Chapter Text
Tommy had wanted horns since Tubbo’s grew in when they were ten years old.
It wasn’t a want that was new to him, though. It hadn’t always been horns, but it was ever since he had been old enough to comprehend he had something lacking.
“Why don’t I have wings?” He had asked Wilbur, ages ago, when he was very young and still embarrassingly stupid.
Wilbur had chuckled, and then bent down to him, replying, “You’re not an avian, Tommy.”
“Why not?”
Wilbur shrugged. “You just aren’t.”
Wilbur wasn’t the best at explaining things to him.
Tommy knew now that it was because he apparently had stupid, boring human parents, and so was stuck with stupid, boring nothing.
All that to say—he’s always wanted something. Just what exactly that something was, hadn’t always been the same.
“I wish I could fly like you, Wilby.”
“I can’t fly, Toms.”
And then, “That’s no fair! How come Fundy gets a tail?”
“Just the way he was born, Toms.”
When Tommy had met Tubbo, ages ago, when he was still very stupid, he thought maybe, here was finally someone who wasn’t anything special. Boring, and utterly normal, like he was.
And then, of course, his horns grew in.
“Tommy! Look!!” Tubbo had run up to him, but Tommy was busy doing whatever it was he was doing, and didn’t look up.
“What, Tubs?”
“My horns are growing in!”
And his world didn’t really crash around him, not really. It was not something earth shattering, and it was not something that he’d remember for the rest of his life, unlike many future events. But it did set a precedent for the rest of their relationship.
Tubbo, in all his faults and fumbles, would always be better than him.
It was a fact that Tommy had acknowledged then, when Tubbo had excitedly showed him the tiny little bumps forming on his head, and then it was something he refused to acknowledge again.
Tommy had scoffed, nails scratching at his hands uncomfortably. “I wasn’t aware you were going to grow horns, bee boy.”
Tubbo cocked a disproving eyebrow at him. “I’ve always been a faun, Toms.”
“Pft, I knew that,” Tommy said, feigning a cockiness he usually had, and wasn’t used to lacking. “I just didn’t know you’d grow horns.”
“What, are you jealous?”
Tommy’s lack of reply gave him away.
“Oh my prime, you totally are!”
“I am not!” Tommy had exclaimed, getting up abruptly.
“Whoa, boss man, I didn’t mean—“
“You go enjoy your stupid horns, bee boy!” And then, in true dramatic fashion, he had stomped away, arms crossed and puffing in anger.
Of course, he didn’t stay angry for long. It was hard to, with Tubbo. They had always been joined at the hip—it was hard to keep them away from each other. So after a day of pouting and petty avoidance, when Wilbur came up to him and said that Tubbo’s head was really started to hurt, and he had asked for him specifically—well, Tommy was not a monster.
“Bet you’re regretting being excited now, aren’t you?” Tommy had said, when he came into the room Tubbo was staying in.
Tubbo had turned to him, from where he laid in bed, looking like the most miserable, sick kid in the world, and Tommy felt a pang of alarm. Alarm that oh, Tubbo was not responding to his banter, and oh, he was about to say something—ugh—sincere.
“Sorry I teased you.”
“Pft, it’s whatever. It’s in the past. I’ve moved on,” Tommy replied, coming over to one of the chairs by his bed. It reminded him sickeningly of a hospital set up. Tubbo even had a classic wet rag on his head, his forehead swollen and red as his horns tried to break through skin. Tommy did not like to think about it too much. If he did, he’d probably pass out, and Tubbo definitely didn’t need that right now.
“Still,” Tubbo responded, softly.
Tommy squirmed a bit uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, I’m over it now, because obviously having horns is like the worst thing in the world right now. I’d rather have cool wings like Wilbur.” He’d been lying, obviously, but Tubbo humored him, chuckling weakly.
“It really sucks, big man.”
Tommy doesn’t like thinking back to that time, of hurt and pain and general suffering. He knew Wilbur had a similar thing happen, when his wings grew in, but he hadn’t been there for that. Sitting with Tubbo, while he was in pain and being able to do nothing but sit it out and hope his stupid horns would come in already—well, it wasn’t his exact idea of fun.
But eventually, they came in, and that was all in the past.
Selfishly, Tommy still wished he had grown horns as well. He’d dream about it, figuring out he wasn’t actually as boring as he thought, and then becoming the center of attention for the next week, like Tubbo had. But he knew this was selfish, and honestly pitiful, and not to mention completely illogical, so he stubbornly tried to keep this to himself.
He must’ve been doing a bad job, though, because a few weeks later Tubbo came up to him, presenting something that sort of looked like a bit of crumpled red fabric.
