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Tommy sits with Tubbo in the arcade. They’re on top of the air hockey table. Waiting.
(Waiting for their friends to come back.)
The appointment list had been devastating this week. Of course, everyone knew that the most popular kids were growing older and getting closer to aging out, but it’s surprising that so many of them got called in together and on the very same day. On the long, long list that had been posted on the gates at the island’s edge, the list had named some of the most beloved seventeen-year-old rabble-rousers. That’s no coincidence. Or— well, maybe it could have been, if they hadn’t had the gall to call in Dream and Techno at the same time.
And on the day they were supposed to have a game tournament tonight, for fuck’s sake.
But they’re seventeen, and it’s their first time being called in for a screening. There’s no chance in hell that they’ll get citizenship today.
They’ll show up, get poked and prodded, and get sent right back just like everyone who’s too young to be an adult. Everyone’s heard the stories from the older kids who come back from their screenings and live on borrowed time. Not even all eighteen-year-olds get approved for citizenship, much less seventeen-year-olds. Calling Techno and Dream in is just a dumb political stunt done to send a message, to scare the SMP kids all into behaving. And as much as the kids would like to retaliate, there’s nothing to do about it. There’s nobody around to listen to what they have to say. A protest would be entirely futile.
So Tubbo and Tommy are left without the friends that they were supposed to be hanging out with, and are instead waiting for the most pointless medical assessment to be over. Waiting for their friends to return from the Citizenship Integration Center. Waiting to have a pogchamp game tournament in the arcade and get on with their lives.
That’s when the sirens start.
It’s just a deafening sound, at first. A deep wailing that echoes across the island’s streets, drawing every kid to windows and out doorways in an attempt to figure out what’s gone wrong. When Tubbo and Tommy head to the entrance of the arcade to see for themselves, Fundy is opening the heavy metal door manually from the inside so he can go outside too, leaving the guardpost and security gate empty. Neither boy chides him, and the three of them all head up the steps and out to the alleyway. Outside, kids chatter to each other, wondering what the fuck’s happening, why the fuck sirens are going off when that never ever happens, even during supply drops.
Adults can’t come past the island border, of course, so they get all their news through the massive and often-unused PA system that runs through the city instead. There’s a click, and the sirens stop, and there’s a much-more-familiar static that comes through the system.
A voice then announces, “The CIC is declaring a state of emergency. Two fugitives have escaped the Citizen Immigration Border. Anyone caught aiding or harboring Alastair Eret, David Blade, and/or Cla—”
The uproar in the streets quite literally drowns out the PA system.
Tommy is so caught up in watching the near-riot that the only thing to pull him back to reality is a hand that grasps his own. He looks down and meets Tubbo’s wide eyes.
Nobody’s ever escaped the CIC before. Not in real life. That sort of thing is saved for fairy tales and pipe dreams.
“Eret,” Tubbo says, as though Tommy needs reminding.
“Techno,” Tommy says back. “And Dream?”
“We’ve got to—” Tubbo grasps Tommy’s hand. “We’ve got to find them, haven’t we?”
“Yes. Go,” Fundy says urgently. “Bring them back here. Nowhere’s safer than the arcade.”
“He’s right,” Tubbo says. “Tommy?”
“Right,” Tommy nods vigorously. “Right rightrightright, let’s go then!”
He sets off down the street, sprinting past the other kids, keeping his hand tight in Tubbo’s.
They’ll find their friends.
They find the older kids in the old cabin in the woods. It has no running water or electricity, but it’s a popular camping spot, and it’s nestled in between the SMP and the border, and it’s a safe bet.
“What did you guys do?” Tubbo asks, the first words exchanged that aren’t each other’s names.
Dream sighs, his face oddly bare without the mask he usually wears. “I thought that’d be sort of obvious.”
“Why the fuck did you run, though?” Tommy exclaims. “Literally all you had to do was wait for them to send you back where you came from, but noooooo, you had to be like, the first bastards in history to break out of the facility! And for no bloody reason! Who the fuck knows what they’ll do now!”
“We—” Eret hesitates, looks back at the others.
They hesitate too.
Tommy’s annoyance falters.
“They weren’t gonna send us back, Tommy,” Techno says.
Confusion hits Tommy before anything else and he reels, leaning backward. “What the fuck are you on ab—”
“They approved us for citizenship,” Dream says.
Silence.
“But… you’re not adults yet,” Tubbo whispers. “You’re not even close.”
