Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy’s head was pounding relentlessly. That was likely the least of his troubles, given that it took more than two hands to count the bruises and gashes littering his body and his leg was definitely broken, but it was fucking annoying. Tommy pulled himself upright and slowly opened his eyes, wincing in the harsh sunlight.

Sand. He was surrounded by sand. Or-- no, it wasn’t sand, it was-- sandstone? As far as he could see, a blank field of sandstone with just the occasional pile of sand littered on the surface. Bright, it was so bright. The sun sat directly overhead, bearing down on his shoulders and scrambling his mind. He needed to get out of the sun. In the distance, to his right, an ocean was faintly visible, the sunbeams darting and gleaming on its surface.

How did he get here? Where was here, anyway? Tommy gave up on these questions -- it would matter later, but for now, he needed to get out of this godforsaken desert. Desert, desert. Where was he going again? Right, the ocean. It was to his right, and he needed to move. He needed to move before the sun cooked him. Cooking, food -- he was hungry, the pangs in his stomach nearly matching the throbbing of his head. But there was no time, no time for food, no time for unanswered and unanswerable questions, no time for anything but moving and leaving and moving before he was dead and gone for good. One life left .

Fuck, his leg hurt. Tommy slowly -- very, very slowly -- rolled over onto his front, bringing his (relatively) healthy right leg underneath his body and pushing himself to his feet. Or, well, foot: his left leg just dangled uselessly. He needed to move, so he needed to walk, so he needed to put his goddamn left foot down. When he tried, the pain that screamed through his body nearly convinced he would be better off letting himself die in the too-bright sunshine. But no, he needed to continue onwards, he needed to live -- if only to figure out where the fuck he had wound up. 

(Somewhere in Tommy’s mind, he faintly registered that before he had ended up here, he hadn’t really wanted to live. He pushed that thought aside.)

Tommy gritted his teeth, called on his last reserves of strength, and limped across the desert.

His mind was blank by the time he made it to the ocean. It hadn’t been that far, relatively speaking, but the pain in his leg was roaring through his mind, shoving out all other thoughts. Water. He needed to get in the water. He hissed, a jolt running through his leg as he gracelessly dropped to the ground. He scooted forward. The cool water rushed over his legs, whisking away the oppressive heat and the fog in Tommy’s mind. The cuts on his legs stung from the salt, but the cool, the cool was everything, so he pushed himself even further in the water until he was sitting in the shallows, water up to his chest.

Then, finally, he could think. He wasn’t on the Dream SMP anymore, that much was clear. He didn’t know all that much about geography, but he knew no one back home would have the energy, motivation, and persistence to empty an entire desert of sand. No, no one he knew would be capable of such a thing. Except maybe Phil, but Phil was --

(No, best not to think about it. Thinking about Phil was painful.)

Whoever emptied this desert would come back eventually. Tommy knew this. He also knew that he should be terrified of whoever it was (although he didn’t have the energy to feel fear at the moment). The kind of person who could and would empty a desert was not somebody he wanted to try and fight, especially wounded and without resources. But, without resources, he had no way to cross the ocean that stretched out ahead of him. Think, think.

With a start, he realized that his comms implant was softly vibrating. He tapped his wrist twice, opening his retinal display.

~~

Impulse : X, did you add somebody new to the server?

XisumaVoid : No, you know we only add people on updates/season changes. Why, what’s up?

Impulse : Was just checking the tab list for farm rates, noticed a player

Impulse: the name ‘TommyInnit’ ringing any bells?

FalseSymmetry: Sorry to interject. The name’s familiar to me but I can’t quite place it. Probably not a cam account tho.

XisumaVoid : It’s not familiar to me. Sure it’s not a cam? I don’t pay as much attention to IGNs when I whitelist cams.

Impulse: The player is physical, not a spectator, so not a cam. How could they have gotten online without a whitelist?

XisumaVoid: No idea. But if they managed to get on the server, I bet they have comms.

XisumaVoid: @TommyInnit?

XisumaVoid: Are you there?

~~

Tommy tapped his wrist twice again, and closed his eyes. Fuck . They didn’t seem openly hostile, at least, more curious, but Dre--

But people had made him think they cared about him before and had betrayed him. ‘Not openly hostile’ was a very low bar to clear.

Could they teleport to him? It seemed like XisumaVoid was an admin, a type of player that had control over the world around them, the people the world contained, and even the borders between worlds. Tommy knew from experience that admins were vicious and power hungry, more than willing to leverage their advanced abilities for their own gain. No, XisumaVoid couldn’t be trusted. All admins had some teleportation ability, but for many (like his old admin) the process of leveraging that particular power made them violently ill, sometimes incapacitating them for days at a time. There was no way of knowing which kind of admin XisumaVoid was. Tommy ignored the buzzing of his comms. There was no point giving himself up just yet.

The pounding in his head continued. The sun had slipped down in his journey across the desert and subsequent break in the water. It now hovered just above the horizon, the surrounding air turning soft reds and oranges, with strands of pink and purple intertwined at the edges of its glow. The salty breeze that blew across the ocean was cool, and Tommy’s limbs felt leaden. Maybe he could sleep, just for a few moments...