When he didn’t say anything immediately, Tommy looked up at him skeptically. “What’s that, Tubs?”
Tubbo’s face fell a little bit, and Tommy started in alarm. “Um, it’s—a hat, big man. For you!”
“Oh!” Now that he looked at it more, it was a little red hat, with flaps on the side that covered his ears, but most importantly, two little red horns were sewn (albeit poorly) onto the top. “Tubbo—“
“It’s ok if you don’t like it, though,” Tubbo said before he could finish, almost snatching it away from him.
“What? No!” Tommy snapped back, probably a bit too harshly. He snatched it back from him, and tugged it onto his head, hair flatting in front of his eyes. “I love it, fuck off.”
He wore it almost constantly from then on. He had to resew it a bit, fix up some poor stitches and fraying edges, but Tommy didn’t mind. Tubbo did not have a sewer’s hands—he had always been clumsy, not the best with tiny, finicky things like sewing. But he had tried, for Tommy. He didn’t ignore what that meant.
—
Schlatt was a faun as well, though that didn’t feel like the right descriptor for him. He was much too brash, much too intimidating for such a gentle sounding word.
It wasn’t something Tommy had dwelled on. There were a lot of hybrids on the smp—Quackity and Wilbur were both avians, Niki and Antfrost were both cats (Antfrost being full cat, but still.) There wasn’t necessarily a connection, at least in Tommy’s mind. Not until Tubbo had brought it up to him, small and hunched over in one of the many corners of Pogtopia.
“Do you think me and Schlatt look alike?”
“What?”
“I said—“
“No, I heard you.”
Tubbo seemed to shrink in on himself a little bit, then, and Tommy quickly added, “Why do you ask?”
“Well—,” Tubbo paused, hesitating. “He—well, it’s nothing, nevermind.”
Tommy squinted at him. “Out with it, bee boy.”
“Schlatt told me we match,” is what Tubbo finally spit out, voice small.
Tommy paused. He scrutinized Tubbo, for a moment, and he saw as Tubbo seemed to shrink in on himself more. “Well, he’s wrong,” Tommy finally said, no hint of hesitation in his voice.
“I mean, don’t you think—“
“Your horns aren’t even close to the same size, first of all,” Tommy started, ignoring him. “And your eyes aren’t the same color, and you don’t have that gross beard he does—“
“Tommy—“
“Do you want me to continue?” Tommy looked over at Tubbo, and to his delight, he was smiling, just a little bit.
“Thanks, boss man.”
“Of course,” Tommy replied, puffing out his chest. “I’m the best at cheering people up.”
Tommy doesn’t particularly like to remember everything after that.
—
Kneeled on the ground, in the pit, thinking, it’s unfair, it’s so unfair. If I was a piglin I’d beat his ass.
—
The first time he looked at Tubbo in his president suit and thought, oh. He does look a bit like Schlatt.
—
He still wore the hat, in exile. It was winter, was his excuse, and it was the only hat he had (it wasn’t.) One of the horns fell off at some point—Tommy didn’t know when. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.
This hat—it was a symbol that Tubbo had cared for him, once. Tommy still wearing it meant he still cared too.
—
One thing Tommy hadn’t mentioned, because it wasn’t relevant before, was that Dream was one of the few other humans on the server.
Of course, he wasn’t the only one. Jack Manifold was another, George, Karl. Not anyone Tommy would necessarily want to have something in common with.
“What’s with the hat?” Dream had asked him, back then when he had still pretended to be nice and caring.
Tommy quirked an eyebrow at him, tugging the hat tighter over his head. “It’s cold, green boy.”
“Sure,” Dream said, bending down to flick at the one remaining horn. “But why the horns? Or horn, really.” He giggled at his own joke.
Tommy shrunk in on himself a bit. “I like them.”
“What, cause you don’t have them?” Tommy was about to spit out an insult back, but when he looked over at Dream he didn’t look condescending, or even malicious at all. “We’re some of the only humans on this server, Tommy! It’s almost like we match!”
Tommy had never understood Tubbo more than in that moment.
—
He put the hat in his ender chest when he started living with Techno.
Techno had better hats, anyways. And it was way colder than in Logstedshire, as well, not to mention the thing was getting far too torn up.
So, yeah. He stopped wearing it. He tried not to hate himself for it.
—
He couldn’t reach most of the shelves in Techno’s house.
It wasn’t a tall house, by any means. It was quite quaint, in fact, not something you’d expect the Blood God to reside in.
But despite this, Tommy still couldn’t reach most of the shelves. It wasn’t a house that was made for him—it was made for a piglin a foot taller than him and a man with wings.
