Archive of Our Own

~O~

Technoblade can only stand there for a moment, staring silently at the scene. He’d just come to grab the last of his things from Pogtopia, Wilbur having subtly suggested that he find somewhere else to be now that the potato farm was finished. He’d heard shouting from the entrance, harsh words barely muffled by the dirt concealing the secret base. He’d thought it was just because of his sharp hearing, but no, Wilbur was truly shouting loudly enough to be heard from the surface.

And he was shouting at Tommy.

The brown-haired man is looming over the shorter blond, shoulders tense and voice ringing off the stone walls as Tommy shrinks back, hunching in on himself.Technoblade blinks, and takes the final step to the bottom of the ravine. The clack of hooves on stone is finally enough to distract Wilbur, who turns. His eyes are burning, fiery with rage, but a wide smile cracks his face in two.

“Ah, Technoblade,” he turns just enough that he’s able to see both Technoblade and Tommy at the same time, and it makes Techno’s heart hurt. “What brings you here?”

Technoblade, not Blade, or Techno, or any of the other nicknames that they’ve built up over the years. And turning to see him, when once he would have trusted Technoblade to have his back. And yelling at Tommy. At their Tommy.

“Just here to get the last of my stuff,” Techno grunts, eyes flicking between Wilbur and Tommy. The youngest isn’t straightening, remaining curled up against the wall, hunching down and looking as small as a six-foot-two boy can.

“Good to hear,” Wilbur grins. “Well, don’t let us hold you up.”

And he gestures grandly towards the hole in the wall that had served as Techno’s room while the farm was under construction. The long coat Wilbur is wearing doesn’t move quite right, weighted oddly, and Technoblade knows that it’s lined with armor plating. Once upon a time Wilbur was the one to help Technoblade out of his armor, was the one to convince Techno that he needn’t be on his guard at home. Now he wears armor in his coat. Technoblade grunts an acknowledgement, trying once more to catch Tommy’s eyes before he walks slowly around the pair. Tommy doesn’t look up.

As soon as he’s out of sight Technoblade lengthens his stride, rushing down the short hall. There’s only one chest left, and he doesn’t bother opening it. He’d intended to go through it carefully, maybe leave a few good things behind for his brothers. Now he slams one fist into the thin wood, once, twice, before it shatters. Technoblade scoops the contents into his cape without looking at them and turns back for the cave, royal coat flapping behind him.

He’s too slow.

There’s a yelp, accompanied by the smack of skin-on-skin, and Techno finally gets back to the main ravine to see Tommy somehow curled up even smaller than before, one hand covering his cheek.

Wilbur’s hand is still raised.

Technoblade doesn’t bother speaking. The pig-man barrels forward, ramming the full force of his weight into Wilbur’s side. Wilbur is taller than Technoblade by about a head, but he’s skinny, while Technoblade is toughened from hours and hours of combat training and farming. Wilbur goes flying, not even hitting the ground for several feet and rolling when he lands. Techno huffs through his nose, eyes narrowed, as the older man scrambles to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Wilbur snarls, eyes wide and wild as he crouches into something resembling a defensive stance. Techno can see a dozen different openings without thinking.

“Getting my things,” Technoblade states. His voice is dull, monotone in a way that he only uses when speaking to strangers. It’s a final test. Wilbur blinks in confusion.

“And that required throwing me across the room?! All your stuff was in your room!” Technoblade blinks for a half-second longer than usual. It’s all the mourning he’ll allow himself for now.

“Not everything,” he counters, and then he turns to Tommy. The youngest is watching everything with wide blue eyes, looking at Technoblade when the other turns to him. Tommy’s cheek is already starting to turn purple. Technoblade doesn’t hesitate, stepping over and scooping Tommy into his arms like a toddler. Tommy doesn’t protest, just wraps his arms around Technoblade and buries his face into the other’s shoulder. Techno glares at a gobsmacked Wilbur for a moment before he heads for the stairs. They’re a little hard to negotiate with the extra burden in his arms, but Techno manages.

“What are you doing?! Technoblade! Bring him back!” Wilbur starts to shout, but Techno doesn’t stop, continuing up and up until he eventually emerges into the sunlight. It’s almost sunset, the sky painted bright orange and pink. The walk back to Techno’s home is silent but for the occasional moo of a wild cow. Techno’s home is on the edge of the forest, a two-story wooden structure looking out over the plains. Beside it stretches a potato farm even larger than the one in Pogtopia. Technoblade kicks the door open, managing to close it behind himself with one foot even as he carries Tommy up to the second floor. There are four bedrooms, only one of which is currently occupied, and Techno makes for the room next door. It’s not decorated, but there’s a couple of chests and a wide bed that Technoblade sits down on. The warrior carefully maneuvers Tommy so that the younger is sitting beside him on the blankets. Tommy still doesn’t speak, and doesn’t let go of Technoblade, keeping his face buried in the crimson coat. Techno gently takes Tommy’s chin in his hand, tilting the boy’s head so he can get a clearer look at his face. Tommy avoids his eyes, leaving Techno to observe the large mark on Tommy’s cheek.

“Should put some ice on that,” Techno remarks softly, deep voice rumbling. It’s taking everything he has not to turn back to Pogtopia and run Wilbur through. He goes to stand but is stopped by Tommy, the younger not willing to let go of his coat. The boy still hasn’t made a sound. Techno scoops him up again and carries him to the kitchen, sitting Tommy down at the table and gently unwinding fingers from his coat before fetching a bag of ice from the cold-chest. He wraps it in a scrap of wool before pressing it to Tommy’s face. That finally gets a reaction, Tommy hissing at the cold. He takes the pack from Technoblade, holding it on his own, and avoids Techno’s eyes, glancing around the kitchen curiously. It’s larger than one person would need, with a big pantry and cold-chest and several smokers against the walls, each one lit and huffing warm air into the space.

“It’s big,” Tommy finally mutters.

“I made it for all of us,” Technoblade replies. Tommy drops his eyes, slouching to rest his arms and head on the table. Silence falls again, a bit more uncomfortable than before. Techno lets it sit, and sit, before finally sighing deeply.

“What do you want for dinner?” He asks, getting to his feet to rummage through the cold-chest.

“Ya got steak?” Tommy asks immediately. Techno grunts an affirmative, pulling a couple pieces of meat and a bundle of potatoes out of the chest. He chucks them in the smoker and starts chopping up some other vegetables, hands and knife a pink-silver blur. Tommy carefully watches out of the corner of his eye.