None of them respond verbally, but their reactions are answer enough. Techno puts on a good poker face, but the others… without masks and sunglasses, the fear in their eyes is startlingly evident. They’re not joking. They’re actually scared. Something they’ve witnessed has shaken them to the core, frightened them more than the constant dread of aging out ought to. And that thought alone is terrifying - the idea of crossing a point of no return where the adults make you forget your life to become a clean template they can sort into whatever job they need to have filled. What could be scarier than forced amnesia? What could be scarier than the end of life as you know it?
“… What did you see in there?” Tommy asks nervously.
“You don’t want to know,” Techno says.
“I think I should be the jud—!”
“Tommy,” Techno says. Slower. Quieter. “You don’t want to know what we saw.”
“S— so let me get this right,” Tubbo stutters, ignoring the shivers that run down his spine from Techno’s tone. “You went to the Center. They did their examinations and somehow decided that you’re approved. And then you found a way to get away, and you saw… something. And then you got past all border security?”
“They’re going to come after us,” Techno says.
“They’re not allowed,” Tommy exclaims.
“You think the rules will stop them?” Techno asks.
The idea strikes Tommy to the core. His security had been founded in lived experience, in the notion that the SMP is a land where no adult ever sets foot. He’s never seen otherwise, so something in him just assumed that that was the way of things. Some immutable fact of the universe, as sure as the sun’s rising or the seasons shifting. To hear the suggestion that adults could just come, just walk around where they aren’t supposed to be, just break the rules they made—
But they were the ones to make the rules, weren’t they? Why shouldn’t they be able to break them whenever they please.
“So then, what are you going to do?” Tubbo asks. “You can’t stay here forever.”
“We could bring them food,” Tommy argues.
“Doesn’t matter,” Dream says. “Eventually they’d notice people sneaking out into the woods, and they’d follow you right to us. Or they’d lock everyone down and just starve us out. We can’t stay here.”
“So… what, then?” Tubbo asks.
There’s a silence. It dawns on Tommy that there may actually not be a way out of this.
When they get back to the SMP, Tubbo and Eret enter the city first in order to go retrieve masks for Techno and Dream. Anonymity isn’t the issue. Anxiety is. There’s enough of it thrumming between their group that Tommy feels like he’ll catch a panic attack if he breathes wrong. Or maybe he’ll give one of them a panic attack if he breathes wrong. Whatever. Tommy’s marginally grateful for the fact that Tubbo and Eret have gone to go get their masks, because it means that he’s still part of the exclusive group that’s allowed to see their faces.
He looks back to make a quip about it, but he looks up at Dream and sees that the boy’s jaw is clenched so tight he may be chipping teeth. Tommy turns to check Techno for nervous habits, and sure enough, his right foot is tapping away at the cracked asphalt floor.
Anything he would ordinarily say to break the tension feels like a minefield. He can’t ask about their day (because of whatever they’ve seen), about their plans (because they might not get to do them), about their clout (because their status got them into this mess), or even about their behavior (because acknowledging it means dealing with it and what if they can’t?).
“I’m thinking about how they made Eret take his sunglasses off,” Tommy announces. “Do you think there’s ever been an epileptic kid who got forced to take his glasses off for the CIC screening?”
“... Statistically speaking,” Techno says after a brief pause.
“I bet that if someone gets a seizure during transport, it’s a lawsuit. Tubbo’s always going on about the law, about the shite he’s reading. Don’t know how he gets through those fucking textbooks or what he sees in them, but I’m glad he gives me the highlights instead of making me read ‘em too.”
“What is the law on medication of minors?” Dream asks, brows furrowing as he stares off into the distance.
“Tubbo says it says The City has to provide all the life-saving medications, but they’re not obligated to diagnose mental health,” Tommy says. “Cause, y’know. That would mean they’d have to take in anyone who claims they’re feeling fucked up and listen, and that’s shit for the lockdown business.”
Dream scoffs. “Yeah, but there’s still emergency care. They have all those payphones where we can call for air evac if someone gets hurt.”
“So? That’s physical, innit?” Tommy argues.
“What if someone tried to jump off a building?” Dream shoots back.
“That’d be a lawsuit, right? For the liability?” Techno interjects.
“I don’t even know what ‘liability’ means,” Tommy declares.
“I thought Tubbo told you about the legal stuff,” Techno says.
“He did, but he was being really boring about it.”
Dream does his tea-kettle wheeze, and Techno grins, looking back and forth between the two of them. Tommy can’t begin to measure how proud he feels at this moment.
