Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy stared at the photo. THE photo. The one that they’d taken shortly before he joined Dream’s SMP. Phil, Wilbur, Techno, Tubbo, and himself. Happy.

In his and Tubbo’s cases, innocent.

Had it only been months? Only months since they’d taken this photo? Only months since he could smile like that without fear of what the next day would bring him? Was it really only months ago that he didn’t wake up screaming every night?

He stared at the photo, finding himself unable to look away from it. Black marker was written across the bottom of the photo in his own handwriting. FAMILY.

Then he threw the frame that contained the photo on the ground, feeling sick satisfaction flood through him as the glass shattered. 

They weren’t family. Not anymore.

Despite that thought, he bent down and picked up the photo from it’s broken frame, not even flinching as glass cut through his fingers, making him bleed.

He stared at the photo still, holding it in his left hand as blood welled up from cuts on his fingers on his right. 

Tommy laid the photo flat on his desk and smeared some of his own blood across Wilbur, Techno, and Phil in an X. He then smeared blood across his and Tubbo’s eyes in the picture, before crossing out the word “FAMILY”, again with blood. 

“Tommy? Are you ready to go?” Tubbo asked quietly, poking his head in the room. He didn’t say anything about how Tommy was bleeding, or that there was broken glass and wood all over the ground.

“Yeah,” Tommy said in a raspy voice. Numbness had occupied his chest when he stared at the photo, but it was fading away now that Tubbo was here.

Tubbo gently grabbed him by the arm, only glancing at the photo briefly. In that brief moment, Tommy saw anger flicker through Tubbo’s eyes, but it wasn’t directed towards him or what he’d done to the photo.

“Let’s go,” Tubbo said softly, pulling him away from the photo and out of his room.

Wilbur was still on bed rest in Pogtopia. Phil hadn’t hurt him enough to kill him, just enough to disable him as a threat, but Wilbur was still unconscious, three days after the war.

Phil said he’d come by in the morning to check on him. Tommy honestly didn’t care whether he did or not anymore. Wilbur could die down here, alone, and Tommy wouldn’t even mourn.

Phil was supposed to come and make things better. He was supposed to fix things. He was supposed to stop Wilbur and Techno and then help Tommy and Tubbo. Not even with Manburg, just with the trauma.

But he didn’t. He nearly killed Wilbur. Sided with Techno. Hadn’t offered even a hug towards him and Tubbo.

Anger bled from Tommy from head to toe as he and Tubbo left Pogtopia, not even bothering to seal it up. The war was over. There was no reason to hide. The moon and stars were covered by clouds. The only light around was from the lantern Tubbo had attached to the bags on the horse.

Tommy hoisted himself onto the horse he’d packed earlier. It was Techno’s, probably. Tommy didn’t care.

Tubbo got on behind him, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s waist in order to keep himself stable.

They hadn’t packed much, just the essentials and some supplies. Their netherite armor they had gotten from Techno was useless, so they packed what they originally had, along with both of their netherite swords. 

They didn’t want anyone to know they were leaving until it was much too far away for anyone to ever be able to find them.

“Will you miss it?” Tubbo asked, before Tommy could urge the horse forward.

Tommy hesitated for a moment, hands tightening on the reins and grinding his teeth together in order to stop himself from punching the nearby tree. He had to get a handle on this. Tubbo didn’t deserve his anger. Everyone else did. “No,” he said finally, only anger and a hint of sorrow in his tone. “Will you?”

“Not even a fucking little bit,” Tubbo hissed murderously. His grip on Tommy tightened, and Tommy smiled.

“Good,” Tommy could feel Tubbo’s heartbeat against his back. “No looking back?”

“No looking back,” Tubbo agreed. “Its always been me and you against the world.”

“That’s how its always been. That’s how it always will be,” Tommy agreed. He snapped the reins, driving his heels into the horse’s ribs. The horse took off in a gallop, away from Manburg, away from Pogtopia. 

Away from everyone who’d hurt them.

Tubbo was laughing as the wind rushed by them, and it startled Tommy enough into laughing as well.

They were free.

———

Phil descended into Pogtopia the next morning, finding it quiet and still. That wasn’t strange in itself. Tommy and Tubbo had been distant and quiet since Wilbur had been injured. Since Phil had injured him, in order to keep him from hurting anyone else. 