A loud pop sounded over the desert, and Tommy stirred, but did not wake. Loud gasps emerged from two wide-eyed observers as the light from their torches washed over Tommy’s body. The observers whispered quietly to each other, their words carried away by the whispering waves and salty breeze. Having come to some kind of agreement, the taller of the two -- a man wearing a gray helmet underneath a second helmet of shimmering purple -- gently scooped Tommy up, his arms anchored under Tommy’s shoulders and knees. The shorter man placed a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. The taller man’s eyes glazed over and purple particles began to swirl around the three of them, until they vanished from the desert with another pop.

Tommy was hot again. Sweat dripped down his face, but he couldn’t wipe it off because heavy blankets covered his limbs, pressing him into a soft mattress. He groaned as he tried to shift his body, the horrible pain in his leg waking him the rest of the way up. His eyes slowly opened, the world swimming in front of him. A woman in a flower crown sat in a chair by his bed. The blue lights in the ceiling made the pounding in his start up again, so he let his eyes fall shut.

“Hi there,” the woman murmured, keeping her voice low and calming. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit.” He gritted out, his vocal cords spasming from disuse. “Niki, how-- how am I back? I was... away, and then I was somewhere else entirely, and I’m not sure how I got from one to the other or from the somewhere else to here.”

“Sorry, but-- I’m not Niki,” the woman responded.

Tommy froze, his eyes snapping open and his breath quickening. The swimming world stabilized itself as ice shot through his veins. The woman didn’t notice. “My name’s Stress. We don’t know how you got here either, but you’re on the HermitCraft server. And--” She hesitated, “and, you’re safe.”

Tommy didn’t speak. Appease, appease, appease. As long as he didn’t fuck up, didn’t make her angry, this stranger wouldn’t hurt him. He cast his gaze downwards.

When he maintained his silence, Stress continued. “What’s your name? If you’re comfortable telling me.” She knew from the tabs list, but she was pretty sure that saying as much would just scare the poor child in front of her more.

“Tommy,” he breathed, keeping his gaze downwards. “My name is Tommy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tommy.” Stress tried to smile as kindly as possible. “Can you tell me where you’re from?”

“‘S nice to meet you too,” he mumbled. She’d want him to reciprocate, and he needed to keep her happy. He didn’t answer her question, though. He couldn’t get sent back.

“That’s okay, Tommy. You don’t have to say.” Stress reached out a hand, intent on checking for fever, but Tommy violently flinched and screwed his eyes shut. Stress jerked her hand back, her eyes widening. “I’m sorry, Tommy,” she spoke slowly and calmly, masking her emotions. “Can I take your temperature? I want to see if you have a fever.”

He gave a quick, sharp jerk of his head, but kept his eyes shut. Stress tentatively stretched out her hand again, breathing a quick sigh of relief as he only slightly flinched at her cool touch. His forehead was burning. Stress pushed herself up, heading over to her potions chest. “Alright, Tommy, you have a fever. I’m guessing it’s around 40 degrees, which is pretty dangerous.”

Tommy didn’t respond, so Stress turned back to look at him. He was still looking down, still had his eyes closed. “It’s totally okay if you don’t feel like talking to me. There’s no expectations there. I just need to make sure you understand what I’m saying, as your medic, so you can make the appropriate decisions about your treatment. Can you let me know you understand?”

Tommy slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her. He nodded, and she smiled widely. “Thank you. Okay, so, I’ve sterilized and bandaged all of your cuts and scrapes.”

Tommy glanced self-consciously down at the white bandages wrapped around his forearms and the neat lines of blood seeping through. Stress noticed his gaze and her heart twisted, but she didn’t comment on it. He looked back up at her.

“I’ve set your leg, it’s splinted now. I haven’t given you any healing or regeneration potions because I didn’t want to drug you without your consent.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed for a moment, but he nodded his understanding, so Stress continued. “Now that you’re awake -- I’m happy to give you either healing or regeneration potions. Either will work to bring your fever down, which we need to do to prevent brain damage. Healing will make you feel better, faster, and will patch you up, but will leave scars. Regeneration will take longer to work and doesn’t dull the pain as much, but it heals your body more perfectly -- you’re less likely to have scarring. Does that make sense?”

Tommy nodded. “Okay,” Stress turned back to her chest, satisfied that Tommy had paid sufficient attention. “Which would you like?” 

Tommy cleared his throat, shifting in the bed a little. “Uhh--” His body was already scarred, with blooming burn marks covering his back and shoulders, a knot on his chest, and various other scars from skirmishes over the years. Would a few more scars matter? Maybe not, but he knew he could hide most of his current scars. He wasn’t sure he could face everyone’s disgust if they knew the truth about how pathetic and useless he was. “Regen.” He could handle the pain, he had plenty of experience.

“Alright, sounds good!” Stress chirped, fishing a pair of glass bottles filled with shimmering pink liquid out of the chest and turning back to Tommy. “I’m giving you one to drink, and we’ll apply the other one topically.” Tommy stared back, his brows knitted together. “Sorry,” Stress laughed. “On your skin, on the outside of your body. I forget people aren’t as nerdy as I am.”

Tommy laughed quietly, a small, false thing that made Stress cringe internally. “That sounds okay.” He murmured.

Stress plopped down into the seat next to Tommy’s bed and placed the bottles on the bedside table. From below the bed she grabbed some clean rags and a bowl, which she added to her collection. She pursed her lips, turning something over in her mind. “I don’t want to infantilize you,” she admitted. “And I’m sorry if these questions seem like I am. Do you think you can manage to drink the potion by yourself, or do you need me to help you?”