Cutting through the crowds is easy, even if they do get swarmed by kids asking to hear what happened. Everyone wants to hear the gossip, but nobody wants to get Dream caught. The City isn't capable of any threat that would make the kids fall in line. No resources they could legally deny, no power cuts they could fairly implement to individuals. So, there’s no reason for any teen to cooperate at all. Therefore, the beloved community heroes are able to get through a crowd of hundreds with the wave of a hand.
In the arcade, Sapnap is waiting, and he drags Dream away the moment they walk through the door. Tubbo takes Eret’s hand and walks him away, too, and Techno starts making his way to his preferred games here - the Skee-Ball set. Tommy follows him dully, arms crossed and lip bit. He comes to a stop when Techno sits down on the ramp, toeing off his shoes and flopping backward to lay on the incline.
“What do we do, man?”
“We,” Techno repeats.
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, of course ‘we’,” Tommy snaps.
There’s a long silence where the hum of the building's heater and the background chatter of Big Q and Fundy are all that fill the arcade.
“Techno,” Tommy says. “Just tell me what the plan is. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
Techno drags his hands across his face, heaving a long, drawn-out sigh into them.
“Tech?”
“There’s no plan, Tommy. We don’t have a plan.”
For a split second, panic shoots through Tommy’s veins, freezing him in place and crushing his chest. Then, denial fills the space, letting him spring into motion and sit down on the ramp of the Skee-Ball machine next to Techno’s, letting him grab and shake the boy’s arm. “That’s such fucking bullshit. I don’t believe that your Sun-Tzu-reading ass hasn’t come up with twenty-some plans already!”
“It’s not that there’s no plan at all, it’s that there’s none that work,” Techno says, pushing himself up and instantly towering over Tommy again. “Kid, at the end of the day, The City's got guns and vehicles and all the backup and resources in the world, and we’re a bunch of scrappy unarmed teens in a shitty excuse for a bunker.”
“They’re not supposed to take you,” Tommy argues. “It’s not right! You’re not old enough— they weren’t supposed to take you yet!”
“I’m sorry kid,” Techno begins in a tone all too accepting—
Suddenly furious, Tommy reaches over and grabs Techno’s right wrist, yanks it up between them, and shoves the older boy’s index finger down to reveal the dark lines in his skin. “Right there. Right there!”
“Tommy—”
“We said we were family,” Tommy says. He lifts his own hand and tucks his pointer finger in, revealing the inside of his middle finger and the identical ballpoint tattoo that they share. The same three letters etched in for the rest of time, as much a part of him and Techno as it is for their other missing pieces. “You said we were, and you promised— we all promised Dad—”
Techno’s hands come up and grab the sides of Tommy’s head, dragging him in until his forehead is pressed against Techno’s. “Kid, I can’t tell you how fuckin’ sorry I am. I’m sorry that I’m not invincible like you think I am, and I’m sorry that I can’t do anything to stop them from taking whoever they want. But I can’t. I really can’t. You know that if I could, they’d still be here. I am sorry that you’re runnin’ out of people to look up to, but that’s the way this fucking works, and I can’t hide that from you anymore.”
“I don’t want to be the last one,” Tommy says, gripping his hands into Techno’s shirt. He balls up the fabric and tugs it close so that he has something to focus on other than the tears dripping from his eyes. “I don’t want to be the only one who remembers! Why do you all have to fucking leave me?!”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not supposed to go yet. You’re not— you’re supposed to have another year, Techie, I’m not supposed to have to be alone yet.”
“Toms—”
“I want Wilby back,” Tommy says, nearly sobbing. “I want Phil.”
Techno squeezes his hands just a fraction tighter, dragging his fingertips across Tommy’s hair before he releases it to wrap his arms over Tommy’s shoulders.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Tommy says into the silence, some time later. They've been leaned up against each other on these ramps for quite a while now, and his arse is getting numb, but he definitely doesn't want to get up. “If you’re really going to be gone, I best hear some of those thoughts so that at least someone’s heard the enigma of your mind before they scramble it like eggs.”
Techno huffs out a surprised laugh and then hums. “Sometimes, I think about our tattoos. And about the others.”
Tommy feels the humor of the conversation evaporate instantly.
“You know, we chose the location so it would be nearly impossible to get removed. The interior of a hand, hidden between fingers. Hard to access, even harder to get a laser in, even harder to treat with any effectiveness,” Techno explains. He lifts his right hand between them, curling his finger down again so they can both look at the ink. “Sometimes I wonder if the adults tried to remove their tattoos. I wonder if it worked at all. And if it didn’t, are they out there, looking at it every day? Do they realize it was supposed to be a reminder and a calling card? Or is that only obvious to us because we remember inventing that? They don’t know what ‘SBI’ means. It could mean anything. What would you think, if you just couldn’t remember how you got a tattoo? Sometimes I wonder if they even cared enough to consider it, or if they put it behind them ages ago.”
