Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Over the years, Tommy had, inevitably, heard a lot about a certain infamous anarchy server.

Rife with bloodshed and a general lack of regard for human decency, 2b2t was hailed among even the youngest of children with something between respect and disgust. Everybody had heard of it, and only the few had travelled. Its name would pop up every now and then briefly on the news, or in passing conversations he'd overhear in the village center.

And, of course, he'd been made to promise Phil that he'd never even set foot in the direction of the portal, never even glance at a set of coordinates near it.

It was Tommy's understanding, however, that in life, lots of things were intended to be broken. Glowsticks, branches too big to fit in your fire pit, piñatas, wax seals on letters, kit-kats... above all, promises were among the list.

So, he'd left the house one night with the essentials and a few keepsakes tucked away in his inventory, mostly his pockets, and tracked down the portal himself. He'd fought his way out of the world's spawnpoint, full of traps and teeming with experienced players looking for easy kills, and fallen in love with lava casts that grazed the block limit, and the sense of security that being in a tight-knit, tiny group brought, instead of the feeling of being one face among hundreds in an overpacked village. He'd been enchanted by the danger that 2b2t promised, along with the handsome reward of conquering anarchy itself and creating somewhere to live out of what was essentially a 24/7 warzone.

From time to time, though, he does feel bad for breaking that same promise. Feels a little ache in his heart, a soft spot he could never quite eradicate, for one solid place to call home, with his brothers, a roaring fire, and that stupid carpet that somehow always managed to get all riled up. At the end of every week, the living room would transform into a dolphin show at an aquarium, as his dad and whichever brother drew the short stick tried to even out the ridges.

A small smile graces his face at the memory, as the blade of his axe drags along the grass, drawing marks into the mud, his entire body heavy and sore from the way of life he'd picked up. Sure, anarchy was enticing, and griefing gave such a rush, but nothing had ever called to Tommy quite like fighting.

He'd always felt a wave of pride race through him whenever he put a little thought into the fact that he'd dragged himself all the way to a nice little ring, and promptly carved a reputation for himself out of nothing, in such a well-known server no less. Hell, it was practically the equivalent of dominating the Hypixel Skywars tournaments. Though, he absently wonders if his more Hoglin-presenting features gave him an intimidation advantage.

People tended to take one glance at the scars that mapped his body like constellations, the way his ears came to a point, and the tusks that protruded from his bottom row of teeth, and quickly move aside without a fuss. Hybrids were accepted in 2b2t, but definitely never underestimated, especially not when it came to the mobs that tended to fling players decked in Netherite, with their shields up, a good three blocks. That, and Tommy had always been tall for his age, which definitely helped up his scare factor- when he had unceremoniously up and left his home, he specifically remembered being 6'3. The fighting, and the way you had to eat to maintain all the muscle you'd develop from it, had almost definitely given him a boost of a few inches, to the point where he'd begun having to fold in on himself whenever he entered a room, trying not to bump his head on the top of the doorframes clearly intended for humans.

Tommy barely registers how far he's walked until he's shouldering into a house on muscle memory alone, ducking through the door, and is promptly greeted by his... as of right now, five housemates. Usually, he'd count seven, but it seems they're not back yet from adding their own malicious touches to spawn in the form of redstone traps- a bit of harmless fun for the newbies making a mad dash through the portal.

He's also briefly unaware of who's leaning on him, placing almost all their weight on his side, before he realizes they're not that heavy, and he glances down to see Quackity grinning up at him.

"Ayyy, big man!" comes Quackity's voice, loud and grating, and Tommy decides that maybe he'd much rather traipse off to bed than deal with his housemates any longer, limbs aching. A derisive, nonverbal huff is all that escapes him, which Quackity somehow vaguely gets the gist of. His expression falls into one of sympathy, and he tuts quietly. "That bad, huh?"

"I didn't lose," Tommy begins, quick to interject, his ego flaring up. "'m just tired."

Dream, from the other side of the room, snickers. "Aww. You need one of us to carry you to bed, Tommy?" It drives a laugh out of Tommy, and throws him into something of a second wind, as he replies with a faux-indignant, "Shut up, man."