He hasn’t seen Technoblade in nearly a month, the other seeming to vanish after the near record-breaking number of sleepless nights he’d put into the farm in Pogtopia. He looks better. The bag underneath beady red eyes aren’t so deep anymore, mere shadows above the pig-man’s snout, and the broad pink ears are lifted, not resting flat against his head. Even his hair looks better, clean and silky pink gathered in a knot at the base of Technoblade’s neck rather than greasy, tangled, and covered in dirt and stone-dust. He’s clean, and healthy, and just looking at him makes part of Tommy feel small and dirty, like a potato that Technoblade pulled from the ground.

The warrior finishes chopping the veggies and tosses them on the stove, and the sizzling makes Tommy flinch. Techno catches it, of course he does, but he doesn’t speak, merely turning down the heat and continuing to cook. Tommy hunkers down a little more, pressing the damp wool back against his cheek. The motion pulls at other wounds, but he ignores it, breathing deeply and trying not to think about it.

The sun has set by the time Techno sets two plates down on the table, accompanied by two glasses of milk. Tommy sits up at the smell of food, setting aside the cloth. His stomach rumbles. He hadn’t eaten last night, too busy mining a vein of diamonds he found, and this morning Wilbur woke him up early to help him hunt Creepers for their gunpowder. Lunch was a wrinkly carrot snuck from the dwindling larder as he ran to meet Tubbo in the meadow.

Tommy falls on the food like he’s starving, partly because he is. Techno just watches quietly, pushing over another piece of steak when Tommy polishes off the first in record time. As he finishes his plate, stomach warm and full for the first time in a long time, Tommy’s eyes grow heavy, and a huge yawn practically cracks his jaw. Techno takes advantage of Tommy’s distraction to take his plate, putting the dishes into the sink for later.

“Bed,” he grunts, and Tommy is too tired and sore to even want to argue. He stumbles behind Technoblade, eyes trained on hooved feet as he’s led up stairs and into the same room as before. His boots are kicked off, belt removed, and Tommy flops onto the bed, not bothering to pull the blanket up as he curls up facing the wall. Technoblade watches for a long moment before retreating back downstairs.

Tommy stares at the wall, listening.

Running water, the clatter of dishes and silverware, and the soft, rhythm-less clicking of Technoblade’s hooves as he shuffles and scuffs at the floor. He’s done it for as long as Tommy can remember, an odd almost tap-dance whenever he’s standing around. Doing dishes, hanging laundry to dry, waiting for someone to finish a meeting. Step-step, click-clack, slide and scuff, sometimes hard enough to leave marks on the wood floor if he hasn’t trimmed his hooves recently. It’s comforting, and Tommy feels himself relaxing more and more until it stops. He can hear Technoblade moving around, puttering around the kitchen a bit more before coming back upstairs. The hoof-steps stop outside Tommy’s still open door for a moment before continuing on. There’s the creak of a door opening. It doesn’t close. There’s a few soft sounds, fabric hitting the floor, and then silence.

Tommy starts to count the seconds.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three.

At five minutes Tommy slides off the bed. Socked feet pad across the wooden floor, Tommy making his way through the dimly lit room and out to the hall. Techno’s door is open, and Tommy peers cautiously in. His weight shifts, causing a floorboard to creak, and instantly there’s a huff, a glint of red eyes staring out through the darkness. Technoblade, stripped down to his long-sleeve shirt and a loose pair of pants, wordlessly lifts up a corner of the blanket and holds it open.

Tommy hesitates, staring at the invitation with wide eyes.

Technoblade waits patiently.

Finally Tommy steps forward, slowly moving until he can slide in next to Technoblade. The pig-man wraps his arms around Tommy, holding the other close in the darkness.

Warm, well-fed, and held in the protective arms of his older brother, Tommy finally surrenders to sleep. Technoblade watches the younger boy fall asleep, the tense creases fading from his skin, and plots.

He doesn’t get much sleep that night.

~O~

Tubbo fidgets nervously at the cuffs of his suit jacket, glancing around for Tommy. The blond is never late to their meetings, not if he can help it, and the more time that passes the more sure Tubbo is that something has gone dreadfully wrong.

“Ah, Tubbo.” The boy squeaks and jumps, turning to see Wilbur emerge from the bushes. Tubbo relaxes slightly, before stiffening with realization.

“Hey Wilbur; where’s Tommy?”

“He’s feeling a bit ill,” Wilbur smiles gently. “He’ll be back on his feet by the festival, but you’re stuck with me for today.” Tubbo nods.

“So, you said you have some sort of plan?” He questions. Wilbur’s smile grows.

“Yes, and you’re an important part of it!” And Tubbo listens carefully. A half-stack of TNT, provided by Dream, hidden underneath the White House, detonated while everyone is at the festival. Damaging to Manberg in reputation only, no casualties except Schlatt’s pride, and flashy enough to ensure that Pogtopia is not forgotten. A typical Wilbur plan. Tubbo nods along eagerly.

“And you, Tubbo,” Wilbur grins. “You will tell me when to set it off.”

Tubbo nods eagerly, not noticing the gleam in Wilbur’s eyes for anything other than excitement.

~O~

It took a lot of effort to convince Tommy to stay home from the festival. First of all he hadn’t been invited, second of all Wilbur was bound to be there to set some grand plan in motion, and third of all it would be far harder for Technoblade to abscond with two people than with one. Eventually Techno is able to convince the younger, leaving Tommy with instructions to feed the cows and get enough experience to mend the netherite axe that Techno left in his care. Leaving Technoblade, armed with his trident, axe, and crossbow and decked out in netherite armor beneath his usual red coat, to march into the festival alone.

It starts out well; there’s a cleverly designed dunk tank, and a colorful dance floor, and sweet treats aplenty from Niki’s bakery. Fundy does trick him into the dunk tank and blocks the top with cobblestone, but Niki is quick to clear it away so that Techno can climb out whenever he wants. Technoblade actually has a good time lounging at the bottom of the tank, enchanted helmet providing him with plenty of air as he laughs at the fox-man’s aggravated face. There are even boxing matches, the president himself coming down to face his right-hand-man in a friendly spar. Tubbo ends up winning, laughing with Schlatt even as the ram-man accepts a hand up.

Techno almost doesn’t notice when Tubbo slips away, but then he finds the boy again. Tubbo is on the roof of a building, and he isn’t alone. Even with his poor vision and the distance, it’s easy for Technoblade to recognize Wilbur. He glares, but bites his tongue. They’re obviously having a conversation, Wilbur doesn’t appear aggressive, and Tubbo soon returns to the party. The boy is pale, now, and his hands shake. He’s looking around, eyes wide with either awe or horror, and Techno has the feeling that something has gone horribly wrong. He starts working his way towards the boy, but then the speeches are announced. Everyone makes their way towards to podium, and the prickle of suspicion starts up Technoblade’s neck when he sees that there are assigned seats.