Tommy blinks up at the ceiling. “I like to think they found each other.”
He doesn’t get a response. It makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.
“Sorry. I know it’s stupid, and that adults aren’t supposed to try and figure out their childhood. I know they probably didn’t.”
“No,” Techno says quietly. “I like to think that too.”
“Do you think they’ll find us?” Tommy asks.
“If they found each other, they can find us too,” Techno says. And it doesn’t quite matter that they don’t know if Phil and Wilbur did find each other in the first place, just like it doesn’t matter that they don’t know what the adult world is like even in the vaguest sense. They’d never be able to guess from in here. All they have is speculation, so they may as well be optimistic about it.
As the afternoon slips into night, Tubbo eventually wanders out into the arcade, and Tommy stands up and leaves Techno to his devices to reconvene with his friend. As soon as Tommy gets close, Tubbo burrows his way under one of Tommy’s arms, and they both stare at the demo of a racing game neither of them are particularly fond of.
Tommy doesn’t know exactly where Tubbo has been, but he can imagine.
Tubbo, like himself (like most), has lost a few too many older friends to The City to not be traumatized by the impending absence of another. Whatever grudges Tommy holds against Eret for a turf war long past, nothing changes the fact that Tubbo still adores the guy. And he’s about to lose both Eret and Dream at the same time.
Tommy drags his arm in, pulling Tubbo a little closer. “Have you seen Dream?”
“No,” Tubbo answers. “He’s probably just spending time with Sapnap.”
Tommy blinks straight ahead. The game's screen flashes to the high score screen. The top scores are from DRE, ILL, and PZH. Numbly, Tommy wonders if Illumina will be able to beat Dream's score at some point.
“Do you want to go to them?” Tubbo asks.
“Do you?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure I have the right to his time.”
“It’s us,” Tommy says, all fake confidence. “He’ll make time.”
Time, for them, is so very fucking limited. Neither of them acknowledges this as they move to slip to the back rooms.
“Never shared his address with me,” Sapnap’s voice says faintly. “Not ever. Even Karl had his address.”
“You mean ‘only’,” Dream’s responds. “Only Karl and I did. It wasn’t about you.”
“You had it."
“Don’t be like that. He loved you. I love you.”
Tubbo and Tommy stand outside a door, not willing to interrupt, but not willing to leave either. So they stand here, eavesdropping without even a trace of shame.
“Sapnap. Please, don’t call me a liar. Not today.”
“Sorry. Sorry, I’m—”
“I know, and it’s okay, but you gotta believe me, man. We loved you so much. It was never the two of us and you. It was all of us. All.”
“You’re such a prick.”
“Just, for once, shut up and let me be right. Just for once.”
A shaky sigh. “You’re sure—”
“Yes.”
“I still have the g—”
“No, Sap, no. No, they’d just come back another day. They come for us all. No way around it. And I hate it, you know I do, but we just have to focus on the now.”
“I’d lay down my life if it made a difference.”
“I know. I know you would.”
The next pause lasts a few minutes, which Tubbo and Tommy spend holding hands tightly. Faintly, Tommy hopes that their birthdays are close enough that they’ll both pass their tests at the same time. Though it’s far from the first time Tommy’s had the thought, but it’s one of the first times he’s let himself think about it for longer than a fleeting moment. He doesn’t want what Dream and Sapnap have, or what they and George had. He doesn’t want long tearful goodbyes and the pain of remembering while the other leaves. No, Tommy wants to go the same time as Tubbo, so that when their memories are obliterated, they do so in tandem.
In the grand scheme of things, it won’t change much. But it’ll save them some pain, and really, that’s all they can hope for in this world.
Tommy wakes up with a start when someone kicks his leg, and he looks up to see Sapnap peering down at him.
“Dude, were you eavesdropping on us?” Sapnap asks.
“I mean, we were waiting for our turn to pester Big D but you were just monopolizing all his time, so actually we were being very polite and patient and shit by sitting out here,” Tommy rambles, only half awake. On his other side, Tubbo is sitting up, and Dream stands behind Sapnap chuckling. “So you’re done, then?”
A flicker of unease flashes over Sapnap’s face before he rolls his eyes. “Yes, we’re done hanging out alone.”
“Fucking A**,” Tommy says. He stumbles up and then heaves Tubbo up as well. “Where are we going?”