Quackity snickers, moxy restored by the new atmosphere. "C'mon, Tomás, stick around for a while. You know everybody else here is so boring." A few offended shouts ring out across the house, and Tommy feigns annoyance, with a short sigh. "I guess I'll let you waste my time, Big Q."

The talk is slow, and the worn old couches have never felt comfier, nor has the meager, pitiful fireplace, embedded in the wall and struggling to puff out more than a slew of smoke and embers. It's lackluster, but it's what he's got, and Aether above, they're lucky to have been able to keep it untouched for more than a week.

He's vaguely aware of the sound of his name, and he offers a short grunt to indicate that he's listening, having to put a conscious effort into tuning in on the conversation.

"Another newbie made it out of spawn today," Dream says, with the air of someone who's having to repeat himself to a less-than-captive audience. "I got a good look at him. He seemed pretty strong. Kinda looked like you, too."

Well, now he's listening. "What do you mean?" Tommy asks, pouring exasperation into his tone to mask his curiosity. Dream sighs sharply, as if trying to figure out how to verbalize his ever-quickening onslaught of thoughts, before he speaks again. "Uhh... pointy ears. Tusks, too, but kinda smaller? Only by like, a few inches, though. The dude had pink hair, if you can believe it."

Shit, is the first word that comes to mind, followed immediately by, Dad sent Techno.

Surprisingly enough, though, for the first few days after that, it's quiet. Tommy continues his life as normal. He fights, he wins, he takes what he's earned and he goes back to his housemates. Talk is normal, and the griefers continue to hover around spawn instead of spreading out freely across the map, apparently due to a sudden pick-up in join rates.

Then the rumors start up.

The legendary Technoblade, here, yes, here, in 2b2t! He'd taken out a whole swathe of griefers with only a stone sword! He was already clad in diamonds, and he'd only been there for a day! He was fighting his way to the northeast branch of the primary chain of rings, yeah, said he was looking for someone, too, I reckon if we get there first...

Tommy tries not to allow it to bother him. He picks up on the important details, and filters everything else out, and builds his own little narrative. It'd always been something he was good at.

One day, after dinner, Dream sits next to him, and reaches out to lightly poke one of the many earrings adorning Tommy's pointed ears- a finely cut emerald, hanging off of a short gold chain. "This looks nice," he mumbles, more to himself than anything, before speaking up with his next sentence. "Did it cost you a lot?"

"Keep your sticky fingers to yourself, dick," Tommy huffs, though he allows the tiny smile to play on his face, a nonverbal go-ahead to Dream, signalling the playful tone. Dream snickers. "I'm not gonna steal it! I just figured maybe I'd get one of my own. It's cool."

Tommy wonders if it had been expensive.

"I didn't buy it," is the answer he settles on. "It was a gift."

Dream hums. "Must've really liked you. I've never seen an emerald cut so precisely before."

"I'd hope so." The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue, and he allows the words to go unspoken. Or else he wouldn't have raised me for sixteen years.

The next day seems to stretch on forever, packed with uninteresting opponents who made the same stupid mistakes, but as he's done throwing his cloak over his shoulders and tying his bootstraps, Tommy's interrupted while making his way to the exit.

"So this is where you ran off to."

Techno's voice has gotten deeper.

Tommy turns, to see a face that's all too familiar, but almost entirely different. He's collected battle scars of his own, though not many, and his hair has definitely gotten longer, thrown into a neat, long braid. He's definitely come into his own.

Techno gives him no time to speak, as he continues. "I can't say I'm here to drag you back, but a note or somethin' would've been nice."

It's hard to feel intimidated by someone you've long since grown taller than.

"What do you expect me to say to that?" Tommy asks, because he genuinely doesn't know, and Techno's expression hardens. Probably the wrong thing to say, then. "'I'm sorry for practically abandonin' you'? 'I'm sorry for desertin' you guys without a word'?"

