Chapter Text
Ranboo was a good student.
He knew school didn’t really matter. Good grades or not, he was still heir to one of the largest crime empires this city has ever known.
But he wanted his mother to be proud of him, or at least proud of his grades.
So he put his head down and got to work.
School was…boring. He had never really bothered with friends, so he was alone for most of the day.
When school ended, he gathered his things and headed for the hospital.
One of the many differences between Ranboo and Tommy was that, unlike Tommy, Ranboo didn’t have a chauffeur to drive him around. He was sure he could have one if he asked for it, but he preferred to take the bus or the subway.
His reasoning was simple.
1. Nobody would mess with him. Even with his height and odd-colored hair, in public, in his school uniform, he looked like just another average teenager.
2. If anyone did in fact know who he was, they wouldn’t mess with him. Not just for the reasoning of the identity of his mother, who was one of the most powerful women in the country, and well above any petty gang drama,
3. But also for the reason, that Ranboo was a deadly force all on his own.
4. Anyone who knew him would know that.
So he took the subway, stopping on the way to pick up a bunch of different kinds of candy, since he had no idea what Tubbo liked best.
He really wanted to get to know him. Something about the brunette boy was far more interesting than his blond-haired counterpart
Despite the fact Tommy was more popular, louder, and generally more charismatic than Tubbo, Ranboo still noticed him first. On the first day of history class, he noticed immediately that Tubbo did not belong here.
He saw it in the way he walked, quickly yet nearly silently. He saw it in the way he wolfed down food in the cafeteria, in the way he brought his own lunches rather than buying lunch. All the same, he ate like he wouldn’t be able to eat again for a while.
Tubbo wasn’t like Tommy, Tubbo had seen some hardship, some difficulty in life that Tommy would never experience. That none of their rich classmates would ever understand.
Tubbo had seen death and lived, and Ranboo saw it plainly on his face.
He was scrappy and blunt, practical and stubborn, he was nothing like Ranboo, nothing like tall, polished, eloquent Ranboo.
He found that quality absolutely and utterly enchanting.
And so he wanted to find out more.
Ranboo stepped into the hospital, put on his best school-boy-come-to-see-his-friend smile to the receptionist, made even more convincing by his school uniform, and made his way down the hall to Tubbo’s room.
When he arrived, he glanced in, and saw two men standing in the room. One of them was tall, in a dark coat with curly brown hair, and the other was so distinctive Ranboo knew who he was immediately.
A man with long pink hair pulled down into a braid that ran down the length of his spine, in a leather jacket and combat boots.
Technoblade, the blood god. The head of one of the biggest organ-harvesting operations in the country, perhaps even the world. Rumor said he carried out most missions himself, so far as to cut people open and tear out their organs, earning him his infamous title.
But right now, he just looked like a medical student. He wore glasses, which struck Ranboo as somehow deeply ironic.
If that was the blood god, that meant the man standing next to him was the crow-father’s eldest, Wilbur, the heir to the Crow’s legacy, who’d already made a name for himself in the drug cartel business. He was far less infamous than his brother but just as dangerous.
Ranboo sucked in a breath. He’d met the twins once, at a dinner party.
He’d been eight years old, the twins a fair six years his senior. They’d sat at the table alongside their father, he’d stayed in his room, but he couldn’t help but sneak down into the entrance of their apartment, and catch a glimpse of the guests leaving the party.
He’d seen a man, disheveled, with thick sideburns who muttered something as he pulled on his coat.
Then he saw the twins, and their father. He was struck by how casual the Crow Father was, how he made jokes and laughed, how Ranboo’s mother, dour as she often was around others, returned a smile and even chuckled at one of his jokes.
The twins, he noted, were still young teenagers at the time. Only about fifteen years old, and still they were attending important events like this. It seemed strange to Ranboo, and yet part of him was deeply, intensely jealous.
That was when his mother noticed him on the stairs. Or perhaps she had known he was there all along.
“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, darling,” She called. She turned to look at him and Ranboo ran, he ran back to his room and hid under his covers. Once it was clear his mother wasn’t coming after him, not coming to reprimand him as she so rarely did, he let out a breath.