Phil liked to imagine that Pogtopia was once filled with laughter and warmth despite the cold walls. But it wasn’t anymore. 

What was strange, though, was the fact that neither Tommy nor Tubbo were in Wilbur’s room. Every time Phil had visited, one of them was by Wilbur’s side in case Wilbur either woke up, or succumbed to his injuries. 

Wilbur was still unconscious, and bleeding through his bandages again. Phil busied himself with removing the bloody strips of cloth, pouring a health potion into the wound (the wound he’d made), and then rewrapping his unconscious son’s chest. 

Phil pressed the back of his hand on Wilbur’s forehead, relieved to find no fever. That was a good sign. 

What wasn’t a good sign, though, was that he still hadn’t seen Tubbo or Tommy at all.

“Tommy?” Phil called, glancing at Wilbur before deciding it’d be alright to leave him for a few minutes. “Tubbo? Where are you?”

He received no answer, so he started searching Pogtopia, dipping into every room and repeatedly calling out Tommy and Tubbo’s names. 

Eventually, he found himself in Tommy’s room.

There was broken wood, broken glass, and blood on the floor. There wasn’t enough blood to have him worried, but the fact that neither Tommy nor Tubbo had cleaned it up yet, despite the fact the blood was hours old, was worrying.

There was something on the desk shoved into the corner of the room, and Phil stepped around the broken glass to peer at it.

It was a photo that they had taken before Tommy came here. Before everything had gone to shit.

Dried blood was smeared across it. Across Tommy and Tubbo’s eyes, in an X over him, Techno, and Wilbur, and in a line that crossed out the word FAMILY written on the bottom.

Phil picked it up, his heart sinking. Did Tommy do this? Did Tubbo? 

He dropped the photo, and with shaky hands sent out a message on his communicator.

Ph1LzA: @everyone has anyone seen Tommy or Tubbo?

Chapter Text

Tommy and Tubbo saw the message on their communicators. They saw all of the pms that were sent to them. From Phil, from Techno, from Niki, Eret, Fundy, Dream, Quackity.

They traveled miles upon miles, thousands upon thousands of blocks. For days upon days. They ignored the messages. Even the ones from Wilbur that showed up about a week after they left.

Eventually, as the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, the messages faded. Tommy and Tubbo didn’t check their communicators anymore. If they had, they would have noticed the birthday messages they got every year, progressively getting more regretful and sad. 

It didn’t matter to them anyhow. If rest of the server thought they were dead, all the better. This way, no one would come looking for them.

The coastal village where they stopped was apprehensive at first about the two young player boys who decided to make their home there. But after the first raid, when they saw how brutally the boys fought for the place that was now their home, all of the villagers’ previous concerns vanished.

Tommy and Tubbo built a house in the woods. Not far from the village, but far enough to not have it technically considered to be a part of the village. 

One of the first thing’s Tubbo did after the house was built was make a garden. He planted flowers and wheat and carrots (not potatoes- never again), he tended to the bees that flocked towards the garden, befriending them. He harvested honey from their hives and never once got stung.

Tubbo had explained to Tommy one day that taking care of the garden busied him, so he didn’t think about the things he didn’t want to think about. 

Tommy would watch Tubbo in the garden, weeding and watering and playing with the bees. Tubbo was happy. Tubbo was smiling. A smile Tommy hadn’t truly seen since before the first war. Before the founding of L’manburg. 

On most days in the beginning, Tubbo would have to help pull Tommy out of the rut of mining and forging armor and weapons. Tubbo would still Tommy’s hands with his own and whisper soft reminders that he didn’t need to do that anymore. There was no war. No bloodshed. Their armor was only needed for threats to the village. That was all.

Tommy would let Tubbo lead him to bed on those days, let himself be wrapped in wool blankets and let his hair be petted as he stared blankly at the wall, lost in old habits. 

Eventually, those muscle memory routines faded. Those were Tommy’s bad days. They still occurred occasionally, but not nearly as often as before.

Tommy helped Tubbo on his bad days too.