“Back to the arcade,” Dream says. “I know we always hang out there, so that’s where they’ll look for us, but honestly… they’d find us anywhere.”
“A big standoff sounds pretty cool, actually,” Tubbo nods.
“Actually…” Dream says, trailing off and smiling wide. “I was thinking of something flashier. Y’know how we were gonna hold that tournament?”
Tommy’s eyes widen. “Oh, fuckin’ brilliant! Yes, we should definitely fucking do that!”
“I was going to ask you to go spread the word, actually,” Dream says. “Let everybody know we’re still on for tonight. Sapnap’ll go with you.”
“And what’ll you be doing?”
“Talking to Techno and Eret,” Dream says.
The statement sucks any quip Tommy could’ve made out of his lungs, and leaves him nodding dumbly as Tubbo drags him off, chattering to Sapnap about which route to take to find the most people.
It feels like everyone in the world shows up to the arcade, and maybe that’s true for all intents and purposes.
It’s a mass of people, chattering away and watching matches of Street Fighter that people have signed up for. Big Q organized the brackets, and it escapes nobody’s notice that he’s put Techno and Dream on opposite sides. Now, Tommy doesn’t think that many people would actually throw just for drama, but he can’t deny that a final showdown of Techno and Dream would be pretty sick. The audience would love it, in any case.
Tommy watches, through a sea of faces, the way Dream is absolutely crowded by them. And so is Techno. All of them have become instant legends by being the first to actually escape the border facility. The fact that they’re here on borrowed time only makes them that much more fascinating. Surely at least some of it is genuine, though. They’re beloved figures in the community. It’s not all superficial sympathy; it’s just people trying to make the most of a shitty, shitty situation.
“Tommy,” someone calls. He turns to see Fundy standing nervously.
“Who’s watching the door?” Tommy asks worriedly. Tonight is not the night to relax.
“Jack,” Fundy answers. “He’ll take care. But I’m not here to talk about security, man. I’m here to talk about Eret.”
Instantly, he stiffens, bristles a little. “I don’t want to hear whatever you think you need to tell me.”
Fundy sighs. “Tommy, time is running unbelievably short. It’s been years. Isn’t it time to let it go?”
“Wh— no! He fucked up so badly,” Tommy exclaims. “He sabotaged us. He almost cost us the arcade. And in return for what? Literally nothing.”
“It was a game! A dumb feud that’s ancient history, man! How can you be cool with Dream, but not Eret?” Fundy asks. And then, after a brief moment, he sighs and collects himself. “Okay, look, Tommy. I know you like to hold your grudges, and I know that you take everything to heart. But seriously. It’s literally his last night of being himself. Do you realize how much that terrifies him? And that aside, do you really want to be angry at him forever? Because this is your last chance. Your actual last chance. No do-overs.”
His emotions are a mess, knotting up in his chest and making him feel so painfully conflicted. At the time, it hadn’t felt like a game. It felt like one of his friends let their worst enemies beat them up in the middle of the woods. It felt like he did it for clout and nothing more, and Tommy heard him say that he didn’t regret it at all. And even though time has passed and Eret changed, seeking redemption, creeping back into their lives by chipping in and helping out with group projects and prank wars, Tommy can’t help but feel that he has the right to be angry. “I’m allowed to reject his apologies,” Tommy says.
“Yeah, sure, you’re allowed,” Fundy says. “But you won’t have time to think it over and decide later. He’s going. So, are you one-hundred percent certain that that’s what you want?”
No, Tommy thinks dejectedly.
Eret is in an alleyway. He’s nursing a bottle of what looks like wine.
“Hey,” Tommy says quietly, because out here the music is muffled enough that he doesn’t have to speak loud to be heard.
And Eret hears. He jerks his head up and guiltily puts down the bottle as he presses himself up to stand. “Oh, hey. Tommy. Hello.” He certainly doesn’t sound very drunk. Maybe he was just sipping at it and feeling bad for himself. At the thought, Tommy inhales sharply and tries to reign in his brain. Keep an open mind. Easy, right?
Still, Tommy doesn’t quite know where to go from here. He looks at the bin fire that’s lighting and warming the area, and then at the starlight above. “Hello,” he says finally.
“Is there…” Eret goes quiet. “Can I do something for you?”
“You should apologize,” Tommy blurts out.
A long moment passes, but Tommy’s pretty sure they’re both well aware of what apology he means. Eventually, Eret clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I hadn’t realized how much it meant to you, and I made a stupid call thinking that it was just another turf war and that nobody would care that much. But that was stupid and insensitive of me, and I truly regret that I betrayed all of you. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” Tommy says, without even having to think about it. Actually, he was mostly waiting for Eret to finish speaking. Eret’s already apologized for it a hundred times, and he dismissed all of them. Until now.