The next morning he expected some punishment, his favorite book taken away or an extra hour of math, back then he was still being homeschooled. But His mother simply asked him a question.
“What did you notice about my guests last night?” She asked, stirring her coffee.
Ranboo gripped the seat of his chair. He was silent for a moment, then he slowly recounted everything he saw, everything he noticed, down to the smallest detail.
He assumed this was another of his mother’s memory tests, another attempt to see how much he’d forgotten.
His failing memory was, to his knowledge, the only disappointing quality he had.
Which meant he had to work twice as hard to correct it.
His mother, when he was done talking, smiled.
“And what does that mean?”
Ranboo hesitated.
“What does it mean?”
“You said you noticed the twins were exceptionally young to be attending this gathering, what does that tell you about them and their father?”
Ranboo frowned.
“It means…” He closed his eyes, reaching for his first instinct. If his combat training had taught him anything, it was to trust his instinct.
“It means either the twins are…proficent-” He sounded out the word carefully “-in what they’re being taught or…”
“Or?” His mother said, a curious inflection coloring her tone.
“Or their father is simply overconfident,” Ranboo said. “And judging by how he was laughing, and how he spoke to you, I-I think it’s the latter.”
His mother smiled.
“Very good,” She said. “This is what we do, my child.”
She stood, then, and walked over to where he was sitting at the other end of their table. This distance was common in their house. Ranboo had grown up used to standing a world away from others.
“We watch,” She brushed back his hair, and he felt himself lean into the touch. He was younger, he hadn’t yet learned to fold away that desperate, human need for affection. Even then he cringed at it, and his mother pulled her hand away.
“And we learn,” She said. “All these men fancy themselves gods with guns and blades, but our family is different. We know when to use our hands to fight-”
She took his hands, his small, pale hands. They both had the same long, elegant fingers. Good for piano playing, his teacher had said when he began lessons. He’d come to learn soon after that they were also good for curling around the handle of a knife and pulling the trigger of a gun.
He was homeschooled, and his mother made sure he received the most extensive education possible.
“And when to use our minds.” She put a hand on his cheek.
“Well done, you’ve taken the first step towards knowing which to use, and when.”
Ranboo knew this was a time when he couldn’t fight.
So he rounded a corner and waited until the twins left.
The door swung open, Ranboo leaned just a bit around the corner to look.
The twins were standing outside, Wilbur sighed.
“What?” Techno said.
“What are we meant to do?” Wilbur said in a hushed voice. “This boy knows everything about us, our names, our address-“
“He won’t talk,” Techno deadpanned.
“He will,” Wilbur urges. “He’ll talk if someone gives him the right amount of cash, or points a gun at someone he loves-“
“We’re lucky, then-“ Techno says. “That Tubbo doesn’t have anyone like that.”
They were both silent for a moment.
Techno glanced at where Ranboo stood, and he pulled back quickly.
“We shouldn’t be having this talk in public,” he hissed, grabbing his twin by the collar of his coat.
They walked away. Ranboo felt his heart, beating fast like a rabbit’s.
He let out a breath, straightened his jacket, and walked into the room.
“Hi,” He said.
Tubbo was awake, sitting up in bed, staring out the window.
“Oh, Hi,” He said, his voice soft, strained with some kind of sorrow.
“How are you feeling?” Ranboo said, sitting in the chair beside the bed.
“I’m…okay,” He said, “I’m not in any pain but-“
Tubbo paused. Ranboo wondered what he was thinking. What had the twins said to him? As a matter of fact, how were the twins here? They should be out searching for Tommy, it had nearly been a week since-
Unless-
Oh.
Interesting.
Tubbo shook his head.
“I’m fine,” He concluded.
“Are you sure?” Ranboo asked, leaning forward a bit.
“Yes,” Tubbo said, waving a hand.
“Hm,” Ranboo said. “These- uh- these are for you, by the way.”
He dumped the bag of candy on Tubbo’s bed.
“Jesus Christ-“
“I didn’t know what you liked, so-”
Tubbo stared at the pile. He took a piece of candy, wrapped his hand around it.
