life hasn't even begun.”

“It feels over.”

“It isn’t.”

Kristen’s fingers end up in his hair, scratching his scalp gently with almond nails and running through dirty golden curls, never messing up his hair somehow.

It reminds him of those faint memories he has sometimes of sitting in his mother's lap.

He wishes he knew his Mom, but he’s always been too afraid to ask Clay.

Kristen must've been a good mom.

Technoblade and Wilbur were lucky.

Were.

-

“So, how'd it work out?”

“He’s guilty. It definitely reattached that loyalty that had been watered down.” Clay smiles, all semblance of prior pain, despair, and sadness clean off his face as if it never were. “I’ll keep the scar until Mission Phil goes into action. It’ll act as a good little reminder for him.”

“I’ll have the erasure salve ready for after.”

“Good.”

“He’ll be ready for ‘vacation’, Dream?”

“He will be, George. He’ll be broken by then.”

“Things are set into motion then.”

-

Phil awakes from his slumber with gasping breaths, cold sweat dripping down his face and soaking his shirt in dark wet globs that stick to his skin. Graying dirty blonde hair is a mess from tossing and turning, sticky up every which way.

The blankets surround him, tangled and heavy. He slowly sits up, everything aching with a buzz behind his ears. Wings that itch to be free, limbs scratchy beneath bandages he wishes he could rip off. Healing is slow and steady, but every formula he’s given helps to speed it up.

His mind runs a marathon, he can barely keep up with his thoughts.

What was that?

He remembers a boat and a deep well. Darkness, lots of darkness. He remembers that it hurt, he remembers feeling hopeless. He remembers a bright gleaming savior. He remembers… Kristen.

Ever since dying, things have felt… wrong, for Phil. Life, being alive, hasn't felt right.

He keeps having these dreams of things he vaguely remembers, but can't recall. Sometimes he feels a little tingle in his bones, like a signal. But he can't decipher it, nor can he understand the random chills and feelings of paranoia.

Not to mention the curious way Tommy has been looking at him.

He had chalked it up to just awkwardness after the hospital visit, but a part of him knows that's not the case. There's something that just feels different about the boy since Phil died, he can see it.

It's like every time Tommy looks at him, he’s seeing a deeper, dead part of Philza that makes a shiver cross his spine.

Phil sighs, wiping a smear of sweat off his face with the blanket. His electric clock flashes the time in his nightstand.

3:43.

Too early to really be awake, but too late at this point to really go to sleep. He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep tonight anyway, not after one of those fading dreams.

So, he kicks off the blankets and slides himself off the bed, groaning as his sore limbs stretch. Technoblade would yell at him if he saw him like this.

He grabs his crutches, slipping them under his arms. He’s excited to be off these damn things, they make his arms and shoulders so sore, even more than they are because of his injuries.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Phil shuffles his way out of his bedroom and down the dim hallway towards the kitchen. His kids (hopefully, maybe) in bed by now, all the Christmas leftovers put away. The tree still shimmers in the corner, wrapping paper still cluttering the space.

With a sad smile he limps to the couch and sits down, next to the armrest that Tommy had leaned against all night. The boy didn't even sit down fully in here.

His pile of gifts is still on the side table in a neat stack. The apartment lease smoothed down, the book Technoblade got him straight on the paper, glasses folded on top with the necklace laid out so it doesn't tangle. In the boy’s freak out, he didn't remember to collect it all.

Phil’s sad smile falls, his fingers gently tracing the edge of the apartment lease. Was it too much? It definitely is a… big present to give someone. He should've thought it through.

Truth be told, Phil started looking at places for Tommy from the hour he pulled away from the house he dropped him off at. Suites, multiple bedrooms, houses, condos, he looked at it all. He settled on this place because it felt the most Tommy.

A quaint one bedroom, one bathroom apartment just a block or two over from the tower. Third floor out of seven, not too steep of stairs. Phil tested the elevator and it wasn't rickety. The apartment itself had nice large windows that opened, but the boy wouldn't need opening windows. He doesn't have wings. Phil just liked the idea in case he went over himself, he’d be able to fly right through. The view is also just really nice.

Was it an overstep to pick out and pay months worth of rent for an apartment for his assistant?

Maybe.

No.

It definitely is. He picked out a place so personal for a boy that he shouldn't have let himself get so attached to. But It's too late now, so he can't fix it.