Tommy frowned, weakly pushing himself further upright. “I can do it,” he said quietly. His arm shook as he grabbed one of the two bottles, uncorking it and bringing it to his lips. He tipped his head back and down the potion in one swallow, coughing a little at the sickly-sweet flavor. Warmth quickly spread from his chest across his body, taking the edge off of his many injuries. His body buzzed pleasantly and his headache faded. His limbs suddenly felt light and he shoved the covers off of himself.

“Whoa there,” Stress reached out to gently push his shoulders but pulled herself back before she made contact. “Remember that even though you’re feeling really good right now, your body is not healed and you need to give it a chance to rest. Now, do you want me to treat your injuries? I’m happy to give you some privacy if you’d prefer to do it yourself.”

“I’d like to do it myself.” Tommy was eyeing the tools on the bedside table.

Stress uncorked the second bottle, pouring it into the bowl and dropping the rags in the pink liquid before looking at Tommy. “Okay-- do you know how to?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy was already unwinding the bandage on his right forearm. “My dad taught me a bunch of first aid. I can re-do my bandages too.”

Stress nodded, standing up. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. Shout if you need help, I’ll be close by. Oh, and --” she pulled a roll of bandages from her jacket and set them on the table. “So you can use fresh bandages. Feel free to just make a pile of the old bandages, I can get rid of them later.”

Tommy looked up from his arm to nod at her. Stress turned away and moved for the doorknob. “Thank you.” Tommy whispered behind her.

“No problem!” She threw a smile over her shoulder before slipping out the door.

Xisuma was waiting for her in the ‘waiting room’ of the hastily erected med center, shooting to his feet when she entered. She was very familiar with the worried gleam in his eyes and answered his question before he asked it. “He’ll be fine, X,” she reassured, putting a hand on his arm. “He’s not in the best shape but it’s mostly surface level stuff. Seems like somebody was trying to hurt him, not kill him.” She didn’t mention the forearms. It wasn’t hers to tell.

“I don’t think that’s as reassuring as you meant it to be,” Xisuma sighed. “He’s just a kid . Why would somebody hurt a kid?”

Stress sat down, shrugging helplessly at Xisuma. “I don’t think there’s a reason. Maybe some people are just bad. I mean, we’ve seen our fair share of evil. I’m pretty sure none of us have forgotten Evil X, or Helsknight.”

Xisuma looked at his hands. “You’re right, I’m just still... you didn’t see him on that beach.”

“I think he’s strong.” Stress glanced back at the closed door that hid Tommy. “He’s quiet and afraid, but he’s pretty clearly independent. He’ll be okay. It might take a while, but he’ll be okay.” Stress hesitated before continuing. “He did confuse me with somebody. It seemed like somebody he cared about and trusted. Do we know anyone named Niki?”

“Hmm... not that I can think of. I could ask around?” Xisuma offered, already pulling up his comms to hit up his admin connections.

“No, no,” Stress quickly answered, “I don’t want word getting back to what or whoever he escaped from. At least not until he can decide for himself what he wants to do.”

Xisuma nodded. “That makes sense. Uh... what should I tell the hermits? And what should I call him?”

“His name is Tommy.” Stress thought for a moment, worrying her bottom lip. “Tell them the truth. Tommy showed up on the server, we don’t know how or why, but he’s a kid and he’s not a threat so he’ll be sticking around for a bit. Mention his injuries in passing but not in detail, he can choose to share what he wants to with the others. Also, tell them to avoid touching him without his permission.”

“That sounds good. I’ll send it all out now, actually.” Xisuma double tapped his wrist. Stress did the same. 

~~

XisumaVoid to [Hermits] : You guys have probably all noticed the extra person on the server.

XisumaVoid to [Hermits] : His name is Tommy, and he’s a kid. We’re not sure how he got here, but he’s no threat. 

XisumaVoid to [Hermits] : He was pretty hurt when he arrived and is being treated by Stress at the moment. Please treat him as one of our own!

XisumaVoid to [Hermits] : And don’t touch him without asking for his permission first, even for something like a touch on the shoulder.

GoodTimesWithScar to [Hermits] : Thank you for the update, X. We’ll do our best.

Grian to [Hermits] : When can we expect to see him around the server?

StressMonster to [Hermits] : It’ll probably be a few days.

Grian to [Hemits] : Gotcha. Is there anything else we need to know? Subjects to avoid or any particular triggers other than touch?

StressMonster to [Hermits] : Not that I know of at the moment. I’ll try to keep you guys in the loop. 

Impulse to [Hermits] : Thank you, Stress. We appreciate all you do <3

StressMonster to [Hermits] : :)

~~

Stress closed out of the comms, jostling Xisuma gently to get him to do the same. “Go home, X. Get some sleep. I’ll take care of the kid.”

Words of protest died on the tip of Xisuma’s tongue. “You’re the doc, Stress.” He smiled wearily. “Keep me in the loop. I’ll see you later.”

“Later, X.” Stress gave a short wave.

X swooped out the door and Stress was alone.

Chapter Text

Green. Green. Green. In front of him were green eyes and cold hands gripping his chin but when he let out a small cry of pain from the tight tight hands on his jaw the cold laugh filled his ears and it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt and

“Put your stuff in the pit, Tommy.”

The tears were in his eyes and dripping down his cheek and he was so weak so weak so weak but the green eyes were staring at him and laughing at him and he needed to responded needed to obey but the fist was in his stomach and the air was gone from his lungs and he was on the floor and he was so weak so weak and it was all his fault and the green eyes were cold and

“Tommy, why do you make me do this?”