Days where every sudden noise would make him panic, days where Tubbo would try to go outside and punch a tree until his hands bled and his knuckles were broken. Tommy would stop him, lead him back inside and let Tubbo take out his anger on a sack full of sand that he suspended from the ceiling. He’d let Tubbo scream and cry into his shoulder for hours if that’s what he needed, because Tubbo did the same thing for him.

Tommy helped Tubbo through the thunderstorms that would send Tubbo into a panic, screaming bloody murder and clutching at his chest where the fireworks had hit him. He would hold Tubbo as he cried, not caring if the older boy got snot all over his shirt. He understood. Better than anyone.

“Its always been me and you against the world,” Tommy would whisper.

“That’s how its always been and how it always will be,” Tubbo would respond.

Tommy remembered with staggering clarity the day he’d snapped. The day where all his anger and his pain could not be held in his chest anymore. The day he’d gone out into the pouring rain and killed mob after mob after mob, screaming his rage and his hurt to the wind. 

He’d stumbled back home, hours later, covered in gore and having lost his voice. Tubbo was waiting for him, with tea that had long since gone cold. He remembered Tubbo holding him as he silently cried, despite the fact that he was dripping wet and covered in monster guts. 

He remembered not being able to say a word. Tommy had just been silent, letting Tubbo clean all the gore off of him without a hint of embarrassment. His body gave a violent jerk every time Tubbo brushed against the scarring that littered his upper body, but he didn’t push him away.

They had the same amount of scars. Tommy knew this from when he had to treat Tubbo after the events of the festival. 

Tubbo had cleaned him up, changed his clothes when he discovered Tommy’s limbs refused to work properly. Tubbo forced him to drink some water and put him in bed.

“I get it,” Tubbo had said, stroking Tommy’s hair as he waited for him to fall asleep. “I understand. I understand better than anyone else ever will. I hope that this doesn’t happen again, but if there is a next time, bring me with you so I don’t have to worry about your safety.”

They didn’t talk about it again after that. An unspoken agreement. 

The villagers were accepting of them, for their protection and resources more than anything else. They traded in the market, they helped build new buildings for the village, they made walkways and fixed the docks when they collapsed.

Tommy was surprisingly good with the village kids, telling exaggerated stories of his and Tubbo’s adventures (obviously leaving several important details out, such as where they took place, who else they had been with, and why they didn’t do that anymore). He would let them play with his hair as it started to grow long, and Tubbo did the same. 

The kids adored them both. Tubbo, because he gave them honey and flowers and sung songs they’d never heard before. Tommy, because he told stories and taught them to fight and let them get away with pranks.

There were whispers, of course, of the two player boys who lived outside town. That gave and gave to the village, expecting nothing in return. The boys who were scarred and flinched at loud noises. The boys that fought like monsters to defend the village who had done nothing for them except be kind. The boys who were heavily scarred, yet never spoke of why. The boys who were polite to the villagers and did any favor that was asked of them, whether it be fixing a roof or bringing back a few pieces of iron for the blacksmith.

As the years passed, no one grew to question the two player boys who seemed content with their lives in the village. The boys who grew into young men, with long hair done in intricate styles with ribbons and flowers adorning them. The boys who defended the village fiercely, yet wore kind smiles despite their scarred appearances.

“How many years has it been now, that you’ve been with us?” asked Hannah, an  old woman, when Tommy brought a few pieces of clothing over one day for her to mend.

“Three years, Hannah,” Tommy smiled. “How much for these items to be mended?”

“My hands aren’t as steady as they used to be, so I’ve been discounting considering my sloppy stitch work,” Hannah mused, taking the clothes and looking them over. “How about a jar of honey from Tubbo’s garden? You can bring it by later, I know you’re good for it.”

“Two jars,” Tommy insisted. “And you’re stitching’s as good as ever. How long will it take, do you know?”

“Give me a few days, Tommy,” Hannah waved him off. “Bring by that honey tonight and maybe you’ll have yourself some bread to pick up with these clothes.”

“Yes ma’am,” Tommy grinned, turning away. 

“Tommy! Tommy!” Tommy found himself suddenly mobbed by children. In reality, about three kids were now clinging to his legs. “Show us your sword!” Piper begged, the youngest of the three at four years old. “Show us your sword!”