He, Niki, and Fundy are near the front, though on different rows.

Separated.

With good views of the stage, which hosts a massive throne and only one microphone.

Dread drops like a rock into Technoblade’s stomach.

He barely hears Schlatt, barely hears Tubbo’s speech, but then Schlatt starts laughing. His laugh is ridiculous, a gruff, bleating thing, but it makes Techno’s blood run cold. And then there are heavy stones, bright yellow concrete boxing Tubbo in and trapping the boy in front of that dark throne. And Schlatt turns to the crowd. No, to Technoblade in particular.

“Technoblade, why don’t you come up here?”

It’s not a request.

Techno stalls as much as he can, taking each step slowly until he’s on the stage. It’s been modified specifically for this, he notices, boards extending out in a way that isn’t obvious from the ground, allowing him to stand, front and center, in the only opening of Tubbo’s impromptu prison.

It’s a sunny day in Manberg when Schlatt orders Technoblade to execute Tubbo on the stage that he built. His trident is useless, he wouldn’t be able to reach Schlatt with his axe before Quackity cut him down, and he only has one pearl; not enough to get him away. There’s really only one option. Technoblade palms his crossbow, making a show of examining the rockets already loaded. They’re the decorative ones. How fitting.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” Technoblade says, raising the crossbow and pointing it into the box. Tubbo looks terrified, eyes wide and watery as he huddles at the very back of the box, pressed into a corner and making himself as small as he can.

“I’ll make this as painless and colorful as possible,” Technoblade vows.

He fires.

One rocket gets into the box, blasting through the wooden barrier at the front of the cage and striking the corner opposite Tubbo. The other two rockets fly out and explode on stage. Schlatt and Quackity are launched away in opposite directions, their clothes and Schlatt’s fur smoldering and covered in blinding red, white, and blue. Techno spins and fires into the crowd, hitting the ground and empty seats with enough precision to blind everyone and send the audience into chaos. Technoblade darts backward, pulling a blinded and wounded Tubbo close to his side, and hurls the pearl with all his strength.

In the split second between throwing the pearl and vanishing from the stage, Techno sees a flash of brown coat as Wilbur leaves the rooftop.

And then he and Tubbo are on the ground near the dance floor, the tiles covered in ash from Techno’s rockets. Technoblade hauls Tubbo onto his shoulder, arms himself with his trident, and leaps into the nearby pond. Instantly the enchantment activates, and Technoblade hurls them into the sky. There are shouts behind him, orders to hunt them down, but Techno has made it to the port. From there the water is endless, further strengthening the magic of his trident, and Techno and Tubbo are long gone by the time the people unaffected by the rockets are able to get to the boats.

It’s late afternoon by the time Technoblade judges them safely away and leaves the bay, landing roughly in the boughs of a tree. Tubbo lets out a wet sob as he’s jostled, and Technoblade barely manages to keep himself from cursing.

“I’m sorry, kid, it was the only thing I could think of,” he apologizes, glancing around. The forest appears deserted; they can afford a moment. Techno eases Tubbo off of his shoulder, sitting the boy down on a broad branch to examine him. Tubbo blinks up at him through his tears. The rocket didn’t hit him directly, he’d be dead if it had, but his suit jacket and dress shirt are in shreds, the undershirt beneath torn to reveal burned skin. It isn’t bleeding, but it looks like it hurts. Judging by the blinking and wide pupils, he’s probably still blinded, too.

“Technoblade?” Tubbo asks, voice watery and trembling. Yup, definitely still blind.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Techno takes one of the boy’s hands in his own. He carefully lifts the hand to feel his snout. Even now, when he literally burned the boy, Tubbo is gentle as he traces Techno’s face.

His snout is tough, but it’s also one of his most sensitive parts, and is often a target during battle, leaving near-invisible scars across the tender flesh. Tubbo’s hand drifts downward, feeling Techno’s right tusk and the thin gold ring around it for a moment before retreating.

“What happened?” Tubbo asks, blinking hard, and Techno winces, though he doesn’t let go of the boy’s hand.

“I shot you,” he admits regretfully. Tubbo scoffs.

“No you didn’t, I’d be dead. You shot beside me,” he corrects the warrior, clutching onto Techno’s hand. Techno hums a disagreement but continues.

“My crossbow is multishot; I got you, Schlatt, and Quackity in the blast, and then I fired into the crowd.” Tubbo’s hand tightens.

“No one else was hurt,” Techno is quick to reassure the boy. “I hit dirt and empty chairs only, I made sure. I just needed the colors to distract them while we escaped.” The explanation is enough to make Tubbo relax again.

“Escaped?”

“Yeah, we’re in a tree right now, on the other side of the bay from Manberg.” Tubbo makes a noise of surprise.

“Yeah, my trident is pretty cool,” Techno grins despite the situation.

“I’ve got a house, we can go there until things cool down. Tommy is waiting for you,” Techno continues.

“Tommy? He’s with you?” Tubbo’s grip tightens until it’s almost painful and his eyes fix on Technoblade.

“Yeah, has been for almost a week now,” Techno replies.

“Wilbur said he was sick,” Tubbo’s voice is desperate. “Have you been taking care of him?”

Techno pauses. On one hand, Tubbo should know what his best friend went through. On the other, this isn’t the time or place for that conversation, and it isn’t his story to tell.

“Kind of,” he finally answers. “It’ll be better if Tommy explains.”

Techno uses his free hand to reach into his coat, pulling out a golden apple.

“Here, eat this and we can get going.” He presses the fruit into Tubbo’s free hand. Tubbo lifts it to his face, pressing it to his nose and sniffing it carefully. His expression brightens, and he bites into the apple with relish.

“Thanks, I haven’t eaten anything today,” he admits through a mouthful of fruit. Techno frowns, grunting to acknowledge the words, and continues holding Tubbo’s hand as the fruit begins to work. The burn shrinks slightly, the deep red fading to an angry pink and, as he tosses the core to the ground, Tubbo’s eyes are much more clear.

“You good?” Techno asks carefully.

“Not entirely, but good enough to travel,” Tubbo says firmly, and Technoblade doesn’t have much choice but to believe him. The pair clamber down from the tree, eyes and ears alert for any pursuit, and Techno looks around. He recognizes these trees.