Tommy stares. "I'm not sorry, though." He allows a gap, a bit of wiggle room for Techno to interject, and is met with a slightly off-putting silence before he continues. "Sure, I- I missed you guys, and everything, but I've made something of myself here. I have friends, I have a reputation, and I worked for it. If I'd stayed, I would've been coddled through the whole thing."

Techno takes a step forward, close to simmering. "We weren't coddlin' you," he begins, voice dropping a few octaves lower. "You were the youngest. We were tryin' to help you, and by the Gods, you needed it, with how reckless you are." Tommy suppresses the frustrated grunt that tries to rip its way out of his chest.

"And I appreciate that sentiment," he starts, trying to push down the anger that threatens to leak into his tone. "But you were smothering me. I'm not dumb, and I'm not incapable of protecting myself. I needed space to... to come into my own."

Suddenly, they're face to face, Techno's blood-red eyes boring holes into his own, absolutely seething. "And this is your idea of space?" he growls. "Millions of blocks out, across countless worlds, in an anarchy server, without so much as a goodbye? Do you have any idea how worried we were? How hard your disappearance hit us?"

A low huff escapes him, throaty, mixed with a grunt, as Tommy roughly shoves against him, and revels in the way Techno's expression falters for a second at just how heavy of a hitter the runt of the litter had become. It seems Techno had forgotten a lone piglin without its sounder was never a match for a hoglin- not in the Nether, and certainly not here.

"So I'm expected to let you fawn over me for the rest of my life?!" Tommy roars, rage finally bubbling over. "I'm not a fucking toddler, and I'm sure as hell not your captive!"

The words, now given a funnel, seem incapable of halting as they pour out of his mouth, anger rising with each syllable. "Aether above, to think I actually missed you! If I'd have known all I needed was a reminder of how overbearing and shitty you can be, I wouldn't have spent the first fucking month of walking across this hellscape one creeper away from bawling my eyes out!"

The truth behind what he's said takes a moment to slowly creep through their brains, both angry with each other, but the second Tommy realizes what's come out of his mouth, he struggles to think of a way to backtrack.

And then Techno's hugging him. And then Tommy's practically falling into the hug, clinging to Techno's stupid red cloak with everything left in him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into the fabric, holding on for dear life. "I'm sorry, Tech. 'm sorry."

Once he gets a grip on his senses, coming back around, Techno begins to speak, arms still thrown around him. "You've been gone so long," he begins. "We thought you were dead. Only heard about you a few weeks ago."

"Heard about me?" Tommy asks, pulling back ever-so-slightly to meet Techno's eyes, who nods. "Pretty much every 2b2t news source has this dumb little gossip column. Phil and I started lookin' through it one day, because it was kinda funny that this lawless land had gossip, and boy, can you imagine the look on our faces when your stupid moniker comes up."

So he really had carved a name for himself out of fighting.

"King of the ring TommyInnit beats all odds," Techno suddenly crows, voice teasing. "Absolutely destroys SalC1 in just one match!"

Tommy finds himself laughing, as he gives Techno a gentle, playful shove. "Shut up, man." Techno chuckles, the sound low and comforting, before the giddiness wears off, and Techno's back to his serious self.

"We wanted to come look for you sooner, but runnin' an empire is tough work-" An empire? "-and Phil wanted to make sure things would be okay when one of us left to come grab you. It's been three years."

Shit. Three years. "That makes me... nineteen?" he asks, because he's really not sure, himself, and Techno breathes out a sigh, staring at him. "You're nineteen."

There's a small silence, a lull in the conversation, the sharing of information, before Techno speaks. "Uhhh... Phil did make me promise to call, though." Hurriedly, Tommy detangles himself from the hug, and gestures for him to go ahead.

God, he hadn't seen a communicator in years. Had they gotten a major update, or was he just misremembering his own?

Techno must've caught him staring, because he chuckles lightly. "Y'know, I could've sworn you didn't leave your damn communicator behind, of all things." It's Tommy's turn to grin, as he says, in the most condescending tone he can muster, "Surely you have to know by now that they're kind of obsolete around here." The mild confusion on Techno's expression, followed by his signature 'heh?' is something Tommy takes his sweet time in basking in before he explains.