“You…”
“And Wilbur would have, too,” Tommy continues, furrowing his brows and kicking the dirt under him. “If he had more time. If he had time to think it over and cool down.”
“I missed being your friend,” Eret says.
“I know,” Tommy says.
“I’m scared, Tommy. I’m really fucking scared,” Eret admits, sounding more shaken than Tommy’s ever heard him. “What if I’m not me, after they erase all my memories? What if the person I am is just gone forever? What if I needed you guys to exist, and without you, then I just, like, cease being?”
Tommy exhales heavily. “I don’t know, big man. But we’ve got to hope that we can keep on living, after we’re adults. We’ve got to hope that there’s still life to live out there. People to meet and adventures to be had, even if the ones we have here are clearly superior.”
Eret huffs out a laugh.
“You’ll keep being you. More boring, more adult, but still you,” Tommy says. He doesn’t know if it’s true, but if he says it confidently enough—
“Well, how can I argue with that?” Eret asks, smiling sadly.
By the time they get back inside and check the brackets, the tournament is halfway through the semifinals. Purpled vs. Dream and Tapl vs. Techno. Tommy actually peers past the crowd to watch the projection mirror of the Street Fighter II machine’s screen. Someone playing as Ryu is currently kicking some Dhalsim’s ass, and Tommy knows before he glances at the physical machine that it’s Dream and Purpled. (Techno mains Chun Li like his life depends on it, and wouldn’t be caught dead playing anyone else.)
Big Q is speaking over the PA, narrating the fight and calling out life advantages and possible strategies for the non-gamers who don’t understand the mechanics of Street Fighter. “And with that safe jump timing, he’s got Purpled on the ropes. Purpled’s trying to poke and block in time, but Dream’s timing is nailed down tight, and look at that combo! He’s got the fireballs, the hurricane, and he’s— it’s over. It’s over for this round.”
The crowd cheers for the show. Tommy glances about, looking for a place to sit. It seems Eret has bounced while he was busy watching the match.
“Toms!”
Tommy turns his head, his eye catching on a raised hand and a pink mask. Techno sits on a chair off to the left of the projector, and his face is directly pointed at Tommy as he beckons him closer. So, confused, Tommy goes.
“Siddown,” Techno prompts, scooching to one side of the chair and patting the armrest with his hand. “Let’s watch Dream beat the shit out of this kid.”
“Aren’t you worried about your match?” Tommy snorts. “It’s Tapl.”
“He’s not better than me.”
“He’s n—?”
“Tommy, sit down before I change my mind.”
Tommy crows a brief laugh and then mutters, “alright, alright,” as he turns around and plops his ass down squarely on the corner, letting one leg sling over the edge and the other slide down between Techno’s leg and the armrest. He goes tilting diagonal, towards Techno, but instead of shoving, Techno drops his arm over Tommy’s shoulder and pulls him back into his chest.
Despite the very-public environment, Tommy relaxes into it instantly.
When Techno gets up to play his round, his spot is taken very quickly by Tubbo, who squeezes in next to Tommy.
“Where were you?” Tommy asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Talking to Dream.”
“Dream was playing Street Fighter?”
“Dream’s very good at multitasking,” Tubbo says. And then he winces. “Also, love ‘im, but Purpled isn’t even close to Dream’s league.”
Tommy blows a weak raspberry and leans back in the chair. “What’d he have to say?”
“Mostly advice on not getting in trouble. He told me and Purp that he always thought we were like little brothers to him, and that he was sorry he had to go,” Tubbo shrugs. “He acts all tough, but he really is a big softy, isn’t he?”
“Green bitch boy,” Tommy agrees.
“He wants to talk to you,” Tubbo says.
That catches his attention. “What?” Tommy asks.
“Yeah. He said you should meet him in the repair room when you have time.”
“When I have—” Tommy swallows down an angry rant. “Mmmmm. Dream is Such A Bitch. His last night on the SMP and he's wasting his time in a repair room alone? Can’t he just take me aside like a normal human person?”
“He said you might wanna watch Techno,” Tubbo says quietly.