Even if Tommy doesn't accept the apartment, it'll still be waiting for him. Phil will keep it waiting for as long as Tommy works here, for as long as Tommy is a part of them. Maybe even for longer.

He doesn't plan on losing the kid, especially not when he is SO close to having his last born back.

He doesn't know what his Tommy is like now, how his boy grew up. But, if the kid is anything like the kid Phil knew, he knows the two Tommy's would be great friends.

They're awfully similar at times.

That same… spark.

Shiny blonde hair, gleamy blue eyes.

It's eerie sometimes just how similar they look, even act. That 8 year old boy had been so… full of life. Tommy isn’t, but Phil can see a similar spunk enter Tommy at times that makes him want to smile and cry at the same time.

He misses his son.

He misses his wife.

Kristen.

“Restless, Phil?” A quiet, but sure, voice breaks his thoughts. His hand falls off the lease, eyes darting up to catch hers.

“A little, Sally.” Phil forces a slight smile. He’s not surprised she spent the night, her and Wilbur seem like such a… inseparable force of a couple. Even if he didn't know about her, he can tell she's been there for Wilbur for a while now. “You as well?”

“A little.” Sally echoes, gliding over in Wilbur's clothes. “Mind if I sit with you?”

Phil nods, gesturing to the rest of the couch. Sally takes a seat a respectable distance away, but not too far that it feels awkward. Her legs tuck up underneath her, leaning back against the cushions. Orange-red hair silky and in thick waves behind her, some of it sitting up on the back of the couch.

“What’s keeping you up?” Phil asks, clearing his throat. It's a little dry, sleep got him messed up.

“Just the worries of the future. Usual.” Sally shrugs with a tough sigh. “How about you?”

“Events of the past.”

Sally smiles a little at the irony of that. The future and the past, but ails in their sleep. “I guess we’re just worrying warts, huh?”

“I guess so.” Phil nods, flexing his fingers. He didn't realize until now that he had begun to wrinkle so much. The small shrivels on his hands are a testament to a long life. His youngest son IS supposed to be 16, so he is getting up there in age. He’s in his mid forties now. That's… that just feels sad. “What worries you about the future?”

“Hm.” Sally hums, looking at the Christmas tree. She's young, she's got such a life ahead of her. “Not being good at what I’m going to be doing.”

Her hand trails to her stomach, a subtle, subconscious movement that Phil does notice. He didn't want to say anything, but he could tell that she's pregnant. Wilbur hasn't said anything yet, hell the kid took long enough to just tell him about the girl he literally was proposing to. But Phil can tell. He’s going to be a grandparent soon.

“You’re going to be a great Mom.” Phil says softly, looking her way. Eyebrows raise quickly and her eyes meet him with slight surprise behind them.

“So it's that obvious, huh?”

“I’m a father of tw- three. I can tell.”

“I should've figured. I TOLD Wil that you probably already knew and that telling you wasn't going to be a problem. You raised one stubborn man, Phil.”

He can't help but laugh aloud at that. He DID raise some stubborn kids. All three of them had been the most stubborn, tough kids he’s ever met. Even now, Technoblade and Wilbur stand their ground like no other.

“I can't take credit for that. Kristen was responsible for that. She was the most stubborn woman I've ever known.” Phil chuckles, a fuzzy feeling in his chest. He still remembers meeting her, remembers how mean she had been to him at first and how much it made him just fall deeper in love with her. He was obsessed with her. Still is. “The first kid is always the scariest.”

“I can't imagine ever NOT being scared.”

“It doesn't go away, it just gets easier to manage. Once you see that baby, gosh, you can't ever go back. Fear becomes a part of love.

“Technoblade’s birth was terrifying. He inherited piglin genes that had been dormant for generations, so when he was born there were all these complications. His face hadn’t fully formed correctly at first, and his tusks had formed TOO quickly and caused some internal bleeding for Kristen. But even after all of that, the moment the baby was placed into her hands there was nothing but true love on her face. They handed him to me next, and despite my fears about being a bad father, I knew from the moment I held him that I'd never want a single bad thing to happen to him.”

“I would never let anything or anyone ever hurt my baby.”

“That’s exactly what will make you a good mother. You've already got that instinct.”

The two smile. The past generation and the future sat together.

Phil can't help but compare Wilbur and Sally to a young Phil and Kristen. Two hard headed, young soon-to-be parents.

They're going to do just alright.

Phil is so excited to see his son, future daughter in law, and, soon, grandchildren grow into beautiful people.