It was a silly thing to think about, when he really should just be grateful for having a place to stay at all. Techno didn’t have to take him in.
But sometimes, when he laid awake at night, he thought of exile, of Dream and his words. He thought of Dream looking down at him, seeing the spark of something genuine, of a happiness at a connection only they can have. He thought of his own happiness, however fleeting it was, at the fact that he didn’t have to compete anymore. They were equals, in a way.
When he realized that the pang in his chest was longing, he didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
—
“Is it bad that I—I think I miss him.”
Tommy looked over at Tubbo, freshly president but somehow still so small. Tommy still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it—Tubbo deserved it, definitely. He wasn’t jealous, either, even if he had wanted to be president for a bit. Tubbo was just—Tubbo. He was not Wilbur, with his carefully crafted words and his unwavering stares. Tubbo stumbled, flinched and wavered like a tree in the wind. Tommy had always been the one to back him up, steady him and keep him from falling over.
Tubbo would be a good president, he was sure of it. He just had to make sure to be the best vice president ever as well.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Tommy responded with a simple, “Hm? Who’re talking about, mate?”
“Uh—,” Tubbo glanced over at him, hesitantly. “Schlatt. Is it—is it bad I miss him, a bit? I mean, I don’t want him back, but—“ Tubbo cut himself off, words dying on his tongue.
Tommy hummed again, looking up at the sky. “I dunno,” he replied, eventually. “You spent a lot of time with him. I miss Wilbur.” He didn’t elaborate on that point, mouth slamming shut at the admission. It was a hard thing, to put him and Schlatt in the same sentence, on the same pedestal.
“I know. I guess—well, I’d never met another faun. Did you ever feel like that, with Jack or something?”
“Ew, Jack Manifold?” Tommy turned to look at Tubbo again, face twisted into comical disgust. “I’d rather shoot myself than have something in common with him.”
—
The first thing Tommy notices, when he sees Tubbo in the ruins of that community house, is that his horns have gotten longer.
It shouldn’t have been something so novel to him. Of course they grew, time didn’t stop when he wasn’t there. But when he sees Tubbo standing there, brow furrowed, panting in anger, he realizes he doesn’t quite recognize him anymore.
Tommy had watched Tubbo grow up through most of their lives. He’d been there before he had horns. He’d been there when he got his horns. He’d watched them grow, inch by inch. Their whole life, they seemed to taunt him—with every day, Tubbo was growing away from him. With every day, Tommy was falling behind.
It’s with a sudden, lurching twist in his chest, that he realizes he’s not just fallen behind—
He’s been cut off.
It’s with this thought in mind, he takes his axe, he swings, and the poison spills from his mouth—
“THE DISCS WERE WORTH MORE THAN YOU EVER WERE!”
When Tubbo steps back from him, mouth open in numb, horrified shock, Tommy realizes with a start that he recognizes him again.
He recognizes him as the scared little boy who had held his hand tight, so tight, when his horns had started to grow in. He recognizes him as the spy, shaking hands balled into fists, as he relayed information to Wilbur. He recognizes him as the president who was faced with an impossible decision, looking at him with unabashed fear, for him. He recognizes that face, and he remembers when he’d pick a fight with whoever dared to make his best friend feel that way.
And so, with a small, shaky breath, he takes a step back as well.
“Give him the disc.”
—
They take it slowly, after that. Or at least—they try to.
It’s hard, when the day after Technoblade is blowing up their shared childhood home, and Tubbo is jumping in front of a rocket to save him—
Yeah, it’s a lot.
But they figure it out, eventually.
It’s different. It’s never going to be like it was. Tommy finds himself sneaking glances at Tubbo’s horns, at the brown roots he never used to let grow in and the fond smiles he sends Ranboo’s way. When he thinks he isn’t looking, Tommy will notice Tubbo staring at him as well, at the new scars and his longer hair.
They’ll never be the same people they were. Tommy digs his nails into his palm and tries to be fine with it.
—
Tubbo asks if he wants to cut his hair while they’re getting prepped to fight Dream.
Tommy looks over at him, hand pausing from where it was twisting his braid. Ranboo had done it for him—they’d insisted, because apparently they like playing with hair, and Tommy had shrugged and said “I guess” like he didn’t care in the slightest (he did, obviously. Wilbur used to braid his hair as a kid, before Tommy grew old enough to want his hair cut “like a boy.” It’s a nice reminder of what life used to be like.)
“Mm, not really,” Tommy responds, turning away from him to rummage around his chests.
“Are you sure?”