“Why do you care?”
“What?” Ranboo blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you-” Tubbo stammered. “Why are you acting like we’re friends?”
Ranboo felt his heart sink.
Right. Of course, they weren’t. What was he thinking? They hardly knew each other, and besides, why would Tubbo want to be friends with him?
Ranboo had forgotten, of course, that they were meant to be on opposite sides. He thought Tubbo might not care because he was just a body-guard because he didn’t even have a tattoo but-
Ranboo had forgotten how close Tommy and Tubbo obviously were.
Why would Tubbo want to be friends with his best friend’s natural rival?
“Why would you want to be friends with me when I’m-” Tubbo sucked in a breath. It was then that Ranboo realized he was crying. “I’m just some kid from the slums, I’m not important, I’m-”
“What? No, no-” Ranboo moved to sit at the edge of Tubbo’s bed. The words sounded worn like he had said them over and over, or they had been repeated to him over and over. “Why would you say that? Tubbo, You’re not-”
“Don’t lie to me!” Tubbo yelled. “Just admit it- you’re here to- to get information about the twins or Phil or-”
“No,” Ranboo shook his head. “I don’t care about them-”
“You’re a part of the Dragon Queen’s gang, of course, you do!”
Ranboo paused.
“I’m not-” He began before Tubbo cut him off.
“Not what? You can’t tell me you’re not a member of her gang, you have it written on your arm!” Tubbo said.
Ranboo hesitated. That wasn’t…technically wrong. He was affiliated with the Dragon Queen, but he wasn’t part of her gang, he was her son.
Tubbo stared him down.
Could he tell him that?
Ranboo sighed.
“I’m not part of her gang,” He said, looking away. “I’m- She’s my mom.”
He felt Tubbo flinch.
“You-” He said. “You’re…you’re the Dragon Queen’s son?”
He glanced at Tubbo. His eyes were wide, he looked-to put it simply-absolutely terrified.
And it broke Ranboo’s heart. This is exactly what he didn’t want, he didn’t want Tubbo to be afraid of him. But he knew all the rumors that came with his lineage, and he also knew most of them were true.
“Techno said-” Tubbo shook his head. “Techno said you were homeschooled-”
“I was until uh-this year,” Ranboo said with a laugh. “Guess I just- I don’t know- wanted to be sort of normal?”
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t what he had told his mother. He told his mother that, like most things, this was just to find out more about the other gangs. The fact that Tommy went to the same school that he wanted to go to made that lie all the more convincing.
“So you lied to me,” Tubbo pointed out. He grabbed a chocolate bar, tore it open. “You said you were part of The Dragon Queen’s gang, you never told me you were her kid.”
Ranboo winced. “I didn’t want to scare you-”
“Well, you did,” Tubbo said. “Do you know what they say about you?”
Ranboo nodded, “I’m familiar with the rumors.”
Tubbo hummed. He bit into the chocolate and chewed for a moment.
“Let’s play a game,” He said.
“...Okay?” Ranboo replied, skeptical. Just what was Tubbo on about?
“I’ll name a rumor, and you tell me whether or not it’s true.”
Ranboo furrowed his brows.
“Okay,” He said. “Fine then, shoot.”
“Alright,” Tubbo sat up a little. Ranboo saw Tubbo glance at his gloves, then look away.
There were a lot of rumors about the Dragon Prince’s hands. Rumors that his knuckles were scarred from his mother lashing them, rumors that his veins were black because his blood was dark as charcoal, rumors that the Dragon Queen had given birth to a demon rather than a boy, and that his hands had claws and scales.
The rumors were all false of course, but every time he heard them he smiled a little. Let them think what they want, he couldn’t care less.
But Tubbo didn’t ask about the gloves.
“Techno told me that you killed someone for the first time when you were ten,” He said. “Is that a rumor or is it true?”
Ranboo scoffed. “Rumor. Why would I be killing people at ten?”
“When did you first kill someone then?” Tubbo said, staring at him with a piercing gaze. Tubbo’s eyes were the most lovely shade of blue, Ranboo noted. Not violet-like his mother’s, but some kind of a softer, gentler blue.