“How many times have you see my sword, Pipes?” Tommy raised an eyebrow at her and put a hand on his hip. “You ask to see it almost every time I’m in town.”

“Please!” Piper whined. 

“Show us your sword!” Micah, Piper’s older brother by only two years, demanded. 

“Pretty please!” Autumn, who was seven, whined, tugging on his pants.

“Okay, okay,” Tommy relented. “Back up, kids.”

They immediately released him, and as soon as they were far enough away, Tommy drew his sword. He gripped it loosely, resting on hand on the flat edge of the blade as he presented it to the kids. 

The netherite gleamed purple, not only because of the sunlight but also because of its enchantments. 

“Don’t touch,” Tommy warned as the kids rushed forward, nearly knocking each other over in their rush to get a closer look. 

“It’s so cool!” Piper reached forward to touch it, but Tommy lifted it out of her reach. 

“No touching,” he reminded her, and sheathed the sword again. “I need to be getting back to Tubbo, now. I’ll come by tomorrow, yeah? And we’ll practice fighting again.”

“Okay!” Piper chirped, and she sprinted off to go bug someone else. Micah and Autumn bolted after her, and Tommy smiled, watching them leave for a moment before starting towards home. 

He found Tubbo sitting in the main room, fighting with his long brown hair.

“Sometimes I wonder why I haven’t cut it yet,” Tubbo complained as he forced a brush through it. He hadn’t even turned around, but somehow he knew it was Tommy.

“‘Cause you like messing with my hair as much as I like messing with yours,” Tommy responded, nimbly taking the brush out of Tubbo’s hand and gently running the brush through it. “That, and you like weaving flowers into your hair too much.”

“How does my hair hate me so much? When I brush it its being a bitch, but the moment you start brushing it its suddenly tangle-free,” Tubbo grumbled. 

“It likes me better,” Tommy grinned. “What are you thinking style-wise today?”

“Just get it out of my face,” Tubbo shrugged.

Tommy started parting Tubbo’s hair, softly tugging the strands as he started weaving the hair around. 

“You didn’t specify how simple you wanted it,” Tommy hummed, pulling it tight. “So I’m taking advantage of this.”

“I’m going to be sitting here for hours, aren’t I?” Tubbo said wryly, and Tommy pulled a little harder than necessary on his hair in retribution. “Ow, bitch.”

“You’re the bitch,” Tommy retorted without any heat behind it.

Tommy ended up just doing a single braid tight to Tubbo’s head, tying it off with a simple green ribbon at the bottom. 

“No flowers today?” Tommy asked as Tubbo stood up. 

“No, don’t feel like messing with them,” Tubbo shrugged. “What’d Hannah ask for?”

“Two jars of honey, on the promise that we get a free loaf of her bread if I bring the jars over tonight.”

“That’s not bad,” Tubbo agreed. 

“She tried telling me that her stitch work’s been sloppy,” Tommy chuckled. “That woman may have shaky hands, but her stitch work’s never sloppy. I have no idea how she does it.”

A sudden thumping at their door made Tubbo stiffen and Tommy pause. Tommy gently rested his hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, a silent question. Tubbo reached up and squeezed his hand, a wordless answer. 

Tommy went over to the door, one hand on his sheathed sword, and opened it cautiously. 

Rory, a sixteen year old village kid who Tommy used to train, was standing there with his stone sword out, looking concerned as he shifted back and forth.

“There’s players in the village,” Rory mumbled. “Mom sent me to come get you. We weren’t sure what to do about it.”

That definitely was not ideal.

Chapter Text

“There’s... what?” Tubbo said, just barely audible and terror was in his voice.

Tommy was frozen, feeling irrational fear flood through him. They had been found, they had been found, they had been found. After three years, after finally finding a semblance of peace, after finally getting the chance to recover, they had been found.

“They’re injured,” Rory shuffled. “One of them gravely. Aniyah is trying her best, but she can only do so much with what she has. The other players are worried for that one, something about his last life?”

“Injured...?” Tommy said weakly. 

Tommy and Tubbo made eye contact, and Tubbo looked just as terrified as Tommy felt. 

“On his last life,” Tubbo swallowed. “And gravely injured. They don’t have their own supplies?”