"Think about it, Blade," he starts. "Hundreds- thousands of people in one world at the same time, with no rules, and no chat filter. No spam detection. Just a bunch of idiots and a whole lot of words."

Techno stares, incredulous, before echoing, "No spam detection?" "Nope." Tommy informs him, still grinning, and Techno glances down at the little device in his hands. "I am so glad the first thing I do is turn chat off."

The next thing Tommy knows, Techno's got Phil on the line, and is carrying out the most nerve-inducing one-sided conversation Tommy's had the displeasure of knowing he'll inevitably be a part of.

The communicator is handed to him, and he takes it on autopilot. He blanks, momentarily, before his brain realizes that talking was meant to be his specialty.

"Hey, Dad." God, he feels like such a douchebag.

There's a quiet noise down the line, like a clatter, before Phil's voice crackles to life and holy shit he's missed him. "Tommy?"

"Yeah," he hums, trying not to break into sobs then and there, because even though Techno is trying his best to give Tommy his privacy, the last time he'd cried was about two and a half years ago. "It's- uh, it's me."

Phil chuckles, sounding almost giddy in disbelief. "Jesus, it's been so long, I- haha, I barely recognize your voice. Isn't that weird?" Any other time, hearing that from somebody would've made Tommy want to punch them and slink off to his room, or to bother someone for comfort. This time, though, he feels entirely unbothered as he replies, "Three years'll do that, I think."

"Fuck, three years," Phil breathes. "How've you been, son?"

It's almost jarring how natural the conversation plays out, as if he's just had a long day at school and is absently telling Phil about it over dinner, rambling on and on like his brothers weren't even in the house. Tommy tries to steer the subject as far from fights and anarchy as possible, trying his best to force the normality of it all.

Techno eventually reclaims his communicator, and says his goodbyes to Phil, before he pockets it and redirects his attention right back to Tommy. "Are you entirely opposed to just visitin' for a while?" God, he'd thought Techno would never ask.

"Uh, I'd have to let my housemates know," Tommy says, half because it's true and Quackity would kill him if he up and left without a word, half because he doesn't want to come off as too eager. "But I'd like that."

Techno punches him in the arm, though the action is lighthearted and carries no real heat. "Look at this loser, havin' to ask his friends for permission to leave!"

They tease each other all throughout the long trek to the house.

Chapter Text

Tommy figures most of them must be upstairs by now, asleep, because when he ducks through the doorway, the only people still up are Quackity, Dream, and one of their other friends. Embarrassingly enough, Quackity immediately shoots out of his seat.

"Christ, Tommy, we thought you fucking died! We were ready to throw a goddamn funeral!" the smaller man immediately exclaims, with no regard for whoever could possibly be on the second floor trying to get some rest.

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Don't be so fuckin' dramatic," he fires back, because he knows Quackity can handle it. "You know I'm immortal and shit. It's in me blood." Quackity's fists thump against his chest halfheartedly, despite Tommy's attempt to lighten the mood. "Stop changing the subject! I was worried about your sorry ass!"

Dream clears his throat, and nods to the door. Quackity's expression morphs into confusion, before sheer dread, as he takes one look at the figure behind Tommy and chokes out, "Oh, you're big."

"Hullo," Techno offers. Dream practically deflates from across the room, filling it with wheezy laughter that bounces off of the walls, and Quackity stumbles his way through a greeting, looking inches away from high-tailing it into the wilderness. Tommy gives his best long-suffering sigh. "Tech, this is Quackity. Quackity, Technoblade."

The tiny-sounding 'Technoblade?' is enough to make Dream pound his fists against the table, sliding out of his seat. Tommy shoves down the laugh that threatens to make its way out of his throat, because Techno is right behind him, and he needs to come off as cool, or he'll never hear the end of it. "Yeah. We're brothers and shit." Quackity doesn't look any less intimidated.