“This way,” he says, heading off into the brush. Tubbo is quick to catch up, jogging carefully forward until he can take Techno’s hand. Technoblade carefully doesn’t discourage him. A whinny splits the forest as they emerge into a clearing.

“Tubbo, meet Carl,” Technoblade introduces the armor-clad horse, Tubbo gasping in joy as he bounces up to make friends. Carl accepts the pats and cooing gladly before the two mount up, heading for Technoblade’s house. It’s a rough journey, Tubbo grimacing and making small noises of pain whenever Carl jumps the wrong way, and Techno is torn behind moving quickly or carefully. Eventually they make it home as the sun sets.

Tommy is standing at the door when they ride up, partially armored and with the Axe of Peace in his hand. The weapon drops when he recognizes them, and he races forward. Tubbo barely manages to get off the horse before he’s captured in a strong hug. A yelp escapes the brown-haired boy when his friend presses at the burn, and Tommy steps back quickly, eyes scanning for the wound. When he spots the wound, his face grows cold. He turns icy blue eyes onto Technoblade.

“You hurt him,” he says flatly. Techno grimaces, shoulders slumping with guilt.

“Yes,” he replies simply.

“Not really,” Tubbo interjects, getting between the two before anything can erupt. “Schlatt wanted him to kill me.”

Tommy looks back at Tubbo with wide eyes. Techno takes the opportunity to start hustling the two boys into the house.

“C’mon, let’s get that burn looked at,” he puts a hand on each boy’s shoulder. Tommy shrugs him off roughly but Tubbo leans back into him gratefully for a second before starting forward. Soon all three are sitting around the table, an array of burn creams and bandages mixed with healing potions scattered across the tabletop. Technoblade pulls off his gloves and flexes his fingers carefully.

Luckily for situations like this, his hands are mostly human, though his nails are black, tough, and come to rough points unless he files them down. The warrior coats his fingers with burn cream and carefully begins to cover the wound.

“Explain,” Tommy demands, eyes flicking between Techno and Tubbo.

“Schlatt found out somehow,” Tubbo begins. “He put me in a box on stage and called Technoblade up to execute me.”

As Techno treats the burn, Tubbo goes over what happened at the festival. Tommy’s expression gets darker and darker with each detail revealed, especially how Schlatt tainted the joke of the Tub-box with his execution.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Tommy mutters, taking Tubbo’s hand in his own and squeezing tightly. “Gonna turn him into mutton like the sheep he is.”

Tubbo chuckles, squeezing back.

“I’m just glad Techno got me out before Wilbur hit the button,” he remarks, and Tommy starts.

“Wilbur was there?” His face pales.

“Yeah, he called me over during the festival. I think that’s what really confirmed what Schlatt already suspected,” Tubbo shifts his weight.

“What did Wilbur want?” Tommy asks cautiously, still holding Tubbo’s hand, though at this point it’s more for his own comfort than for his friends.

“He wanted to ask me about Schlatt, about whether or not he was a good leader. I think he was having doubts about blowing up Manberg.” Tommy freezes, gaping at his friend with a face as pale as milk. Even Techno has frozen, hands hovering over the burn as wide red eyes stare at the younger boy.

“What.” The word is even more flat than Techno’s usual monotone. Tubbo appears not to notice the effect of his words, instead looking down and focusing on Tommy’s hand in his own, playing with the other boy’s fingers.

“Yeah; he told me that he was giving me control, that he wouldn’t blow up the city if I didn’t say the trigger words,” he continues. “I didn’t say them,” he is quick to reassure the shocked pair, “But I thought he would try it anyway when Schlatt tried to execute me. I guess he had a change of heart.”

Techno numbly finishes treating the burn, wiping the worst of the burn cream off his hands before handing Tubbo another golden apple and going to wash his hands.

“Oh God,” Tommy whispers, clutching at Tubbo’s hand. “The whole city. During the festival. Everyone would have died.”

“He probably couldn’t have managed the entire city,” Tubbo tries to comfort him. “How much TNT could he possibly have?”

“Ten stacks.” Now it’s Tubbo’s turn to go pale.

“What?”

“At least ten stacks,” Tommy answers. “And that’s only with what I helped him collect.” Tubbo collapses back against the chair, clutching Tommy’s hand again.

“Oh God,” he says, swiping his free hand up through his hair. The two boys cling to each other as visions of the city they both love going up in smoke and ash run through their heads.

“It would have been Dream all over again,” Tommy barely breathes, and Tubbo lets out a wounded sound, holding Tommy even closer. Technoblade is standing in front of the sink, staring blankly through the window and out over the dark plains. He’s as still as death, shoulders a stiff line. Tubbo, empathetic, observant Tubbo, is the first to notice.

“Techno?” He asks softly. Technoblade doesn’t look at them. He can’t look at them. He’d fired rockets in Manberg. He’d fired rockets into the ground of Manberg. He’d fired rockets into the ground of a city laced with explosives. He’d fired rockets into the ground because he’d thought it would be safer than shooting the people, but he could have done so much worse. His knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the sink.

“I could have set it off,” he finally chokes out, and a pained wheeze escapes the two boys as they realize what he’s saying. Technoblade expects to hear them stand, to hear the two escape up to Tommy’s room. Instead there are suddenly two warm weights at his side as he is hustled into his own living room, collapsing onto the couch with both boys almost on top of him. God, if he’d set off the TNT with the first rocket, before he and Tubbo could escape, they’d both be…

Techno shudders, wrapping his arms around both boys and burying his nose into Tubbo’s hair. They fall asleep like that, all three of them crammed onto the couch, so intertwined that you can’t tell where one ends and the others begin.

~O~

Schlatt knows he fucked up. As he sits at his desk, piles and piles of paperwork needed to begin the repair work to the festival grounds in front of him, towering high enough to block his view of the door, the horned man considers that he probably fucked up a while ago. As far back as the night he won the election he’d known that this wouldn’t be easy, that the power would weigh heavily on his shoulders, but he’d thought he could handle it. Thought he could handle being responsible for the lives and happiness of Manberg and everyone within its walls. But there was just so much work, and so many people who wanted him to be Wilbur, and slowly, insidiously, it had started to get to him.

He’d started drinking more.

First just two bottles instead of one at the end of the week, and then one on Wednesday to help get him through, and then two, and suddenly the flask in his pocket has become a familiar weight, something to pull out a nip from whenever he feels his hands begin to shake and the weight of it all gets to be just a bit too much.

It’s ruining him.