Tommy turns around again, taking a moment to look at Tubbo’s face. He looks worried—concerned, even. Tommy glances up at his ever-growing horns and smiles, slightly, looking him in the eyes, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
(Later, when Ranboo is re-doing his braid, Tommy asks them as nonchalantly as possible, “So what’s with gender, huh?”
“What?”
“I mean, what even is it, ya know?”
“…Do you have something you want to tell me, Tommy?”
Tommy tilts her head back to look up at them. “Just an observation.”)
—
She doesn’t think about the hat again until she’s putting their hard earned discs into her ender chest, and then it’s suddenly all she can think about.
It looks small, there, among all his other valuables. It’s still dirty, and falling apart—he hadn’t cared to take care of it during exile.
She picks it up, thumb rubbing over the worn fabric.
“What am I without you?”
Her grip on it tightens, and with a sudden pang in her chest tears spring to her eyes. He bends over his ender chest, shoulders trembling, as he clutches a testament to his and Tubbo’s friendship in his hands.
“Yourself?”
He wipes his face, chest heaving as he wills himself to calm down. They were not broken. No matter how much Dream had tried, they were not broken.
Tommy finds her sewing needle and spare fabric and gets to work.
(Later, when she meets up with Tubbo outside of Snowchester, wearing a newly multi-colored hat, he gives her the biggest smile she’s seen since she got exiled.)
—
“Do you think I look like Schlatt now?”
“What?”
“I said—“
“I heard you.”
Tubbo doesn’t shrink in on himself, this time. He hadn’t done that in ages—not since he’d become president, and he had to be larger than life instead. He does freeze, though, just a minuscule lack of movement until he relaxes again, forcing tension out of his shoulders.
Tommy squints at him, not afraid of hurting him, now, but curious. “Why do you ask?”
Tubbo shrugs, feigning nonchalantness. “Was just thinking about it.”
“I did, once.” Tommy watches as Tubbo freezes, again, and then once again tries to force himself to relax. “Not anymore, though.”
For the first time in a while, Tommy finds Tubbo looking unsure. She’s not sure when that change happened. It feels obvious, now, but they were both so wrapped up in change and hurt. They’ll have to relearn each other, Tommy realizes. He’s willing to put in the effort.
“I’m sorry,” is what Tubbo says, after a beat.
Tommy hums in acknowledgment, and then responds, “I know. I am as well.”
—
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”
“Ah, I’ve seen him a million times before, Tubbo! I’m a big man, he can’t do shit to me.” Tommy gave Tubbo the biggest, most confident grin she could muster, and Tubbo relaxed a bit, amusement replacing the worry in his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t forget we’re hanging out after you’re done, okay?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
—
In his last moments, when all he could feel was terror fear pain pain, his last coherent thought was that he’d never be able to make up his hang out with Tubbo.
—
He woke up from death with a wild, gasping breath.
He turned over on his side like he’d just been dragged out of freezing water, coughing phantom water out of his lungs.
He felt around his head from where it’d been—oh my Prime—it’d been bashed in, feeling only rough scar tissue under his fingers.
Dream had— he’d—
Dream.
Tommy sat up suddenly, black spots dancing in his vision from the force of it. “Dream?” she tried to call out, but her voice failed her, and it came out more like a croaking whisper. It wasn’t hard to find him anyways—but rather than standing there and gloating, like he usually would, he was standing completely silent, staring at Tommy with a look in his eyes she couldn’t quite decipher.
“D- Dream?”
He continued staring down at her, or more accurately, staring at a spot right above her head. “That’s never happened before,” was all he said, voice strangely detached.
Tommy looked behind him at the wall where Dream was staring, but found nothing, and so he turned around, looking intently at Dream again. His eyes followed his head, and so he reached up, feeling for something—
Horns.
He had horns.
His breath hitched as he felt another round of panic hit him, unable to stop himself from hyperventilating again. On further inspection, she found she also had a tail, red and pointed at the end like a devil. “W- what—“
“That’s not supposed to happen,” Dream said, again, voice still oddly hollow.
With a sickeningly, lurching feeling in his chest, Tommy finally realized what the look in his Dream’s eyes was, one he knew all too well—
Jealousy.
—
Dream got over it after the first couple of hours, and then he was back to being his loud, obnoxious self.
“I gave you a gift, Tommy,” he kept saying, in between interrogations on his afterlife. “Now you have what you’ve always wanted—and it’s because of me!”
Tommy had wanted horns since Tubbo’s grew in when they were ten years old. It was a want he had carried his entire life, throughout every conflict and adversity. And now that he had it—
Well, he didn’t want them so bad anymore.