The rest of the conversation goes about as swimmingly as one would expect, with Tommy explaining that he was going to be off the server for a few days, and wanted to let everyone know before he just up and vanished. Techno makes a snide comment about unlearning bad habits that Dream raises an eyebrow at, but says nothing, and the two hybrids leave about a half-hour later, after receiving the affirmation that they wouldn't miss their beloved TommyInnit too sorely.

"We aren't travellin' back to spawn on foot, are we?" Techno asks, sounding almost afraid of the answer he was going to receive. Tommy sufficiently impresses him by giving him a bored look, standing inches away from a Nether portal, and receiving a humbled, "Oh. Right." As expected, it shoots straight to Tommy's ego.

Then, a slightly more skeptical, "Won't the Nether be like... mega-destroyed?" "Oh, yeah, completely," Tommy affirms with a nod, before he continues. "But we built it right next to a highway, so we should be fine as long as you don't look at anyone funny. Gangs and shit."

He offers no further explanation as he turns on his heel and heads into the portal. The vertigo comes and goes, a feeling Tommy is more than accustomed to at this point, and his boots eventually hit a strip of dirt that threatens to give way under his feet and send him tumbling down thousands of blocks into the lava lakes below, bubbling and simmering, just far enough to emit only a faint warmth, more pleasant than oppressive.

He'd be terrified if he hadn't set foot on the exact same patch of dirt hundreds of times before. The old girl wasn't crumbling off into nothing anytime soon.

Techno is soon to follow him, and halts for a moment as he stares at the absolute mess in front of him, with one-block-thin bridges that lead to seemingly nowhere, vertical pillars with no discernable point to their creation, and layers of bedrock hovering above their heads. Tommy gives him a moment to admire the view, before stepping onto the path right in front of him, made almost solely out of cobblestone.

He knows the convoluted route like the back of his palm- a right at the second intersection, then go straight for twenty blocks, and take a risky jump onto the obsidian that could just barely be considered part of the walkway you were just on. After that, walk along the main highway in front of you, ignore anyone wearing jet black and wave to anyone wearing hot pinks or washed-out blues, descend a few levels, and the portal right in front of you takes you to the main world hub.

"I'm sure there was a faster way to all of that," Techno comments from behind him, and Tommy scoffs. "Yeah, but we're here, aren't we?"

It's Techno's turn to pull him along into the hub. He'd practically never set foot in there, only loosely remembering the directions to the portal from about a year back, but as he stares at just how refined it is, he can't help but wonder, is this what the rest of the universe is up to?

And then they're walking at a relaxed pace, slower than Tommy's brisk walk that he'd argued sped up the journey by at least five minutes, as Techno shoots finger guns at whoever calls his name. He gets distracted admiring the interior design of the place, and is eventually shoved through another portal, but he gets a brief glimpse at a sign reading 'SMP Earth'.

Interesting name.

According to Techno, they're spat out somewhere in Antarctica of all places, but it's exactly where they want to be. The cold barely seeps through Tommy's cloak, thick and extravagant and wooly and hand-designed by him with the sole intent of pissing people off with just how showy it was. He'd had the smarts to at least make it more functional than it seemed.

They trudge through snow, shoulder their way through ice, descend the stairs and was there no bedrock here?

Techno catches him staring and huffs out a chuckle. "Yeah, it's impressive, huh? Looks like the moon if you squint." "I mean, I'm in no place to say, 'cause I've never been to the moon," Tommy begins, earning a harder laugh, "But it's fuckin' awesome."

He barely gets a chance to ask about the stone bricks making up a good half of the buildings, wondering if they were manmade or part of a stronghold his family had commandeered to live in, before Techno calls out, his voice reverberating off of the walls of the seemingly endless cavern. "Phil!"

"One moment!" comes a voice from inside that still manages to echo an impressive amount, and then there's a blonde figure walking out from the roofed structure in front of Tommy with a pair of wings unfurling from his back, and before Tommy can quite register it his feet are moving and he's calling a name that hasn't passed his lips in so long and there's a pair of arms around him as he collides with soft flesh and warm fabric warm safe home home home dad.