He can feel his wool thinning from the stress, knows that his horns are going to start flaking away if he doesn’t shine them, but there’s just so much to do. And it never seems to end, as soon as he signs one piece of paper or approves one project there’s another ten there to take its place. Not to mention they have almost no money. Niki is practically the only citizen turning a profit after the war for independence, and taxing her more heavily just turns the population against him, but what else is he to do? Take bread from their chests, wheat directly from their farms? His hands are tied, so he drinks and keeps working.

And if some days he can barely stand, can’t even drag himself out of the many pools and streams running through the city, well, that’s hardly anyone else’s problem. Maybe it even makes them feel better, seeing the president they hate stumbling around like a fool.

Schlatt sighs and scrubs at his face. The festival was supposed to be a break. Something to make people smile. Tubbo had even seemed happy, the boy far too gloomy without his best friend there to distract him. But it had backfired.

The casual atmosphere, the dancing, Schlatt had lost track of how much he’d drank, hadn’t realized it had been too much before the flask was empty.

And, his logic impaired and his emotions so close to the surface, he’d noticed that Tubbo was gone, and there had only been one explanation.

And only one rational response.

Schlatt takes a shuddering breath.

God, he’d almost killed Tubbo. He’d almost killed a kid. Even if the boy was a traitor, he was still a child, still probably being manipulated by Wilbur. He couldn’t be held responsible for his actions, let alone executed for them. And using Technoblade to do it…

Schlatt counts himself lucky that he’d gotten away with only a ruined suit and some burnt wool.

He’d thought that being president would give him the power he wanted, the assurance that no one would be able to mess with him or those under his protection. Instead it just means that he feels responsible as they’re under attack from all sides. He almost wants to step down, to just walk away from it all, but he can’t. Not with Wilbur waiting on the sidelines for any sign of weakness, for any opportunity to get back into power.

The least he can do is stay where he is and provide the increasingly-erratic man with a target. Maybe planting TNT underneath his throne (yes, of course he’d seen it, he wasn’t a moron. Why else would he have caged Tubbo where he did?) would keep him from detonating the entire country and causing more collateral damage.

Schlatt knew, from the very beginning, that this position would destroy him. And as he looks with bleary eyes at the work he still has to do, his flask already refilled and waiting patiently in a pocket, Schlatt hates that he was right.

~O~

Dream stalks silently through the forest with all the skills of a veteran Manhunt player. He’d been surprised when Technoblade called him, especially when the other asked for a meeting. They aren’t enemies, not by a long shot, but their friendship is definitely based around their rivalry and healthy competition more than anything else.

Their initial meeting on this server was awkward enough, standing across from each other on a hilltop and Technoblade cautiously accepting the supplies Dream was able to gather. Not to mention Dream knows how Techno is; the pig-man will go along with friends to social events, but rarely organizes them himself, preferring to go with the flow and stick with the people he knows well. So Dream isn’t sure what to expect when he arrives at the coordinates that were sent to him this morning.

He definitely didn’t expect to find Technoblade practically seething with rage.

It’s subtle, visible only in the tense line of his shoulders and the way one hand stays on the hilt of his sword, but there is anger shining through those red eyes.

“Follow me,” Techno grunts before Dream can say a word, striding off into the forest with his long coat snapping behind him. Dream scrambles to catch up, almost losing the man in the forest before he manages to step up beside him. Techno’s eyes are fixed forward, jaw clenched, and Dream knows that now is not the time for questions. He follows silently as they stomp through the forest. It’s about five minutes and Dream gets horribly turned around with all the turns they’ve made before they emerge to a house at the edge of the forest. Techno doesn’t pause, striding straight for the door and letting himself in with Dream at his heels. The masked man breathes a sigh of relief at what he sees inside.

Tommy and Tubbo are waiting at the table. They look healthier than when he last saw them; Tommy has fewer bags under his eyes, and Tubbo isn’t as pale as he was when Schlatt had him working inside for days at a time.

“Sit,” Techno orders, taking his own seat next to Tommy, leaving Dream to take the last seat between Tubbo and Techno.

“You have to stop Wilbur,” the pig-man begins immediately. Dream frowns. Techno is not the kind of man to make demands, generally being easy-going.

“What happened?” He asks.

“Wilbur tried to blow up Manberg,” Tubbo answers.

“He already knew that,” Tommy says bitterly, glaring at Dream. “He gave Wilbur some of the TNT.”

“I gave him half a stack of duds,” Dream corrects, leaning back and raising his empty hands in surrender at the glare from Techno and the wounded look from Tubbo.

“Well he didn’t use it,” Tommy answers. “He had at least ten stacks aside from that. He took what you gave him, put it in a chest, and didn’t touch it.” Dream goes pale under his mask.

“He was going to blow it during the festival,” Tubbo continues. “Kill everyone, destroy everything.”

“He…” Dream tries to object, say that Wilbur wouldn’t do that, but he goes silent. Normally Wilbur wouldn’t, but Wilbur, without Tommy, without Techno, with only himself and a hole in the ground? Wilbur might.

“This has gotten way out of control. We’re going to end this. For good,” Technoblade says firmly. Dream can only nod weakly. He hadn’t known that Wilbur had that much TNT, or when he’d planned to use it. He’d almost assisted in destroying a nation, one he hadn’t planned on. He may not like what Manberg stands for, may not appreciate people saying that they didn’t want to be under his rule in a land he controlled, but that doesn’t mean he wants the people that lived there and all their belongings wiped off the map. He takes a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he lets it out.

“What do you have in mind?”

~O~

The next day, around lunchtime, the citizens of Dream’s server all jolt as they feel the world shift. Niki gasps, clutching at her chest, and, in front of her, Schlatt drops to one knee, wheezing. They lock eyes. Across the city people gasp. Their respawn points, their beds and homes, are disconnected. They are untethered.

There is barely a second to process, only a heartbeat to realize what is going on, before there is another shock, and everything goes dark.

Instantly, painlessly, everyone dies, their consciousnesses thrown into the dark void between death and respawn.

They drift there for what feels like longer than usual before being violently thrown back into reality. Niki stumbles, barely managing to catch herself from falling to the wood floor. She looks up. It’s the community center, practically the center of the server, and it is crowded with people. Schlatt is to her right, Fundy to her left, she can spot Quackity’s beanie over a few other people’s heads.

And across the room is Wilbur. It takes her a moment to recognize him underneath dirt and the furious expression, his hair a greasy mess and a scowl on his face. He looks nearly feral. He scares her.

“What is this?” Schlatt is the first to speak, glancing around suspiciously at the crowded room.

“This is an intervention,” a deep voice announces. Wilbur goes pale under his dirt, and Schlatt freezes in place, his long ears flinching back as close to his head as they can get around his horns. There is a long table off to the side, enough chairs around it for everyone, and at the head of it is the man who spoke. A blond man dressed in green, with a green and white bucket hat.