Tommy shakes his head and stands up. He has confidence in Techno's abilities. “Save my seat, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The repair room is only accessible through two storage rooms, filled with machine parts and junk that kids have left over the years. A fair bit of it is from Tommy's era. If he dug through these rooms, he could probably dig up pieces of his own personal history. A bookshelf of hand-bound journals. The flags that Niki stitched for the turf war. A slingshot with some crass words etched into the side. A set of wooden figurines carved and painted with love. The charred rubble from the jungle gym that was set ablaze. One of those old CD/DVD wallets filled with pieces of music that he once thought were priceless in worth. Wilbur's coat, and Phil's hat, and Techno's cape, and Tommy's bandana, tucked away in a time capsule they were never destined to return to. Tommy thinks that he might want to look through all of this, someday. But today is not for him to reminisce. He heads to the door at the back of the room.
Dream is there, in the low lamplight, waiting on one of the counters. He slides his mask off his face when Tommy comes in, though.
“What’s going on?” Tommy asks suspiciously.
“Right. So basically…”
Tommy swallows.
“We’ve spent a lot of time fucking around here. And I know I’ve called you names and chased you around and roughed you up more times than either of us can probably count,” Dream begins. “But I just want to make sure you know that you’re a good kid, and I’m glad I got to know you, and you single-handedly made the entire SMP way more fun than it ever would have been without you.”
“A speech? We’re doing speeches now?” Tommy asks.
“Tommy—”
“This is so dumb. I don’t want to talk about this shit,” Tommy interrupts, shaking his head quickly. “I didn’t sign up to watch Dream cry all over the place—”
“Tommy, c’mon, man,” Dream cuts in. “I need to ask a favor.”
Tommy blinks.
“Could you— could you keep an eye on Sapnap?” Dream asks, his voice cracking slightly.
“Keep an…”
“He’s lost so many of his closest friends. Bad, and George, and Punz, and Karl, and we all know Ant’s about to age out any month, and now me? I’m just worried that he’ll just shut down. I just want someone to check that he’s actually going outside and seeing the sun, y’know?”
“Uhh…” Tommy stalls. “Yeah, well, sure. Sapnap’s my friend. Of course I’ll force him to hang out with me.”
“I know it isn’t really fair of me to ask, but I trust you, Tommy, and you’re the youngest person I know anyway. I just want everyone to have someone watching their backs. For when— when I can’t,” Dream says haltingly.
Tommy steps forward and puts a hand on Dream’s arm. “Hey. I promise. I’ll make sure he’s alright. Me and Tubbo’ll spend more time with him. We’ll drag him out kickin’ if he won’t go willingly.”
Dream smiles gratefully. “You’re gonna do a good job, Tommy. I really think you will.”
During the final match, Techno and Dream get off to an evenly-matched start, trading round for round, keeping the scores practically neck-and-neck.
They never get to finish.
The electricity shuts down and the emergency red lights turn on in their place, lighting up the entire arcade in harsh, angry lights. Everyone looks up at the light hearts stopping; time seems to stand still, too. And then—
THUMP.
Everyone seemed to realize what’s happened in slow motion, but the first earth-shaking thump of the door being broken down is what sends the entire place into motion. People get up and sprint, running in different directions, searching for friends or exits, and here Tommy and Tubbo stand, only feet away from Dream and Techno, who stand side-by-side exactly where they were when they were playing the arcade game in front of them. Tommy’s eyes sweep the room for Eret - some piece of long-buried loyalty resurfacing after years of suppression - and he finds the man skittering through the crowd to come up next to Tubbo.
THUMP.
The City is here, breaking down their doors, and Tommy imagines battering rams and sieges and SWAT teams coming for them. Someone steps in front of Dream, shouting, lifting their arms up. Sapnap. He has a pistol. He’s pointing it in the direction of the door. Dream shouts - a loud, sharp exclamation - and slaps Sapnap’s hands down. The gun clatters to the floor, not firing, but becomes immediately lost to the dark stampede. Sapnap turns in angry, teary confusion, and Dream grasps his arms and promises that everything will be okay.
THUMP.
Tubbo’s hand is in Tommy’s, and their linked fingers tug slightly, and Tommy looks over to figure out what it was. What it was, apparently, was Eret pulling Tubbo into his chest, holding on tightly. Tubbo’s face isn’t visible, but Eret’s is, and he looks calm, if not a little pained.
CRASH—
And then it’s not just the red floodlights, it’s bright white and light blue torches shining through the darkness, moving as a multitude of guards soldiers agents adults burst through the door and start sweeping the place.
Tommy swings his gaze to Techno, desperate, suddenly petrified and terrified and so fucking scared of winding up alone.
And Techno is there, meeting his gaze, like there’s nothing else to focus on, smiling gently as if there weren’t an army coming to take him away.