It made Ranboo wonder who this boy would be if he hadn’t been made into a killer.
“Thirteen,” Ranboo said.
“Jesus,” Tubbo winced. “Why?”
“One of Schlatt’s lieutenants tried to kidnap me,” Ranboo said. “Something about a deal going wrong, it’s all smoothed over now but at the time I believe my mother was…pretty angry.”
“I remember that,” Tubbo said. “Tommy and I were upstate for the weekend, shows you how bad it was that Phil sent him away.”
Ranboo blinked. He hadn’t realized that that moment of chaos was shared, that Tubbo knew about it as well. It made sense that he did, of course, but
“Right, well,” Ranboo said. “My mother did the same thing. Except when I was at the train station a guy tried to grab me so I just…”
“You just…?”
“Shot him twice with his own gun…” Ranboo murmured. “Uh- once in the lung, once in the head?”
“Oh- God-”
“Yeah.”
“Christ,” Tubbo was silent for a moment.
“Are there any more rumors like that?” Ranboo asks.
“Just that you’ve killed over a hundred people since you started high school,” Tubbo says “Which is- laughable, I’ve only killed like- four people. Maybe.”
Ranboo almost says that that number is up to five now, but he holds his tongue.
“No, no I’ve only killed-” He frowns. “A few dozen? Definitely not over a hundred, well under.”
“That’s still bad.”
Ranboo shrugs, “It was self-defense.”
Tubbo raises an eyebrow.
“...Most of it.”
Tubbo sighs. “This is bizarre- this is so strange. I never thought I’d be able to talk about this with anyone and the one person I can turn out to be…”
He looks up at Ranboo. Ranboo gives him a tentative smile.
“You,” He says.
“Yeah,” Ranboo says. “Sorry.”
There’s silence for a minute. Distantly he can hear the noise of the hospital, steady beep of a heart-rate monitor, the chatter of nurses and patients, distant, quiet sobbing.
“You look like a normal teenager,” Tubbo says, quietly. “You don’t look like- how I expected you to look at all.”
“You look normal too,” Ranboo says. “I don’t think murderers often look like murderers.”
Another beat of silence. Tubbo shakes his head.
“I don’t think we’re murderers,” Tubbo says. “We’re kids. Kids who were forced into or- or born into some pretty unfortunate circumstances, right?”
Ranboo just stares at him. Unfortunate? No, no. Ranboo was lucky to be born into the power and prestige that he was, he was lucky to have his mother, he was lucky.
Was he?
“Well, then,” Ranboo said, suddenly very uncomfortable. “I-I should get going.”
“So soon?”
“Yeah, well, it’s fall. It’ll be dark soon,” He said, standing up.
“Huh,” Tubbo said. “Didn’t think the Dragon Prince would be afraid to walk home alone in the dark.”
Ranboo paused. Is that really what they called him? He grinned jokingly.
“I’m not,” He said. “It’s everyone else who has to be afraid.”
Tubbo laughed.
He laughed and Ranboo thought he could never ever get sick of that sound. He thought he’d put a gun to the back of the skull of every man, woman, and child in this city to hear Tubbo laugh again.
God, this was becoming a problem, wasn’t it?
“Doctor says I’ll be walking in a week,” Tubbo said. “When that happens, do you want to- I don’t know- Do the things that normal people do?”
“Yes,” Ranboo said without thinking. “I mean- yes. What do normal people do? Yes-”
“You’ll see,” Tubbo says with a grin. “I have some places I need to go when I can actually…go there.”
“And you want me to come?”
“I reckon having a boy who’s killed a uh- few dozen people by my side can’t hurt,” Tubbo said. “Not in this city, at least.”
Ranboo felt himself smile.
“Okay,” He said, breathless. “Okay.”
---
Tommy hated check-ups. He hated them like any normal person, but he thinks that having the family doctor jabbing at his bruised ribs and black eye was far worse than a normal doctor's appointment.
“Some ice, some painkillers.” Ponk waved a hand. “He’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Phil asked his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. “Do you feel okay?”
No.