“Phil!” Wilbur shouts happily, starting forward to greet his friend.

“Ah, hello, Philza,” Schlatt’s ears flick nervously as he edges a step back from the newcomer.

“Hello, Wil, Schlatt,” Phil says simply, very little warmth in his voice, and Niki watches as the smile falls from Wilbur’s face. They all make their way to the table, each one taking a seat, and Niki takes a closer look around. Phil is not alone at the head of the table, Dream sitting to his left and Techno to his right. Tommy and Tubbo are sitting beside the pig-man. Niki feels a wave of relief almost sweep her off her feet at the sight of Tubbo whole and sitting next to his best friend. The boy is whispering to Tommy, prompting a smile from the blond boy, though it quickly fades into a serious expression as the last person finds their seat. Phil stands, folding his hands behind himself and staring everyone down. Niki shrinks slightly in her seat, feeling like a child called to the principal’s office.

“The fighting has to stop,” Phil says simply. Instantly a wave of muttering sweeps through the room. A glare from Phil silences them quickly.

“You are accomplishing nothing with these senseless squabbles,” he continues. “Nothing but causing damage to each other and the server around you. Here is what’s going to happen.”

Phil looks at Dream, who waves a hand. Instantly the surface of the table is covered in a map of the server, showing Dream’s section of land, Manberg, and, a short ways away, a dot in the wilderness labeled Pogtopia. And then in front of Niki’s eyes, the map shifts, and she can feel a rumbling in the ground as the very server warps to match it. Now there are dark lines crossing the map, dividing it into four quadrants, with a small circle in the center. Niki glances up to see Dream pressing his hands to the table, knuckles pale with the force he’s using, and she can barely see a bead of sweat roll down the side of the man’s neck. The map continues to change, rising and falling, and Niki can see their plan fall into place. Each of the quadrants are occupied. In the top left is Dream’s land. To the right is Manberg. Bottom right is almost empty, with only something that may be a small house visible, labelled simply with a T with a crown on top. And on the bottom left is a second Manberg.

“This,” Phil begins, placing a finger on the top right Manberg, “Is Schlatt’s Manberg. It is just as it was before everyone was summoned here, with a few exceptions.” And here he pauses, pinning Wilbur with a significant look.

“And here,” his finger moves to the bottom left Manberg. “Is Wilbur’s L’Manburg. An exact copy of the new city, down to the contents of people’s chests.”

Niki stares at the map, wide-eyed. The power this must have taken, the attention to detail… She glances over at Dream. The masked man is slumped back in his seat, head bowed, and she would bet a stack of diamonds that he is out cold underneath that mask.

“Here are the rules,” Phil continues. “People may choose which city they wish to live in without any repercussions. There will be no threats, no blackmail, no consequence for choosing one over the other. For the first week, everyone will be allowed to move freely between the two, but after that the citizenships are set. You are not,” he raises his voice slightly as Schlatt and Wilbur try to speak, talking over them, “Allowed to trap people in your country; they are allowed to leave as they wish. You can ban people from your country, but you can’t keep their friends from going to see them outside the country walls. If, after the first week, people want to change citizenship, they can leave a country without any punishment, but they are not guaranteed a place in the other country. If there is a unanimous vote, and someone is banned from all four countries, they will be banned from the server.”

And everyone falls silent. Being banned is the worst possible outcome; your friends, your items, your experience, your builds, all lost to you. You can maybe find your friends on another server, but you will never be welcome in Dream’s server again.

“Any proven act of war between two countries, or on the central neutral zone,” Phil lays out the final rule. “May also result in being banned.”

The table is silent for a few moments as everyone processes this new world that is suddenly in front of them.

“And what if we don’t like these new rules?” One man, Niki think’s his name is Sam, asks cautiously. He’s not confrontational, Niki doesn’t think, more asking for the sake of asking. Schlatt hisses a warning, leaning over to poke the man hard in the shoulder. Phil merely looks at him.

“Then you’re welcome to take it up with me in a survival challenge,” his lips curve, revealing a few too many teeth for the expression to be considered a smile. Probably-Sam wilts in his seat.

“Can we still expand?” Schlatt finally speaks. His voice is a tad lower than normal, cautious, as he fingers tap restlessly on the edge of the table. His eyes are on the map, tracing the border lines with slit pupils.

“Yes, so long as you don’t cross the quadrant lines. Feel free to grow out in the other two directions,” Phil replies. Schlatt nods slowly, tracing a hoof-tipped finger over the map consideringly. Wilbur has his eyes fixed on the ram-man. One of his hands is shoved into a pocket of his coat, fisted around something.

“Manberg agrees to these terms,” Schlatt finally says. Wilbur’s hand moves underneath the fabric, clenching down as if pressing something as gleaming brown eyes look down at the map. There is no bloom of orange, no demolition in miniature, and he bares his teeth silently even as he glances up to stare Phil in the face. And then he’s gone, vanished into the ether, as he is banned from the server. Niki gasps, covering her mouth, as Phil sighs deeply.

“For an attempted act of war against Manberg, Wilbur Soot is banned from Dream’s server for a time period of one week,” Phil intones solemnly. Tommy and Tubbo are pale, both of them leaning in when Techno drapes one long arm across the back of Tubbo’s chair and grips Tommy’s shoulder.

“The treaty will go forward as described.”

“What’s this fourth area?” Quackity leans forward cautiously, peering at the area marked with a T.

“That is the home of Technoblade, Tommy, and Tubbo,” Phil responds. “Citizenship and visitation by request only.”

And then he sits, apparently done speaking. Everyone stares at the trio, different thoughts running through their heads. Technoblade meets their stares head on, daring anyone to object.

“Can I come over later?” Niki breaks the tension, smiling sweetly at Tommy and Tubbo as if oblivious to the atmosphere.

“Sure,” Tubbo answers with a grin before Technoblade can protest. “I’ve got so much to show you! I’ve got a bee farm now!”

Niki glances at Technoblade for confirmation. The pig-man sighs heavily, looking to the ceiling for strength, before nodding.

“Great! I’ll bring treats,” Niki looks back down at the map, considering. Now that she has a choice, she’ll probably move to L’Manburg; anything to get out from under Schlatt’s heavy taxes. If she hurries, and enlists some help, she can probably get the flag back up before Wilbur gets back. And hopefully coming back to his friends and a country that needs him will shake him out of whatever funk has taken over and made him so irrational. She knows Fundy will join her, Quackity will stay with Schlatt, but everyone else is a bit of a toss-up.