And the voice was sad and it was his fault the voice was sad and his friend was just trying to help him and he was too weak and stupid to be helped and Dream would abandon him like everybody else if he realized how stupid and weak and pathetic Tommy was and

And the blows that rained down on his curled up body were his fault and he was sorry sorry sorry sorry and he was whispering how fucking sorry he was that he wasn’t better that he wasn’t smart that he wasn’t strong that he wasn’t the person Dream needed him to be that he couldn’t follow simple instructions that he couldn’t do the one fucking thing his friend only friend was asking him to so Dream was hurting helping him and

“I don’t want to do this, Tommy. But you won’t put your fucking stuff in the fucking pit. I’m trying to help you, Tommy. Let me help you.”

And he was struggling to pull off the heavy iron armor because Dream wanted it Dream wanted it Dream wanted it and the blows stopped they stopped they stopped because he had done the right thing for once in his wretched fucking life and the armor was in the hole and his tools were in the hole and he shivered in the cold in his ragged and torn clothing and Dream was helping him to his feet and he was safe safe safe and Dream was placing the TNT and Dream was handing him the flint and steel and 

And Dream was patting his head, ruffling his hair, because he was finally getting it

And he was crying and shaking his head and he couldn’t do it he couldn’t do it he couldn’t do it and Dream’s hands tightened and he was angry again he was angry because Tommy had fucked up and Dream was taking the flint and steel and lighting the TNT over Tommy’s stuff all of Tommy’s things and then he was falling, falling in the pit from Dream’s shove because he couldn’t do one little thing for Dream and the TNT was exploding and 

And Tommy’s world went white and the pain the pain the pain there was nothing but the pain and he was screaming and Dream was laughing and laughing and he was screaming and

And

And warm hands were holding him, pulling him from the bed and cradling him. He was pressed up against a warm body that was gently rocking him back and forth. Warm brown eyes -- not green, not green -- met his teary blue ones and whispered reassurances of safety and protection and that he’d never be hurt again.

And he didn’t remember why the lady was being nice to him but she was warm and he was haunted by cold hands and cold eyes and she was holding him so he hugged her and hid his face in her chest and cried.

Stress was shaking, her head buried in her hands, when Xisuma arrived at the hospital, pulling his elytra in just in time to skid to a stop just in front of her.

“What happened?! What’s wrong?!”

Xisuma had never been scared of Stress. She was flowers and pink, warmth and healing, and even when she was in her Ice Queen phase everyone knew they could turn to her. That being said, Xisuma stumbled backwards when Stress’s red, puffy, and bloodshot eyes met his baffled gaze. “Convince me not to go kill somebody right now,” she growled.

He had never seen Stress like this. Her flower crown was discarded on the floor, all of the mirth and kindness in her eyes had vanished, and she was clenching her fists so tightly that her nails were cutting into her palms.

“Stress,” he took a slow step forward, bending down in front of her and gently wrapping his arms around her. It only took a moment for her to collapse into him, fiercely returning the hug. “As much as I’m sure you have a great reason, murder isn’t going to help the situation.”

“You don’t...” Stress closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. 

“He was screaming , X.” Her voice broke on the words. “I- I went into the room as soon as I heard and woke him up but I can’t--” She breathed raggedly. “I can’t stop hearing his screams.” 

Xisuma didn’t know what to say. He just tightened the hug, holding Stress, trying to communicate what he couldn’t with words. Stress released a shuddering sigh and both were still for a few minutes. Eventually, she loosened her grip on Xisuma and he pulled back. He took a seat beside her and began rubbing her back soothingly.

“How is he now?” Xisuma queried quietly. He could feel the fury building in his own blood, but he pushed it down. It wasn’t time.

“He’s asleep again, he’s in the room.” Stress turned to Xisuma, her eyes suddenly wide and apologetic. “I- I gave him some potions. I shouldn’t have, I know, he wasn’t in a frame of mind to understand anything I was saying, much less consent to taking potions, but I just wanted to take away the nightmares.”

A laugh bubbled up in Xisuma’s throat. In the midst of everything, Stress was worried about medical ethics. Of course she was. “It’s okay, Stress. I get it, you were in a tough situation.” 

They sat quietly, Xisuma rubbing gentle circles on Stress’s back as her breathing slowed.

He needed to ask. He didn’t particularly want to put Stress back into the headspace she was in before he arrived, but she seemed calm enough to handle the subject, so he forged ahead. “Did- did he say anything? Any clue as to who did this to him?”

Stress shook her head mutely. 

“That’s okay.” Xisuma clenched his fists, his gaze darkening. “We’ll get that bastard eventually.”

Stress nodded, glancing over to the corner where her armor and weapons sat discarded in a chest. “I call dibs on driving my sword through their chest.”

Xisuma laughed. “Fine, if you say so. Hey, can I- can I look in on him?”

Stress glanced back at him appraisingly, before shrugging. “Bit creepy, but sure, go ahead. I’m going to- I’m going to sleep in the chair in his room tonight. Just so I can wake him up sooner if... you know.”

Xisuma nodded, getting to his feet and offering a hand to Stress to pull her out of the chair. “Alright. You okay now? Calmed down? Not going to do anything stupid?”

“I’m still angry, sad, and worried,” Stress listed, ticking off her fingers. “But I’ll be fine. And I promise not to do anything stupid.”