No, Tommy feels awful.
He feels angry and sad and happy to be alive but most of all what he feels is betrayed. Betrayed by Techno who lied to him, who’s been a killer all this time. Betrayed by Wilbur who’s always acted like a doting older brother, and been a monster under the surface.
And Phil.
Phil, his loving, caring, wise father who had always been so gentle, so calm-
Phil was at the center of his rage.
Phil the crime lord, Phil the most dangerous man he’d ever met. Phil who, now, pushed back his bangs and put a warm hand on his cheek.
“I’m-” Tommy croaked. He coughed, and tried again. “I’m okay.”
“You feel warm,” Phil furrowed his brow. “Does he have a fever?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Ponk replied. “He’s fine, I told you.”
Phil presses the back of his hand to Tommy’s forehead, presses a finger under his jaw. Tommy pulls away, batting off his father’s overbearing-ness.
“I’m fine, Phil,” Tommy said. “I’m tired, I just want to sleep-”
“Are you fine, or are you tired?” Phil demanded. “Can’t be both, mate.”
“He’s still getting those drugs out of his system.” Ponk picked up his bag from where it was set on the end of his bed. “Those were…pretty nasty. Not exactly over the counter. He’ll be tired for a few days, by the end of the week he’ll be back to his usual annoying self.”
His usual self. Right. Fat chance of that, considering in the past week his whole world had been taken and turned on its head.
Ponk said his goodbyes. Phil waved him off, frowning at his son.
“Are you sure you’re-”
“Yes! I’m fine!” Tommy yelled. “Will you please just leave me alone?!”
Phil blinked, took a step back. He hovered near Tommy’s bed before sighing.
“Okay,” He said in a very soft, very gentle voice. “Will you join us for dinner tonight?”
This was the thing about Phil. He worked in exchanges, in bargains, like a businessman ought to. That was what he had he told him when Tommy was a child, but Tommy saw now that these weren’t the habits of a shrewd businessman, but a criminal.
Tommy laid down, turned his back to his father.
“Fine,” He muttered. “Just leave me alone.”
He could almost hear Phil smile as he said goodbye, and the door shut behind him.
Tommy pulled his covers over his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and searched for a brief respite from the nightmare his life had become.
---
The strange thing about Tommy was that he looked exactly like his father.
They had the same eyes, the same blond hair.
While the twins had inherited their mother’s dark hair, her dark eyes, Tommy was the opposite.
The twins had Phil’s killer instinct, they had his protective nature, his ruthlessness.
Tommy was nothing like that.
But he had none of his mother’s darkness in him either. No sharp intelligence, no affinity for darkness and death, and none of her cunning or wit.
Tommy was loud and bright, kind and caring, he was the sun their family orbited around.
All of it, every life he’d taken, every building burned and empire ruined, it was for him.
It was all for him.
It seemed, to Phil however, that they’d misunderstood their youngest.
That was his biggest fear, that Tommy wouldn’t be able to embrace the life of his family. That they had waited too long.
But he had brought the twins into it at thirteen, and they’d become-
He loved them both. He loved them more than words could express but- they were-
They were monsters.
Phil knew that was what they had to become in order to survive- he knew he had made them into what they were but-
He didn’t want the same to happen to Tommy. His sweet, bright son-
He didn’t want to see that light go out.
“Phil,” Techno deadpanned. He was sitting at his right hand at the dinner table. “You’re spiraling.”
“I am not,” Phil said, “I’m perfectly fine it’s just-”
“Old man’s getting nervous, huh?” Will drawled from his left-hand side. “Are you sad your perfect little golden boy is having a hissy fit?”
“Will-”
“Lay off,” Techno warned. “Like you weren’t sobbin’ for the past three days.”
“Of course I was!” Wilbur shouted. “I’m not the heartless bastard that you are!”
“Boys-”
“Maybe if you weren’t such a mess-” Techno stood, calm, composed as always. “We would have found him before they…”
Techno trailed off. He was looking at something, something he’d just noticed. Phil looked to where he was looking.
Tommy stood in the doorway of the dining room. He looked…tired. Exhausted. He had one hand on the wall as if he needed it to balance himself.