He doesn’t say anything. Tommy probably couldn’t have heard, even if he did.
It feels like it’s over in a flash. One second, they’re getting their last goodbyes in, and the next, they’re shoved up against a concrete wall with torches shining directly in their eyes, obscuring any hope of watching their friends get taken away. When the guards finally back up, they’re gone.
They’re just… gone.
Same island. Same arcade. Same people, just—
Just three less.
Fundy is the one who tells them, for some reason. Fundy, who was somehow family to all three of the men they lost (fiance to Dream, pseudo-nephew to Techno, and nearly-adopted-pseudo-son of Eret). Actually, when Tommy thinks of it that way, it makes perfect sense that Fundy was the one they trusted.
“They left a message."
It’s not much. It’s actually a rather simple, delicate little thing. It’s a cassette tape. That’s all.
It’s from the day they were taken— or, as some call it, the day they escaped. Somewhere in between those parts of that day. To be specific, it’s from when they were waiting to start the tournament. When they’d sent all their friends out to spread the word that the event was still on. When they were alone in the arcade that had become home after countless prank wars and scuffles and dramatized history.
What it is, plainly put, is an informal interview. They took turns talking to each other. Asking about each other. Speaking the truth and putting themselves on record as a snapshot of who they were.
It’s not very long. Maybe five minutes altogether.
They’ll all be listening to it until the tape wears itself down.
T: “Here. Take three, let’s get it right this time, nerds.”
D: “Alright, alright.”
T: “Would you mind telling me who I’m speaking to?”
E: “This would be Eret, being interviewed by Techno and Dream.”
T: “Age?”
E: “Apparently it doesn’t much matter.”
T: “Huh. Guess not.”
D: “To start things off, why don’t you tell us about yourself?”
E: “Well… I’m tall. I’m bisexual. I like to vibe, and listen to lo-fi, and spend time with friends.”
D: “And what do you want to do with your life?”
E: “My life… dude, I don’t know what gender I am, let alone what I would want to do with myself if I got to choose.”
D: “Hahah… ! Touché.”
T: “No notion?”
E: “Well… uh, no. I just want to keep being myself. Just… simple authenticity. Just want to keep that part of myself. No matter what happens, I just want to keep existing. To not completely conform to whatever they decide they need for a factory cut out. That’s all I can hope for, you know?”
D: “I think I do.”
E: “Jesus, one more time. From the top.”
D: “Fine, fine fine."
T: “Take seven. State your name, age and purpose for the record.”
D: [laughs] “Purpose…? Yeah, okay. I’m Dream. I’m seventeen years young. My purpose is to hang out and entertain and maybe keep the community running smoothly, if I’m doing it right.”
E: “And you often are.”
D: “Ahh, thanks. I try.”
T: “Tell us, Dream. You got regrets?”
D: “Oh, plenty. But, I think, not many that I didn’t already apologize for. I think I can say that I did alright overall. Or, at least I hope so.”
T: “Stop fishin’ for compliments, man.”
D: “Fi—? Oh, come on. I mean that. I hope I did right by the people. That’s what it’s all for, right? The people you impact. Friends, family, community.”
T: “Mm.”
E: “And what do you think comes next for you?”
D: “Next, I think it’s the end of a chapter of my life, for sure. Uhh… but I’m… I don’t think that’s strictly awful. I think it’s just the next step that we all have to take. Sure, it’s unknown, and scary, but I like to think that it may not be as bad as we fear. So I’m just… choosing to have faith in it, I guess.”
E: “Well said.”
E: “Alright, alright, alright. Take one, here we go.”
D: “Cool. So, name.”
T: “Technoblade.”
D: “Age.”
T: “Not old enough.”
D: “Annnnnnnnd, how ‘bout your general philosophy on life, just to spice things up?”
T: “Being the best at everything, always, no matter what.”
E: “If you could send a message to yourself from five years ago, what would you say?”
T: “Just… that kid needed to care less about how cringe he was and more about how he was spendin’ his time. If he just spent half the time he spent worrying about public opinion on spending time with the people he thought he cared too much about, he’d have saved himself a lot of pain.”
E: “And your future self?”
T: [silence]
D: “Techno?”
T: “He better be out there looking. He better be half as obsessive over details as I am, half as dedicated to seeing things through as I am. It’s— it’s in his blood. He can’t possibly miss it. As long as he’s half the man I am today, then he and I will be just fine. He’ll get there, and he won’t stop until he finds what he’s lookin’ for.”
D: “And what would that be?”
T: “What are any of us looking for? Home.”