Niki’s little discussion has broken the tension nicely, and people are muttering amongst themselves as they consider their options. George and Sapnap have taken the opportunity to move closer to Dream, speaking to the obviously tired man in low voices, while Schlatt and Quackity are also obviously trying to come up with ways to keep people in Manberg. As the discussions continue, no one notices Technoblade and the two boys slip away, the first to leave. Niki follows soon after, planning to quietly pack her things and get out of Manberg before Schlatt or Quackity can try and force her to stay. People drift apart and out until finally only Phil, Dream’s trio, and the leaders of Manberg are left.

Schlatt sits at the table, silent for a long moment, only his hoof-tipped fingers clattering as he drums them on the table.

“Quackity,” he says suddenly, turning to his vice president. “I need you to play along with me for the next couple of minutes.”

“What? Uh, sure, I guess,” the beanie wearing man agrees, confused. And then there is a knife in his hand. There is a knife in his hand and he’s holding it to Schlatt’s throat, the blue of the diamond blade standing out against the white wool. Quackity’s hand is holding a knife to Schlatt’s throat, and Schlatt is the one who put it there, his own hand wrapped tightly around Quackity’s wrist.

“Schlatt? What’s going on?” Quackity tries to pull away, but Schlatt’s hold is solid, and his hand doesn’t move an inch.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t move so much when there’s a knife at my throat,” Schlatt remarks, and Quackity freezes, locking eyes with the president.

“Now, repeat after me. I depose you.” Quackity gapes, brain still stuttering.

“I depose you?!” His voice is high pitched and wavery with shock.

“I’m the president now,” Schlatt continues, and Quackity repeats it.

“Schlatt, you are now the chief financial officer of Manberg, and I charge you with expanding the country’s wealth and power.”

“-wealth and power,” Quackity mirrors, and then the grip on this wrist is gone, the knife is being slipped out of his hand as gracefully as it was slipped in, and Schlatt is on his feet, grinning broadly at the people remaining in the room, who froze as soon as the knife came out.

“Excellent! All negotiation on the behalf of Manberg is now to be directed to Quackity, the new president. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some coffers to put in order!” He’s smiling, standing straight, and Quackity thinks that this is the happiest he’s seen Schlatt since the sheep-man’s first night in office. Schlatt offers them all a casual salute as he walks out, steps light and shoulders squared.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

~O~

The meeting of what is officially called “The Quadrangle Treaty” breaks up slowly as people head for their homes. Dream, George, and Sapnap all leave together, the masked man leaning heavily on his friend’s shoulders. He’ll probably sleep for a week after all of the terraforming he had to do.

As the last of the others leave the room, Phil sighs heavily, standing to stretch. There had been rumors among the server owners, just murmurs that things in Dream’s land were not well, and he’d known that first one, and then two of the people he considered either sons or brothers were involved. But he took comfort in the fact that they knew that they could call him if they needed help. Apparently he’d been wrong.

Phil clambers to the top of the community center for height and leaps off the top, wings flaring wide to catch the heat rising from the ground below. He soars above the trees, passing patches of land that had obviously been mined for their wood and stone, and, after a moment, he spots the boundary line. It’s only one block high and three wide made of pure black obsidian; easy enough to climb over, but it’s what the wall represents that’s most important. The countries may be separate, but the people can still move between them. Phil follows the line down before curving to the east, eyes searching the trees below.

He soon spots the house through the trees, two figures already visible in the backyard. There appears to be a large greenhouse under construction, several furnaces churning away as two small figures carefully stack glass around flowers and boxes that Phil is fairly certain are bee hives. He comes in for a landing in the yard.

“Phil!” Tommy is quick to shout a greeting, almost dropping his glass as he rushes to his pseudo-father figure. Phil laughs as Tommy practically tackles him in a hug.

“Hello you gremlin child,” he hugs him back, squeezing the smaller blond tight. “It’s so good to see you again.” Tommy shakes slightly and his eyes a suspiciously wet when he pulls back.

“You too, big man,” he grins. Tubbo is a bit more sedate as he wanders over, carefully setting his own glass down, but he’s no less eager to pull Phil into a hug.

“Thanks for stepping in,” Tubbo says quietly.

“Anytime,” Phil replies simply, giving the other boy a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “Seriously.”

Tubbo grins and grabs Phil’s hand to drag him off to the greenhouse, and the man soon finds himself wrangled into helping with construction. After a while he turns back to the furnaces to fetch a fresh stack of glass only to see Technoblade, coatless and gloveless, standing propped in the doorway to the house.

“I’ll be back in a minute, boys,” Phil calls, getting two shouts of acknowledgement back before heading to speak with the pig-man.

“Hey Tech,” Phil smiles as he draws close. Techno grunts, stepping back into the relative darkness of the house. Phil follows easily, slipping into the shade and blinking rapidly so that his eyes adjust. He takes one step further, making sure that he’s out of sight from the yard.

He opens his arms expectantly.

A pregnant pause, and then Technoblade moves into Phil’s arms, wrapping his own around the shorter man. Phil holds him as tightly as he can, running his hands up and down Techno’s back as the taller man begins to shake. There’s something wet in his hair. Small sobs, choked to near silence, are barely audible.

“Shh, it’s all right, you did good,” Phil mutters. Out of all his brothers, Technoblade is the most closed off, the most introverted, and the least likely to reach out for physical comfort, but every so often even the pig-man will seek Phil out. It had gotten even more rare as he got older, so this hug more than anything tells Phil exactly how much stress Technoblade has been under.

“He was crazy, Phil,” Techno manages to say, voice breathy and weak, rough with tears. “He hit Tommy.”

Phil holds on even tighter.

“I know, Tech, I know. You made the right choice. You got Tommy out of there, you got Tubbo out of there, you called me. You did good.”

“I hurt Tubbo,” Techno says, voice pitching up to a near keen with guilt. “I almost killed him.”

“But you didn’t,” Phil is quick to respond. “You saved him, Technoblade. You did everything you could.”

Technoblade appears to believe him, at least for now, finally going limp in Phil’s hold and allowing the shorter man to support him. Phil may not be the best at PVP, or the most agile, but you don’t set the world record for hardcore survival without being a sturdy as they come; he doesn’t budge an inch, not even under Techno’s not-insignificant weight. They stand there for a long time, allowing the stress to pass in its own time, until finally Phil feels Techno start to pull back.

“You wanna help me with supper?” He asks, knowing that if he lets Techno go now the pig-man will fall asleep and throw off his schedule for days.