“Tommy,” Phil stood up. “Here let me help-”
“I’m fine,” Tommy snapped. He made his way to his seat at the end of the table. Before he could protest, Phil pulled out his chair for him. Tommy shot him a glare but sat down.
There was no conversation as they ate. Phil, for the most part, was watching Tommy, making sure he was finishing his dinner. Which he wasn’t.
“Tommy, aren’t you hungry?” Phil said.
Tommy rested his head on the palm of his hand, his whole body slumped to the side as he picked at his dinner. He shrugged.
“M’ fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Because if something’s wrong then-”
“Nothing’s wrong!” Tommy shouted. “I’m fine! Would you just- stop staring at me?!”
A silence fell over the table. Phil wasn’t really sure what to do. Tommy was loud, he yelled all the time but he never- he never snapped at him like that.
What was he supposed to do? Shout at him? He didn’t want to upset him. Phil couldn’t bring himself to be mad at him, not here, not now, not-
“I’m takin’ you to the farm tomorrow. I think it’s time for a visit anyway.” Techno said, then immediately stabbed into a piece of meat, and ripped off a piece with his teeth. Techno never really…got the point of table manners. He could act all proper when in polite company, sure, but around his family, he ate like a starving man. Like an animal.
Phil felt a chill go through him.
“No,” He said. “No, no, absolutely not.”
“Techno, that’s-” Will cut in. Tommy sat up, looked around.
“Farm? What farm?”
“You are not going there with him-” Phil stood up and slammed his hands on the table. “You are not.”
“Mm,” Techno hummed. “That’s the thing, S’not your property.”
“What?” Phil said.
“The property’s under my name. It’s my choice if he sees it or not”
“He’s my son-”
“He’s my brother,” Techno said. “And I think he’s more than ready.”
“Ready for what?” Tommy asked. “What the hell is going on? Why don’t you ever tell me anything?”
“Because you’re not ready.” Will stood, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “You’re going to bed, come on.”
“What? No-”
“Techno and Phil need to talk,” Will said. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Tommy grumbled something, then stood up and followed Will out of the room.
Phil turned to Techno.
“I’m not letting you do this.”
“Good thing I don’t need your permission.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“It’s the simplest way to show him what we do.”
“The farm? Really?” Phil said, “You’ll scare him-“
Techno put down his knife and fork, slammed his napkin on the table. Phil almost flinched.
“Good.” he said simply, then walked away.
Phil put his head in his hands.
Sometimes he remembered he didn’t have three sons.
He had one son, one perfect, kind son—
And two monsters.
He desperately wished he could save Tommy from becoming one of them.
—-
They didn’t talk for the entire drive.
Techno was driving, his expensive black car that if Tommy remembered correctly, was a graduation gift.
It looked incredibly out of place in the muddy countryside.
“Where are we going?” Tommy asked. The first words he’d spoken since he got in the passenger seat of the car this morning.
“Already told you.” Techno deadpanned.
Techno had woken him up early that morning. He told him, very simply, to get up and get dressed. In short, he looked like shit and he felt worse.
His ribs still ached, he had a pounding migraine and he still had a black eye and a broken nose. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t been able to sleep.
Two hours in, they pulled into the driveway of what was, in fact, a farm. With sprawling fields and a large barn.
A man stood outside the barn, nodded when Techno stepped out of the car.
“Technoblade,” He said, nodding. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I’m here to check up on the pigs,” Techno says. “I’ve got a delivery in the trunk.”
“Alright, you go on ahead, me and my lads can-“ The man stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Tommy.
“Who’s this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Tommy imagined he must look odd, a random blond teenager with a black eye and several bandages. He always felt a bit out of place in the countryside, always too clean, too soft.
He started to see what Wilbur meant when he called him spoiled.
“None of your business, I think,” Techno says. He nods at Tommy. Tommy frowns to himself, and follows after him.
“Why are we here?” Tommy asks, walking alongside the field with Techno. “Why were you talking about pigs?”