The silence lasts only a few seconds, Phil seemingly trying to squeeze the life out of him, before he cranes his head back and the fretting begins, just like that.

"Gods, you've gotten tall!" Phil exclaims, with a laugh, but leaves no room for him to interject with any kind of reply as he continues. "You're eating well, right? Sleeping well? Goodness knows you were always such a handful when it came to that- and look at your hands, Toms, are these fresh or old? Either way, we'll get you fixed right up, son, I'll find you some gauze and-" "Phil," Techno interjects. "Leave him be."

Phil stills, takes a look at the expression on Tommy's face that probably betrays just how overwhelming having someone care about you, really care like that, for the first time in years, and nods, almost to himself. "Right. Right, we'll get you settled in first, then," he hums, before lowering his arms and taking Tommy's calloused hands in his own, knuckles throbbing dully.

"Welcome home, son."

Tommy's given a grace period of roughly five minutes, somewhere around the time it took Phil to find him an extra coat, boil the kettle, present him with a mug filled to the brim with piping-hot tea, and pull out his own seat at the table. "I don't know if you still like it strong and sweet," Phil had began the second the cup touched the table. "So don't worry about it if you don't. I can always just chuck it and make you a new one." Tommy found he very much still liked it strong and sweet.

Phil barely remains sitting for a second, before he's already out of his chair, rummaging through the cupboards for what Tommy can only presume is a first aid kit, before Phil is standing next to him and gently taking one of his hands again, his right one to be specific, with a roll of gauze in the other hand.

"It still feels so surreal," Phil begins, probably talking mostly to himself. "After all these years. Like one minute, I'm gonna wake up, and it'll still be dark out and I'll just come right down here and pop the kettle on, and wait for Techno to wake up." The sound of his father's rambling is something Tommy's sorely missed- the man liked to keep to himself most of the time, and was quite laidback when it came to letting others lead the conversation, but whenever it was just him and one of his sons, he'd talk for days to fill the silence. Probably as a comforting thing, just to let them hear his voice.

The thin layer of cotton already wrapped around his knuckles is soft to the touch, and provides a gentle, temporary relief. "That's not to say I'm angry with you, or anything like that. I don't resent you for leaving. It's important to me you know that, Tommy."

Tommy nods as confirmation he's listening. Phil seems satisfied with that. "I remember being your age-" "Shocking," Tommy cuts in, receiving a laugh and a gentle slap on his wrist. "Little shit," Phil huffs between wheezing giggles, grinning. He keeps laughing for a second before continuing. "As I was saying, I remember being your age, and by the fucking Gods, I was an absolute nightmare. I don't think having the wings helped, because all I wanted to do was fuck off into the woods, like some kind of itch that I just... needed to scratch. So believe me when I say I get it." There's a short pause, as Phil leans away and takes a mouthful of hot tea.

"I think a part of me always knew you were going to leave? Call it a hunch, but you definitely came off as someone who wanted to do something. Y'know, Techno had Hypixel, and Will was just grouping up fucking... random people to do stupid shit," Phil snickers, "But I knew you were gonna go out there and find your own little thing. All I could really do was hope you'd at least have the sense to come back for the holidays. Christmas, and that."

"Sorry," Tommy says reflexively, but Phil shoots him a look. "Don't give me that, I'm not done yet."

He is sufficiently quieted. Phil snips at the gauze with a pair of scissors that glint under the ceiling lamp, tucks in the loose end, and motions for Tommy to surrender his left hand, which he does without argument. Phil sighs through his nose. "You were busy, and that's alright. I can't demand anything of you. At the end of the day, you're alive, and you're mostly alright, and that's more than good enough for me. So I don't want to hear any apologies, because I'd rather you came now in one piece, than three years ago in a box."

The words give Tommy pause, for what feels like the first time in his life, and manage to really hammer in how he'd affected the family. Hell, he'd been trekking with Techno for thousands of blocks, had been with Phil for something like seven minutes, and Wilbur's name had only been mentioned once- a stark contrast to just how much they used to crow about him when he wasn't present. The realization that something had probably happened to him, indirectly caused by Tommy, settles like netherite armor weighing down his shoulders.