Xisuma grinned wearily. “Good. Are we just going to take turns being upset?”

A small smile appeared on Stress’s face. “Works for me. I guess tomorrow morning you get to have the breakdown.”

“Looking forward to it.” He responded, heading for the hallway.

They fell silent as they reached the door to Tommy’s room. Stress slowly turned the door knob and pushed open the door, wincing as it squeaked. “I hate squeaky doors,” she whispered.

“They’re the worst,” Xisuma agreed quietly, peering into the softly lit room. The tension melted from his shoulders when he saw the human-shaped lump under the covers. “Okay, I’m good now.” He whispered to Stress, who was slipping into the room and making her way to the chair by Tommy’s bed. “See you tomorrow.” Stress nodded at him and he slowly closed the door.

Xisuma took a step back, staring at the door. He pulled both of his helmets off and ran a hand through his hair, his mind churning. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight. Not when he'd constantly be checking his comms for another frantic message from Stress. 

He got a running start and took off through the door, spreading his elytra and rocket-boosting himself into the sky. He coasted, the cold air pushing his hair and stinging his eyes. It had been a while since he’d had his helmets off. 

He’d forgotten how the night air whooshing by felt, the pure euphoria of flying that could only be experienced with a bare face. 

It was tainted by the darkness in his mind, the creeping anger, the deep sadness. As an admin, he had been born with the sole purpose of creating a world and protecting the people in it, and despite some challenges along the way, he had always succeeded. He had always known what to do.

And yet, he had no idea how to protect Tommy. 

How could you protect someone from the past?

How could you help someone trapped by their own mind?

Xisuma would have sacrificed all of his powers in an instant for the answers to those questions. For Tommy.

Chapter Text

Part of Stress was hoping Tommy would just keep sleeping. She sat next to his bed, wringing her hands, glancing up at his sleeping form. She had spent the morning waiting for Tommy to wake while chatting with Grian, who was endearingly obnoxious about wanting to visit Tommy. One could certainly not accuse Grian of a lack of persistence. She had finally caved, on the condition that Tommy agreed to see visitors. As much as she liked Grian, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted his exuberant self around someone as injured as Tommy. He would try to be good, of course, but she wouldn’t be remotely surprised if Grian accidentally knocked Tommy out of his bed while turning around.

Tommy cleared his throat. “Good morning.” He muttered. Stress’s eyes shot up.

“Good morning, Tommy!” She managed to get the words out brightly. Ugh. She hated upsetting people. “I’m sorry for last night.”

Tommy stared at her, his brows furrowed. “I- sorry, what happened last night?”

“Oh.” She said quietly. She hadn’t counted on him not remembering. “Umm, you were- you were having a nightmare and I woke you up from it and then gave you potions so you would sleep without nightmares. But I didn’t ask your permission to give you potions so I drugged you without your consent so-” She was rambling. “So I’m truly sorry. It was frankly unacceptable and I swear I’ll never drug you without your informed consent again.”

Tommy looked more than a little confused. “People don’t give unconscious people pots around here?” He asked slowly.

“No! Never. It’s unprecedented.” She shrugged. “Nobody is ever forced to do anything they don’t want to or made to agree to anything they don’t understand.”

“Ah.” Tommy pushed himself into a seated position, furrowing his brow. Good. His mobility is increasing . “What about people hurt in war? Do you not treat your wounded?”

Stress’s eyes widened. What all had this kid gone through? “War?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re a medic, right?” Stress nodded in reply. “Yeah, okay. Niki had to treat us when we were unconscious all the time. We could never agree to getting health pots, I guess, but it was always better than losing another life.”

“I think that... wherever you're from is very different than here.” Stress said slowly. “We don’t- we don’t injure each other like that. We’re all friends. I mean we kill each other, sometimes, if we want someone’s head or if it’s funny, but we don’t hurt each other.”

“Uh. Yeah. You’re not going to-” Tommy rubbed his neck. “You’re not going to, uh, take my head, are you?”

Stress laughed. “No, don’t worry. It’s not like that. It’s- hmm. I’ll let X explain later.”

“X?”

“Our admin.” Stress didn’t notice how Tommy gripped his sheets or his involuntary shudder. “Xisuma. He and Impulse brought you in the night before last, found you on a beach in the sand desert.”

Tommy nodded stiffly. Stress finally caught on to his discomfort, leaning forward and smiling gently. “Don’t worry. X is a great guy, he’ll explain everything. You can meet all of the other hermits whenever you want.”

Tommy’s voice was impossibly small when he spoke, looking down at his clenched fists. “Is he mad?”

Stress’s laugh was grim. “Oh, he’s fuming.” Tommy’s knuckles turned white. “But not at you! You’re, what, 14? No one’s gonna be mad at a kid for being in or escaping a bad situation.”

“16.” Tommy muttered. 

Stress nodded. “16. Got it.” Tommy’s stomach rumbled and Stress jumped to her feet. “I’m terrible, I’m so sorry, I haven’t fed you.” Stress propped open the ender chest in the corner and began rummaging through. “Hmm. Since you’re out of commission, stew seems fitting. Rabbit stew sound good?”

Tommy mumbled his agreement and Stress pulled out a steaming bowl of rabbit stew and a wooden spoon, gently handing it over to Tommy. 