“No, something about having used what they brought already and not having the time to make more,” Rory seemed uncertain. “Mom is helping Aniyah, but our recipes only do so much. She sent me to come get you both, or to at the very least get potions or something from you.”

Tommy sucked in a breath, inwardly counting backwards from ten in order to calm his racing heart. It might not be anyone they know, it could be someone new who joined the server for all he or Tubbo knew. 

Plus, if this player truly was on their last life... and they both refused to help... Tommy wasn’t sure if he could live with himself if the person died because he didn’t help.

Tommy reached backward and squeezed Tubbo’s shoulder comfortingly.

“I’ll go,” he offered. “I’ll go help them.”

“Not alone,” Tubbo retorted.

“We don’t—”

“You wouldn’t let me go by myself, why would I let you go alone? Especially if it’s...” 

Tommy sighed, nodding, before turning back to Rory. “Wait here a minute. I’ll go see what we have and then we’ll come down as soon as we can.”

Rory nodded, taking a step back. “Yes sir.”

Tommy stiffened. “Don’t call me that, please. You know I don’t like it. We’re not soldiers. It’s just Tommy, okay? Not sir.” Never sir. 

“Sorry sir— sorry,” Rory shifted uncomfortably.

“Tubbo,” Tommy turned towards the brunette. “Chestplates and boots.”

“I’m on it.”

“We’ll be right back,” Tommy promised Rory, before bolting for the vault.

Tommy had built the vault shortly after they had finished the house, before he’d been able to break out of the habit of grinding for items until he, quite literally, collapsed. The entrance was hidden, and out of view from the front door, so Rory couldn’t see it.

He fumbled for the button he always kept on him, slapping it down in the correct place and pushing down. He grabbed the enchanted trident off of its hooks on the wall shoving away the memories of buttons covering the walls, the floor, the ceiling—

The two by two hole that led to the vault opened up, and Tommy jumped down, landing with a splash in the water at the bottom. He waded through the shallow water, opening the chests that lined the walls as he quickly checked each one for the correct supplies. 

Health, regeneration, and strength potions, of both splash and the drinkable variety, just in case. He piled them into a bag that he attached at his hip, grabbing other materials as well. Blaze rods, stone, blaze powder, nether wart, glittering melons, ghast tears, gunpowder, glow stone powder. 

Tommy was thankful for his time in the camravan, brewing potions and calling them “drugs”. Neither him nor Tubbo had known how to brew before hand, but they did now. Almost too well.

Golden apples fell into his bag as well. Oxeye daisies that had been dried and preserved from their garden, mushrooms too.

Tommy waded back into the area he had fallen through, gripping the trident tightly as a rush of magic thrummed through him. 

With air roaring in his ears, he managed to land back on the ground floor. 

Tommy picked up the button and stuffed it in his pocket, causing the vault door to close. He placed the trident back in it’s place on the wall and cringed slightly at his wet socks and boots as he hurried back into the main living room.

Tubbo was already there, clutching a spare netherite chestplate and boots as he wore his own pair, glimmering purple with enchantments. Tommy had spent weeks perfecting the enchantments on those, years ago. 

Tommy passed the bag over, and Tubbo passed over the armor, which the blonde was able to equip with practiced ease. His soggy leather work boots were kicked away in favor of the netherite dipped ones instead. 

“Lead the way,” Tommy told Rory, who nodded, hand still on his sword, before turning around and making his way towards the village.

Tommy and Tubbo followed behind cautiously as the teen led them towards Aniyah’s house.

Aniyah was sort of the village doctor. She treated everything, from broken ribs to a stomach bug, she was the one you went to. Even Tommy and Tubbo, who mostly dealt with things on their own, occasionally went to her for some things. Tommy had to go fetch her when Tubbo had caught pneumonia about a year ago, and the disease had progressed to the point that he couldn’t even use potions without risk of killing the brunette. Aniyah had helped Tommy nurse him back to health.

Tommy and Tubbo supplied her with medicinal herbs, spare potions, bandages, whatever she was running low on, they got for her, as a thanks for saving Tubbo’s life.

Aniyah’s house was on the very edge of the village, one of the closest one’s to Tommy and Tubbo’s own house, so it didn’t take long at all before they were at her door.

Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s hand as Rory pushed open the door.

There was an unconscious person laying on Aniyah’s kitchen table, where she usually worked on the most critical of patients. They were dressed in shades of blue, with dark blue pants and a light blue that was stained red. A bundle of dark blue, fluffy fabric lay bundled on the floor beneath the table.

The person, a man, was angled in a way that neither Tommy nor Tubbo could see his face.

Aniyah glanced up, a look of relief passing over her face when she saw they were there. She was wearing gloves, and trying to peel away the last of some thick wool bandages that were stained red. 

Tommy and Tubbo immediately flocked over to her and the man laying unconscious on her table. 

“Pulse?” Tommy asked as Tubbo left to grab the gloves that Aniyah had nearby.

“Fast,” she responded, using one arm to throw her braids out of her way. “Based off of what the other players said, it’s a stab wound he received yesterday. They stopped the bleeding and bandaged him the best they could with the supplies he had.”

Tommy nodded, heading for the sink and washing his hands just as Tubbo finished washing his, the brunette tugging on gloves before hurriedly going straight back to Aniyah and the player who was on her table.

“Where are the others?” Tommy asked, drying his hands off and pulling on gloves. 

“Yvonne is taking care of their injuries in my room. All of there’s are minor, save for a dislocated shoulder. Maybe a concussion. I’d ask her,” Aniyah grunted as she pulled away the last of the bandages. 

Tommy went back to the table, eyes not even glancing at the man’s face so he could examine the wound.

It was sword made, clearly. Sloppy and shallow, but still dangerous. The skin around it was red and swollen, with pus visibly leaking from the wound.

“Tommy,” Tubbo said quietly, voice wobbly in a way that the blonde in question didn’t understand.

Tommy looked up, meeting Tubbo’s wide eyed gaze. Tubbo was standing near the man’s head, and—

Oh.

Oh.

This was Phil.

How had he not realized before? He hadn’t been looking at his face, just looking at his injuries. But that was definitely Phil. Three years older than Tommy had seen him last and looking worse for wear, but still his father, Phil.

“Fuck,” Tommy whispered.

“Fuck indeed,” Tubbo swallowed nervously. 

“Shit.”

“I don’t want to interrupt you, but we are trying to save this stupid player, yes?” Aniyah snapped, eyebrow raising. “You know him, I’m assuming. But whatever your history is with him, we’re trying to save his life here.”

“Right,” Tommy swallowed. “Tubbo, fever?”

Tubbo pressed the back of his hand to Phil’s forehead and winced. “High,” the brunette said, immediately removing his hand. “Breathing is fast too.”

“Sepsis, do you think?” Tommy asked Aniyah.

“We should hope not,” she said gravely. 

“Let’s treat it like it is,” Tommy inhaled and exhaled shakily. “Rory, if any of the other players try to come in here, poke them with your sword. Not hard, obviously, but just tell them that Philza is being cared for and that they should not interrupt until we have him stabilized.”

Rory nodded, immediately heading for the room that his mother, Yvonne, was in with whoever else had come with Phil.

“You know his name?” Aniyah asked.

“Like you said, we have a history,” Tubbo chuckled humorlessly. “He was one of the ones we came out here to specifically get away from. Life isn’t always nice to us.”

“Obviously,” Tommy muttered. “Tubbo, bag please. Where are your clean rags, Aniyah?”

“I’ll grab one,” she said, heading towards her kitchen as Tubbo passed Tommy the bag he’d brought over.

Tommy opened it and rifled through it, pulling out a strength and a regeneration potion, the ones you could drink. “Bring a bowl too!” he called to Aniyah, who didn’t respond, but he knew she heard him. 

“I’ll start brewing some more,” Tubbo offered, taking the bag back.

“Either splash or regular will work,” Tommy mumbled, making Tubbo give him an exasperated smile. 

“I know.”

Tubbo went to go set up a brewing stand in the corner, by Aniyah’s crafting table. Speaking of, Aniyah was back, pushing the bowl and the rag into his hands. 