Fuck, does he feel guilty.

Phil hums along to something presumably stuck in his head absently, providing a little background music for Tommy's internal self-loathing, before he speaks again. "And that doesn't mean I don't want the details of... whatever it is you were doing. You've not been yourself-" He suddenly stops, mid sentence, entire body pausing, before his hands start moving again. "You're very different to how I remember, and while I'm not saying that's necessarily a bad thing, I get the feeling it's not a good thing, either." Tommy supposes he's been given the floor, and is surprised to find the words caught in his throat, suddenly feeling exposed, panic rising in his chest. Being in the room had felt so easy, so natural, when all he had to focus on was Phil's little habits, quirks with the way he moved, the way he talked, but now that the spotlight's on him, he wants to take an axe to the floor and dig himself straight down to bedrock.

He resists the urge to fidget with his hands, because they're very much pre-occupied right now, but there's seemingly no other way to stall for time. Tommy sucks in a breath, willing away the sudden... stage fright, or whatever it could be chalked up to, and tries to come out with something at least vaguely coherent. Something, anything, to make the room a little less awkward.

"Anarchy server stuff," he tries, and immediately wishes his subconscious had a bat to start beating his brain with. Phil looks thoroughly unimpressed. Tommy gives it another go. "Um, it's- not really that interesting. Just a lot of walking."

The scissors come back out, cut the gauze, which is tucked into the rest of the cotton, but Phil doesn't move. Simply stares up at him. "Thomas Blade-Craft, if you seriously think you can deflect this conversation..." There's a warning tone in his voice that makes Tommy race to backtrack.

"I-I'm not deflecting!" he exclaims quickly, stumbling over his words. "It's- it's just a genuinely boring and long story! It's not like I have a reason to deflect, or- or anything at all like that!"

It feels like the second he blinks, Phil has already gone back to his seat, staring him down from the opposite end of the table. The man had a habit of doing that- he was terrifyingly quick, if you took your eyes off of him for more than a moment. "We're in the middle of nowhere, and Techno is handling all of the work for right now. Trust me when I say I've got time, Tommy."

This is almost exactly what Tommy didn't want to happen. He knew that maybe, just maybe, expecting to see his dad for the first time in three years without being interrogated was a bit out of reach, but he was practically backed into a corner here. A little part of him missed talking, missed being able to rattle on about anything for hours, and always be able to glance to his side and see one of his brothers still listening, quiet until he finished.

A larger part of him has been practically hard-coded to avoid noise, and avoid making noise, because hackers and griefers had a funny way of showing up whenever he had cackled, loud and hard. He'd learned how to stifle it, how to push it down, almost three years ago exactly.

"Uh," Tommy starts, lamely, still mentally beating himself over the head for apparently having developed the conversational skills of a selectively mute ghast. How come nobody had brought this to his attention before? "It... well, it was just a load of walking, at first. Y'know, you get away from spawn through nether portals, because- um, because of griefers, and shit."

Phil nods, maintaining eye contact from across the table, trying to come off as engaged and listening. To Tommy, however, he looks like he's eyeing down a piece of meat on a hook, and it only serves to worsen his nerves. "U-Uh, it's- it's faster to walk through the Nether, and- well, and people really kind of- uh, latched onto that, s-so... Nether highways." Frustrated with himself and his sudden inability to speak clearly, he grips the soft fabric covering his knees in shaking, clammy hands.

"Uh- a-after, after that, it's really just- uh, r-really just... a matter of- of like, um... fuck, of- like.. trying to find a-a remote enough... uhh... area." Tommy's eyes dart up from his lap, only to see Phil still looking at him with a brow raised. It's enough to make his eyes shoot back down to the floor, focusing on the grooves in the wooden planks.