The wafting scent of cooked rabbit turned Tommy’s stomach. It smelled the same as all rabbit stew, but Tommy felt vaguely ill at the thought of taking a sip of the meaty liquid. But Stress had given it to him, and Stress was looking at him, and people hated you when you didn’t accept their kindness so Tommy lifted a spoon of the foul brown stew and shoved it in his mouth, swallowing quickly. 

His body tensed, the nausea overwhelming his senses as bile rose in his throat. He barely managed to lean over the edge of the bed in time to avoid vomiting all over himself. He shut his eyes and braced himself for Stress’s inevitable anger.

Stress just sighed gently, helping him back to a seated position in the center of the bed and moving the bowl of stew to the bedside table. “Oh dear. Are you okay?”

Tommy was confused. That seemed to be his primary emotion now, but he wasn’t going to question her. She was probably hiding her anger so the next time he fucked up it’d be worse. “Mhm.” He scrunched his face at the taste of bile in his mouth.

“Will you be okay alone for a sec while I grab you a bottle of water?” 

Tommy nodded and Stress grabbed the bowl and headed out of the room, returning moments later with water in one hand and a melon slice in the other. “Okay.” She dropped back into the chair, passing Tommy the water. “Swish this, and then spit it out where the vomit is. I’m going to clean that area anyway so it’s fine.” Tommy mutely obliged, the cool water rinsing the lingering taste from his mouth. He recorked the bottle and set it to the side. Stress nodded, apparently satisfied. “Okay. Now, if you want to , it might settle your stomach to have some melon.” Stress’s voice turned stern, “But don’t eat it just because I’m giving it to you, if you don’t want it, that’s okay. I won’t be offended.” 

The melon tasted phenomenal, its coolness refreshing, and Tommy’s nausea faded. “Thank you.”

“No problem!” Stress grinned brightly. “You could have told me you were avian, I wouldn’t have given you any meat.”

Tommy quirked his head. “I’m not avian, though.”

“Ah. I know some places are super regressive about that sort of stuff, but we’re fine with hybrids and avians and the like here. I definitely understand wanting to hide it, though, there’s some nasty speciests out there.” Stress shuddered. “One of the hermits had a really bad time of it before coming here, I remember it took him forever to show anybody his wings.”

“I’m not trying to hide it, I’m just not avian. Never have had wings or problems with meat or anything,” Tommy insisted.

It was Stress’s turn to be confused. “Are you sure? I mean- I’ve only ever seen that kind of reaction to meat from avians. Even when people are really sick, food doesn’t make them that ill, that violently, that immediately. Maybe it was a dormant trait that’s now active?”

Tommy shook his head. “Don’t avians have wings? I definitely don’t have those.”

Stress frowned. “I’m not sure. I don’t know all that much about hybrids or avians, but, as I said, one of the hermits is avian. Would it be okay if he came to visit you?”

Tommy nodded slowly. It’s not like anyone would actually come visit. They always said they would, but they never did.

“Alright, that’s settled then.” Stress double tapped her wrist, shooting off a quick message to Grian before closing out of her comms. “I’m assuming you won’t want any visitors until your, uh, forearms are healed, but feel free to reach out to any of the hermits on comms if you do.”

Tommy tucked his arms underneath the covers, hiding the neat lines of blood that still seeped through the layers of white cloth. 

“I still want to get some food in you before you rewrap your bandages for today. How does mushroom stew sound? I’ve got quite a bit stockpiled thanks to the Resistance.”

Tommy wanted to ask about the Resistance, but he’d already asked too many questions, so he just nodded. Stress smiled, before plopping an enderchest in the corner of the room. Tommy gasped involuntarily. He needed to check- He pushed the covers aside, pulling himself off the bed with an agonized groan.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Stress whirled around, rushing to his side. She reached out to him, hesitated, and pulled her arms back. “If you need access to the enderchest, I can put it next to you. Get back on the bed. Now.”

Tommy froze at her stern tone. Shit, shit, shit. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down. He didn’t move. 

“No, no,” Stress tried a reassuring tone, but she wasn’t sure it came through. “I’m not mad. You’re just hurt, and moving around is a really bad idea right now. Is it okay if I help you back onto the bed?”

Tommy shook his head frantically, clawing his way back onto the bed, ignoring the fire that ran through his leg. Wait. She would be mad he had refused. “I’m sorry, of course, whatever you want, please...”  he whispered, reaching out to grab her hand and put it on his shoulder with a shudder, trying to ignore the panic spreading from her touch. Luckily, she pulled her hand away immediately and he nearly cried from relief.

“Oh god, Tommy.” Stress whispered back. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

Tommy only shrank further at her words, memories of the heavy hands that both preceded and followed apologies tumbling through his mind. He couldn’t breathe, his brain spinning and his stomach revolting.

Stress backed up, frantically paging the rest of the server. 

~~

StressMonster to [Hermits] : I need help, does anybody know anything about kids and trauma?? I don’t know what to do.

Grian to StressMonster : Nothing about kids, something about trauma. What’s happening?

StressMonster to Grian : I can't get anything right, he tried to get out of bed and was hurt so i stopped him but i guess i spoke too harshly or smthn and he started freaking out. I tried to ask if i could help him onto the bed and he really hated that suggesiton but then he started apologizinrg and tsaying i cld do whatever i wanted and then i apologzed and now hes shaking harder nad ???

Grian to StressMonster : First, you need to calm down. The kid’s the one freaking out, not you. He needs you to be calm. Can you be calm or should I get someone else in there? 

StressMonster to Grian : I can be calm. I’m calm.