“Like I said, we’re here to check up on them,” Techno says nonchalantly. “It’ll teach you a bit about the family business.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow. “The family business of killing people?”
“The family business of deals and trade, commerce, etcetera.” Techno waves a hand. “Phil and Wilbur are the more managerial side of things. I’m a bit more hands-on.”
Hands-on. What in the hell does that mean?
They come to the barn, and Techno pauses before they go in.
“Did you know pigs are omnivores?“ Techno says.
“What?“ Tommy asks.
“Most people think they’re herbivores, but that’s not accurate,” Techno says.
Tommy feels his stomach turn. What exactly is that meant to imply?
“C’mon,” Techno says, gesturing for Tommy to follow him as he walks inside the barn.
Inside, it doesn’t smell as bad as Tommy was expecting. Mostly like the smell of earth, but it’s loud. The sound of hogs squealing echoes in the barn. There must be hundreds of them here.
Techno walks down to the end of the pens, where three men are moving a large bundle.
“Pigs’ll eat anything you give them,” He says. “‘Course, they prefer certain foods but… if they’re hungry enough they’ll eat anything.”
Tommy is staring at the bag.
“Techno,” he says, the beginnings of a realization coming over him. “Techno, that’s not-”
“Quiet.” Techno snaps at him. “Listen for once.”
Tommy blinks. Techno has never snapped at him like that. He’s always been the calmer of the twins, the ice to Wilbur’s fire.
They come to the end of the pens, where a bunch of very angry, very hungry pigs are snorting and snapping at the air.
“Open it,” Techno instructs the men, who’ve set the bag down on the floor. Tommy knows what it is. He knows and he has to fight the urge to grab onto Techno’s sleeve, hide his face in his shirt like he would’ve when they were children.
His brothers had an affinity for horror movies, and Tommy would always insist on watching with them, even when he was probably far too young for them. Wilbur would tease him when he got scared, and so he always turned to Techno. He would do exactly that, grab onto his oldest brother, who was always so much stronger than his twin, who could protect Tommy from whatever monsters were out there.
God, he never thought his brother would be one of them.
The men unzipped the bag.
Tommy winced. The man in the bag was dead, shot in the head. The blood had dried into a brown smudge on his brow, but the exit wound, he saw, had taken out the back of his skull.
“Tech-” Tommy whines.
Techno ignores him.
He gestures to the pigs, and the man’s corpse is unceremoniously dumped into the pen.
Tommy closes his eyes, and when he starts to hear the tearing of flesh, the gnawing of bone, he covers his ears.
A hand grabs him, he flinches, hard.
“No,” Techno says firmly. “No, Tommy.”
“Techno, please.” Tommy feels his arm ache, he still has bruises where Techno grabbed him.
Did he do it on purpose?
That thought leaves him as Techno grabs the back of his neck, pushes him against the gate of the pen, his chest banging against the metal bar. He winces in pain. His ribs are still bruised.
“Watch,” He tells him. “Don’t shut your eyes. Watch.”
His brother holds him there, his hand on the back of Tommy’s neck, his other hand holding Tommy’s arm in place behind his back.
Tommy’s tears drop into the muddy dirt, mixing with the blood of a stranger.
And he watches.
He watches as a man is devoured in front of him.
Techno lets him go.
He falls to the ground. Nobody makes any move to help him. He fights the urge to curl into a ball and cry, to throw up. He knows it would be worthless, so he just sits there, his hands pressed to his eyes.
“Welcome to the family business, Tommy,” Techno says, helping Tommy up, then clapping a hand on his shoulder, and saying in such a proud voice-
“Welcome home.”
—
“And how do we retaliate?” Sapnap is asking. “The crows have killed two of our men, raided one of our bases.”
Dream stood in front of the large windows of his office. The building they were currently in was a part of the deal with the Dragon Queen. They were allowed to use it for whatever they wanted, provided they had men at the doors of the casinos in the area that she owned.
Dream thought it might be worth it just for this view, a view of the whole city at night, shining lights against a black sky.
He’d like to crush the whole thing under the heel of his boot.
“Where’s George?” Dream asked. “He should be here.”