He's too distracted with trying to appear busy and concentrated that he doesn't pick up on the sound of heavy bootsteps from his left, but he's jolted out of that as soon as a hand suddenly lands on his shoulder. "Woulda thought you'd given him a little longer," Techno grunts. "Kid's probably been used to hidin' for so long, he's developed some kinda social anxiety."

Phil gives a laugh, but one of those he only manages whenever the situation absolutely does not call for it, some kind of impulse reaction. "I'm starting to believe that's the case." Tommy chooses to let the comment slide, instead hyperfocusing on the fact that all eyes are on him.

All eyes are on him. This is definitely not a good thing. This has not been a good thing for years. Griefers could've followed him, and if that's the case, broadcasting his voice will definitely not keep him hidden for long.

He realizes far, far too late that he's probably been asked a question, because Phil and Techno are both looking at him expectantly, and forcing himself to give a quiet 'huh?' makes him wish the ground would open up and swallow him then and there. Phil's smile barely manages to cover up the slight concern he was showing just a second ago.

"I was askin' if you wanted me to rescue you from Dad and show you the guest room now, or later." Techno doesn't sound too bothered, so Tommy tries to hammer it into his pretty-much empty skull, and gives a quick nod. Without much more time to think about the implications of his answer, Techno pulls him to his feet, and they're off, Tommy offering Phil a silent goodbye wave.

The hallways are long, and winding, made of stone brick and spruce wood, windows made of ice. Lanterns hang from the ceiling, swaying gently with the slight breeze that manages to seep in through the walls, leaving Tommy perpetually mentally thanking his luck for Phil giving him the pity gift of more layers. He trails behind Techno for the entire walk, like a lost puppy, eyes wandering to small design choices and little decorative touches that practically scream Phil. It threatens to break his heart clean in half.

"Y'know," Techno suddenly begins, Tommy's head snapping toward him and away from the patterns carved into the ice. "You don't gotta stay quiet all the time. You're safe here. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Tommy replies, lying easily through his teeth, because somehow talking to Techno just feels far easier. Facing him feels far easier. Simply just hearing Phil's name somehow managed to make him flush from head to toe with shame, and guilt. He zones back in from his momentary train of thought, only to be met with Techno's face- thoroughly unconvinced. "I mean, I kinda get it."

Techno clears his throat, and stops walking, turning to face Tommy. "Uh... back before I met Phil, I used to do a bunch of tournaments as a kid. Some illegal stuff in there, too." Tommy grins, and Techno gives a quiet chuckle at his reaction before continuing. "But the main deal was, outside of tournaments, you had to be pretty quiet and on the downlow. I'm talkin' cloaks, never walkin' around without a crowd to hide in, that kinda stuff. And when Phil took me in, I didn't really... get that it was different, right away. So I understand."

Tommy waits, gives him a little bit of a gap to continue talking, before he begins. "I-I mean... it's not that y'know, talking is hard. I just..." Fuck, where have the words gone?

"I feel guilty."

Techno nods. "I know. It's normal." Tommy tries to gauge an emotion other than understanding, than acceptance, and comes up blank, thank the Gods. They don't talk much other than that on their way through the annoyingly long hallways, only for Techno to finally admit that he'd been leading him through empty halls, built to confuse people trying to reach the stronghold, entirely on purpose. Turns out, they pretty much only have four rooms.

Tommy is ushered into a room with a bed, the sweeping chill staved off by the smouldering furnace built into the wall, and told to get some rest. The last thing Techno says to him before he pulls the door shut with a quiet 'click' and walks off, presumably back to Phil, is, "You look like shit."

Tommy catches a glimpse of his reflection in one of the windows for one of the first times in years, hair messily cut, face flushed from the cold, tusks poking out from his bottom row of teeth, and finds himself readily agreeing with Techno. He reaches a hand up to feel along his pointed ears, before gently giving the emerald dangling from his lobule a tug, and feeling just a little bit oddly comforted by the action. Phil probably meant what he said. Probably didn't hate him too much.

Probably.

He flops face first onto the bed, and finds himself falling unconscious in a matter of minutes, atop almost supernaturally soft sheets.