Grian to StressMonster : You’re a medic. You’re trained for this. Sounds like a panic attack, right? You know what to do for panic attacks. This is no different, except you can’t touch the kid, can’t give him strong commands, and can’t ask him questions about what you’re allowed to do. Now go help him.

StressMonster to Grian : Okay.

~~

Stress was trained for this. Except not for panic attacks, but that was fine. She could do this. She tuned back into the real world, closing the comms display and kneeling next to Tommy’s bed.

“Tommy,” she said gently, her eyes trained on his quaking form. “I don’t know what you’ve gone through. I don’t know what you’re feeling right now. I do know that you can get through this. You’re strong. I’m proud of you. I’m here for you.”

He didn’t respond, but she forged ahead. “I want you to concentrate on your breathing. Can you breathe with me?” She made her breathing slow and exaggerated, loudly inhaling and exhaling at a steady pace. It took a moment, but Tommy copied her, matching her breaths. She could’ve cried, but she needed to be there for Tommy. “Good job, Tommy. You’re doing great.”

They kept up the slow breathing for what felt like hours while Tommy’s shaking slowed and stopped. “Tommy?” Stress finally asked, quietly. There was no response. Stress crept around to the other side of the bed, dodging the vomit on the floor. When she saw his face, she breathed a sigh of relief. He was asleep.

Stress dropped to the floor, leaning against the wall, letting her eyes close. God. That was rough. And if it had been rough for her, how must he have felt? She rubbed her face, opening her eyes to stare at Tommy again. There were things she needed to do, vomit to mop, and food to grab, but the momentary peace on Tommy’s face enraptured her, so she sat and watched.

The buzzing of comms knocked her from her stupor and she flicked open the private messages with Grian.

~~

Grian : Is he okay? How’d it go?

StressMonster : He’s fine for now. He’s asleep. I’m not sure whether or not he’ll want to talk when he wakes up or if I should even bring it up.

Grian : I’d say let him bring it up if he wants to.

Grian : Are you okay?

StressMonster : I’d be lying if I said yes. But I’ll manage. Thank you.

Grian : Of course. If you want to talk, I’m here.

StressMonster : Yeah. Oh, also: I think he’s an avian.

Grian : An avian? The kid?

StressMonster : Yeah. He threw up immediately after having meat.

Grian : Sounds like an avian. Wings?

StressMonster : I haven’t seen any. Is there any way an avian would have previously been able to eat meat and whatnot and now can’t?

Grian : Sometimes hybrid traits aren’t active for some reason, but extreme stress/trauma or other things that trigger epigenetic changes can activate them. Might need to wait for wings to grow, if they grow at all. Seems like he’s had more than his fair share of extreme stress/trauma.

StressMonster : Yeah. Maybe you can talk about it when you visit him?

Grian : Is that an invitation?

StressMonster : Yes :) In a few days

Grian : Yay! Can’t wait! :)

~~

Stress grinned at Grian’s characteristic enthusiasm as she closed her retinal display. The real world -- and especially the pile of vomit on the floor -- filled her vision again. She was tempted to just- she pulled a flint and steel out of her inventory and set it on fire. It quickly went up in smoke and she stamped the fire out with a small laugh. Better than mopping. 

It didn’t take her long to rearrange Tommy on the bed, covering him back up and making sure he hadn’t injured himself, pull a hot bowl of mushroom stew from her enderchest and set it on the bedside table, and (after slight hesitation) place an enderchest down next to the bed so Tommy would be able to access it the next time.

She wasn’t sure she could trust him with it, given the obvious cuts on his arms, but he was more likely to hurt himself trying to get to one than anything else so she didn’t really have another choice. She gave him one last long look before closing the door behind her with a gentle click. He’d be okay. She’d make sure of it.

Tommy sat quietly, nursing the bowl of stew Stress had given him. He was getting rather tired of stew, but he knew better than to complain. The steam that rose off the thick brown liquid was nice and warm, at least. 

He hated imposing on Stress’s hospitality. It wouldn’t be long before she realized he was useless and kicked him out. It would be better if he could leave by himself first, so she didn’t get the chance to get to know who he really was, so she might still think he was a good person. If she ever thought that at all.

Tommy started at the sound of drumming footsteps in the carpeted hallway. He glanced up at the door in time to see a familiar face burst through. Grian flared his colorful wings to stop himself from barrelling into the bedframe, a giant grin on his face.

Tommy blanched. Shit. Shit. Shit. He looked down quickly, letting his unkempt hair fall into his face, covering his defining features. He resisted the urge to shrink up against the headboard. Not the time.  

His attempts to obscure his identity were seconds too late. “Tommy...?” Grian said quietly, the smile falling off his lips. “I, uh-” He twisted his hands together. “Do you recognize me?”

“Please,” Tommy whispered, keeping his head down. “Please, Grian, don’t- don’t- don’t-” he took a deep breath, fighting for control of his words. “Don’t tell them I’m here. Please.”

Grian sighed deeply, folding his wings behind him to sit in Stress’s chair. “I’m sorry I surprised you. I didn’t know you were-- well, I guess I didn’t know you were you. I won’t tell them.”

Tommy didn’t believe him. 

“Just to clarify,” Grian’s words were hesitant. “Who is the ‘them’ I’m not going to tell?”

Tommy shook his head rapidly.

“Is it, uh, your family?” Grian pressed gently, worry clouding his black eyes.