“He’s- God, I don’t know!” Sapnap yelled. “Probably asleep. Probably...”
Dream turned to look at Sapnap, who threw his hands up in the air and stormed off. Then he turned his eyes towards the other blond sitting across the room, sharpening a knife.
“Punz,” Dream said. Punz looked up, skeptical.
“Go find George, I’m not making any decisions without him here.”
Punz shrugged and got up, left the room.
“We should kidnap the heir,” Sapnap said. “We should take him, and we should kill him.”
“We’re not killing anybody, that’s an act of war,” Dream said.
“So we’re at war!” Sapnap yelled, standing up suddenly “We’re already fighting, we might as well be at war!”
Dream and Sapnap were very much opposites. They had grown up together, they were brothers in everything but blood, and yet they were so very different. If Sapnap was fire, Dream was ice.
“No, not yet.” Dream sat down at the desk. He put his hands to his temples.
What they needed was an anonymous crime. They needed a series of unrelated events. Accidents, accidents. Things that couldn’t be traced back to them.
“We should take that stupid brat again, and this time-” Sapnap was saying.
Dream furrowed his brow. “No.”
“This time,” Sapnap slammed a fist on the table. “We kill him. We kill him for what they did to Sam, and what happened to Ant. We kill them all.”
“We’re not killing anybody.” Dream reiterated. God. Fire and Ice, that’s what they were-
Then something clicked.
“We’re going to do something worse.” Dream stood up, just as Punz and George walked into the room. George, indeed, looked as though he’d been asleep. He looked out of place among them. That was because he was the son of a CEO, not a street rat like the rest of them. He was a pure-bred lap dog in a room full of sharp-toothed fighting dogs.
But Dream had his reasons for keeping him around. His dead father’s money was one of them. But he could care less about the money.
“Punz, I need you to find out where the crows keep their weapons.” Before Punz could say anything he added. “Not their bases, not their safehouses, their weapons storage, and the homes of their most trusted men.”
He stood, placing his hands on the desk.
“Taking Tommy was a warning shot,” Dream says. “It was a surface-level wound. This, what we’re going to do, it has to cut to the bone. We need to hit a major artery.”
“Sapnap, I want you to do what you do best.” He looked to the raven-haired man, and stared him down. “When Punz finds those locations, you go there with whatever men you need and you burn them to the ground.”
He saw a smile tug at the edge of Sapnap’s lips. If Dream was ice, Sapnap was fire. And his dark-haired counterpart loved setting fires.
“George, I need you to arrange a conference,” Dream pointed to George. “Not just with the gangs. Everyone you know, every powerful person in the city.”
“Like a party?” George said, raising an eyebrow.
Dream grinned. “Like the biggest damn party you've ever seen.”
He kept going like that, giving orders and plotting his own silent schemes. Dream was like this, once an idea had gripped him, once a plan had come to him, it wouldn’t leave unless it had been brought to fruition.
Tommy was one part of the plan. He needed the Crow’s youngest as leverage. Entrusting him to Sam and Sapnap was a mistake, it was sloppy. This time, He would do it himself. And he would take him when nobody was watching. When nobody could be there to shoot at him.
His arm twinged when he remembered that night in the alley.
Tubbo was another part of the plan. He needed to die, that was simple. Or, rather, he simply needed to be put out of commission.
That was more difficult. He had the papers from the hospital, he knew the Dragon Queen’s son had been to Tubbo’s room more than once. But why? That was something he couldn’t crack.
They were on opposite sides of the battle lines of the city. They were from opposing gangs. They weren’t friends in school, at least, not from what he could tell.
So why?
It didn’t matter. Either way, they needed to be separated.
Dream was sure there was a way he could do it without things getting bloody. He never liked to kill people, he only did it when it was necessary. And he especially didn’t like killing children, not when they might be useful later. Then Tubbo was easy, the boy didn’t have a use once you perpetrated him from the crow’s youngest son.
It didn’t matter, he had to figure out what to do with the little prince and his new bodyguard friend.
This was the shot to the leg before a killing blow. This was a perfunctory measure. This was only the beginning.
But Dream would make sure it was going to hurt.