Tommy knelt down, setting the bowl on the ground, as there was no room on the table to do this. He poured half the bottle of regen into the bowl, and then half a bottle of strength. The result was a dark reddish-pink color that smelled awful, but Tommy didn’t give a shit. He was an expert in blocking out bad smells. 

He stood up and pushed the bowl into Aniyah’s hands. “Add just a bit of water to dilute it, then stir,” he instructed. “I know you don’t work with potions as much as I do, but there’s something I want to see real quick.”

She nodded, going towards the sink. Tommy took another deep breath and examined the wound in his father’s stomach.

It was quite clearly infected, and Phil was probably in the early stages of sepsis, but Tommy had no idea if that was truly the case or not. The blade had to have been serrated, based on the tearing around the walls of the wound. Again, it was quite shallow, and it wasn’t bleeding, but it still threatened Phil’s life.

Phil’s only life.

At least whoever had been with him (Tommy had a sneaking suspicion he knew who it was) had stopped the bleeding properly and immediately sought out help from the nearest place. And it just so fucking happened to be Tommy and Tubbo’s village. 

Aniyah returned with the bowl, and Tommy soaked the rag in the potion mixture before letting it rest in Phil’s mouth, knowing that it was the best way to get it into his system with him being unconscious. 

“Warm water?” he asked.

“Way ahead of you,” she replied. “I also have echinacea to draw out the infection when he wakes. I can apply some calendula lotion as well, try to battle the bacteria in the wound.”

“It’s probably our best shot for now,” Tommy mused. “Fresh bandages?”

Aniyah passed him the bandages with one hand while she applied the calendula lotion with the other. She was careful not to irritate the wound too much, in fear of starting up any bleeding. 

Tommy soaked a portion of the bandages he was given into the potion mixture from earlier, knowing that it should help the healing process slightly, but it wasn’t a guarantee, not yet.

There was muffled yelling from the back of the house, making Tommy look up and glance between Aniyah and Tubbo, who both were looking worriedly towards the back of the house.

“Finish this,” he whispered to Aniyah, pressing the bandages into her hands. “I’m going to check on Rory and Yvonne.”

She nodded, and Tommy glanced backward at Tubbo with what was probably a fearful gaze. Tubbo’s face screwed up in determination, and he abandoned his post by the brewing stand to follow him towards the back of the house. 

As they neared the door, Tommy withdrew his sword, but kept it low. Tubbo did the same.

“—care if they’re busy! I want to know how the hell they knew his name!”

The voice was too muffled for Tommy to make out who it was, but it sounded familiar. 

“Calm down,” that was Rory, his voice lower in an attempt to be more threatening, but it still shook slightly. Rory had only ever fought mobs, not another person. “I’m not afraid to restrain you, sir.”

“What’s the worst you can do, slap him with the stone sword?” Another voice, more indignant. “It’s well-made, but you aren’t going to do much damage with that, kid. Does this village use child soldiers or something? Why isn’t a guard here if we’re so dangerous?”

Tommy pushed the door open and stepped inside, eyes narrowing at the sight in front of him. 

Yvonne was treating an ugly gash on the side of one of the men’s temples, who was sat on the edge of the bed. The man had his curly brown hair pulled away from his face to give her easier access, and there was a pair of round glasses clutched in one of his fists.

It was Wilbur.

A quick glance to the side showed that Rory was holding a familiar pink-haired man at sword point. Techno, dressed in a similar blue-themed outfit to Phil’s, adorned with a dark blue cloak that had a red underside. His sword was across the room, showing that he’d been disarmed by Rory.

Good for him.

“The guards were trying to save the life of your friend,” Tommy spat, feeling Tubbo brush up against his shoulder to show that he was standing beside him. “Forgive us if we aren’t “guarding you” properly.”

“Sir,” Rory didn’t turn around nor lower his sword with the realization that Tommy had entered the room. His back was towards the door, so he understandably didn’t know until Tommy had spoken.

“We’re not soldiers, don’t call me that,” Tommy reminded, his voice becoming less stern for a moment as he addressed the boy.

“Wait,” Wilbur stood up suddenly with wide eyes, forcing Yvonne to pause. “Wait— wait a fucking minute...”

Tommy tilted his head in a grin.

“Good to see you too, big man,” Tubbo said cheerfully from beside Tommy, venom dripping from every word.