“Sure,” Technoblade agrees, leading the way to the kitchen.

“It looks good, by the way,” Phil remarks, eyeing the layout of the house with a practiced eye. “It’s almost exactly like the old place.”

“Had to make it a bit bigger,” Technoblade allows. “We’ve all grown up a bit.”

“Yeah,” Phil says softly, smiling at Techno. He can remember when the man was barely a piglet, waist-high and stabbing anything that held still long enough with a half-broken wooden sword. Back then the crown was big enough to fall around his neck like an oversized collar; now it rests proudly between broad pink ears.

“Yeah, you have.”

~O~

Wilbur waited in his own personal server for one week.

He slept for the first half of it.

Then he woke up, showered for the first time in nearly two weeks, and ate all the food in his pantry.

And then he checked his messages. There were tons of notes and letters, most from his friends in Dream’s server.

One from Dream, outlining Wilbur’s punishment, and a few form-letters telling him about the people who had chosen to move to L’Manburg.

Letters from Niki, telling him that she’s disappointed, but is eager to see him soon. That she’s glad not to be a spy anymore.

One long letter from Fundy. That one is hard to read. Pages of apologies, a few excuses for his actions, and finally an explanation and a formal request not to be kicked out of L’Manburg.

A few other letters from his friends on the server, detailing their plans and how glad they are that he’ll be their leader again. A description of the flag already being rebuilt. Restoring the camarvan to its former glory.

And, maybe the most surprising, an official notice of a change in power. Quackity is in charge of Manberg now, with Schlatt as his chief financial officer. Schlatt isn’t the president. Wilbur sighs heavily, scrubbing at his face.

What had he been thinking? He’d nearly destroyed his friends, his family, gods, he’d hurt Tommy! His little brother!

There are no messages from either of the youngest boys, but there is one from Technoblade.

It’s short, just a set of coordinates for somewhere Wilbur recognizes as being far from both Pogtopia and Manberg.

Wilbur sleeps some more, eats, and, when he finally respawns in Dream’s server, he heads straight for the coordinates. It’s a house, a familiar one at that, and Wilbur has to fight back tears as he stands at the edge of the trees. It’s almost exactly like the home that they shared with Phil for the longest time, before they drifted apart to find their own ways in the world. Of course Technoblade would be the one to do this; Phil would be more focused on the people, on gathering all of them together to worry about where it happened, Tommy wouldn’t have the attention to detail to get everything so close to the same, and Wilbur… Wilbur grimaces. Up until now, he’d been way too focused on other matters. Matters that are suddenly reduced to nothing now that there’s no need for conflict. He stares at the wood house for a long time, conflicted.

He wants to go in. He wants to pretend that things haven’t changed, that by stepping into that house he’ll step back to a time where they were all safe and happy and brothers gathered together under Phil’s watchful eye.

“Why aren’t you inside?” A voice asks, and Wilbur turns to look at Phil. He’d heard the other man coming, years not long enough to keep him from remembering the sound of Phil’s wings cutting through the air.

“I can’t,” Wilbur answers, and his voice breaks as tears drip down his cheeks. “I hurt them so bad, all of them! I put Tubbo in an impossible position, I treated Techno like dirt, and Tommy…” Wilbur swallows hard, forcing himself to finish. “God, Phil, I hit him. I told him he’d never be president.” And Wilbur half expects Phil to hit him. Instead he’s tugged close, warm wings wrapping around both of them in a soft cocoon.

“I know, Wilbur,” Phil says quietly, pulling at the taller man until Wilbur’s face is buried in his neck, dampening the cloth there with tears. “But you regret it?” A silent nod that Phil can feel more than see. “You understand that it was wrong?” Another nod. “Then hey,” and Phil pulls back enough to smile up into Wilbur’s watering eyes. “They’ll forgive you.”

And Wilbur hugs him close again, shoulders shaking. When the shaking stops, Phil helps him wipe the tears from his face.

“Come on, suppers almost ready,” he laces Wilbur’s fingers with his own, pulling the younger man out of the trees. Wilbur trails awkwardly behind him. The door is already open, Technoblade standing directly in it. His shoulders are broad enough that there isn’t so much as an inch between him and the frame, and he’s staring at Wilbur with an unreadable expression.

“You got your head back on straight?” Technoblade asks after a minute. Wilbur nods silently.

“I’m sorry, Techno,” Wil murmurs. He can barely meet his brother’s eyes. Techno snorts.

“It’s fine. Just don’t do it again,” he claps a hand to Wilbur’s shoulder before moving out of the way. Tubbo is next, the boy fidgeting with his hands as he stands off to the side.

“Tubbo,” Wilbur says quietly. “I’m sorry. I put way too much on you, and I got you hurt. Can you forgive me?” And Tubbo, sweet boy that he is, beams and launches forward to give Wilbur a big hug.

“Of course, Wil; I’ve already forgiven you.” And then the boy draws back with a mischievous smile that’s entirely Tommy. “So long as you help me set up my bee farm.”

“I’d love to.”

And Tubbo turns for the kitchen, following Techno and Phil, leaving Wilbur alone with the final person in the hall.

“Wilbur,” Tommy greets. He’s imitating Techno today, his voice and expression as close to monotone as he can manage.

“Tommy,” Wilbur says back. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For hurting you. For hitting you. For making you see me like that,” Wilbur lists, keeping his voice soft. “For saying that you’d never be president to hurt you, for implying that Tubbo would turn against you. I’m sorry.” Tommy considers.

“How are you going to fix it?” He asks. Wilbur takes a deep breath.

“I’m going to put Niki in charge of Pogtopia,” he says, and Tommy’s eyes get wide. “She deserves it, after all that I’ve put her through. I’m going to apologize to the other people I’ve hurt and try to fix things with them. I’m going to make Pogtopia better, whether by working with Niki or, if she doesn’t want me, then I’ll find something else to do.” Wilbur sighs deeply, scrubbing at his eyes. “I’m really tired of fighting, Tommy,” he admits. “I just want to go home.”

And then he’s got an armful of teenager as Tommy launches himself at Wilbur, practically strangling the man.

“You’re back, you’re really back,” he chokes out before burying his face in Wilbur’s sweater. The old coat has been put away with the L’Manburg uniform, and Wilbur is glad that he can hold Tommy that much closer as the younger boy clutches him tightly. They stand there in the hallway until Phil calls them for dinner, and walk into the kitchen arm in arm.

Things will be awkward, at first, as they usually are, but the important thing is that the Sleepy Bois (plus Tubbo) are finally back together.

And this time, nothing will break them apart.