Tommy froze. “I don’t have a family.” He muttered. His grip tightened on the wooden spoon in his hand.

“Ah.” Grian nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought anything up.”

Tommy nodded stiffly. Why did people keep apologizing to him?

“Anyway!” Grian forced a smile back onto his face. “I came over because I figured you must be bored out of your mind. I know I would be. So-” Grian looked over to the door and whistled a four note melody. 

Tommy’s head snapped up as cheerful chirps imitated the noise. A bright cyan parrot fluttered into the room, landing on the footboard of Tommy’s bed. The parrot’s feathers blended to green on its forehead, and its belly was a vivid yellow. It cocked its head curiously at Tommy, repeating the four note melody again. Tommy smiled in spite of himself for the first time in what felt like months, whistling back to the bird in greeting. It clicked its beak once and Tommy could’ve sworn he saw approval in its black eyes.

Grian beamed at Tommy’s reaction. “A pesky bird! For you!”

Tommy looked at Grian hesitantly, finally meeting his eyes. “For... for me?”

“Yeah! Of course!” Grian gently ran two fingers across the bird’s head, smiling fondly. “I’ve got plenty. What are you going to name her?”

“I can name her?”

Grian rolled his eyes with a laugh, but his voice was kind and Tommy could tell Grian wasn’t upset with his question. “Yeah, you can name her.”

Tommy turned his gaze back to the bird, staring at her with a furrowed brow. She stared right back. “Henrietta.” He declared. “Her name is Henrietta.”

“Etta, etta!” Henrietta agreed.

Grian laughed. “I think she likes it.”

“Hey, Etta,” Tommy said, whistling the four note melody. Henrietta took off from the footboard, fluttering over to land on the rim of Tommy’s soup bowl. She cocked her head at him, clicking her tongue expectantly, and he obediently dropped his spoon into the bowl and petted her soft head. Henrietta chattered softly.

Tommy looked at Grian, who was smiling gently, but didn’t stop petting Henrietta. “Thank you.” He said, meeting Grian’s eyes.

Grian nodded, “My pleasure. Do you want a perch as well? I brought the supplies for my patented parrot perch!” 

Tommy had scarcely nodded before Grian was up on his feet, attaching a chain to a piece of scaffolding with a spruce trapdoor attached to the bottom. He hung it up next to Tommy’s bed. “I also brought some seeds for you to give Henrietta.” Grian mentioned, setting a satchel of seeds on Tommy’s bedside table.

Tommy didn’t know how to respond to all of the kindness, so he just nodded and tried to communicate his gratitude with his eyes. As soon as the perch was stable, Henrietta took off, landing gracefully in the center of the hanging cage and tucking her wings back. She chirped and began preening.

“Is there anything else you’d like me to bring you?” Grian asked, leaning back into Stress’s chair. “I know Stress plans to have you on bedrest for another couple days. I could bring you music, a journal, really anything. You got any wants?”

Tommy shrugged. He would have liked to have a jukebox and Mellohi, but he knew better than to ask. Dream hated music.  

Grian nodded. “That’s okay. Do you have comms? I haven’t seen you messaging.”

Tommy had been ignoring the buzzing. It wasn’t that he wasn’t curious, of course he was, but back in... before he had wound up here, the messages on the comms made him sad. So he avoided them. “Yeah,” he rubbed his wrist. “I’ve got the implant and the retinal display.”

“Lovely. Feel free to message me whenever! If you need anything, if you want to chat, anything of the sort.”

Tommy hummed noncommittally.

“The same goes for all of the other hermits, by the way.” Grian leaned forward. “They’re all very excited to meet you! And they all love chatting with everybody at all times. If they’re in the tabs list, they’re down to talk. Obviously we don’t know what you’ve gone through, but we’re here for you regardless.” 

Grian could see the skepticism in Tommy’s eyes. “Look, I know -- from experience! -- that that’s really hard to believe right now, and that’s okay. Just if you ever need or want to talk to or hang out with somebody, we’re all here. We’ll always be here.”

Tommy almost snorted at that one. Wilbur had done the ‘I’m here for you!’ shtick. Techno had done it. Phil had done it. Tubbo had done it. Dream had done it. They were all liars. 

Grian could tell Tommy was unconvinced but didn’t press any further. “Sorry, enough with the sappy stuff. Do you have any hobbies? Interests?”

Tommy shrugged. “I like building-”

towers.

Rough stone under his bare feet. Powerful freezing gusts of wind that threatened to topple him over the edge. The scent of burning and gunpowder drifting up from the husk of Logstedshire below him. Taking a shaky step closer to the edge of the cobblestone pillar, looking down at the ocean on one side and the blackened dirt on the other. Stepping off. The blackened dirt. Falling. Falling. Falling.

“-paths.” The wave of memories crashing over Tommy threatened to overwhelm him. He shut his eyes, for a breath, two, then forced them open again.

“Huh, you just missed our road building competition!” Grian obliviously responded. “I think you would like Iskall’s road. It has a llama!”

“If I had a llama I would name it Clarencio.” Tommy mused.

Grian laughed. “Well, I don’t think this llama has a name. I’ll have to ask Iskall but we could certainly name it Clarencio.”

“Does he spit at you? I heard llamas spit at you.”

“Clarencio hasn’t spit at me, at least. I think they only do that if you hurt them.”

Tommy nodded sagely. “I would never hurt Clarencio.”

“Of course not. Clarencio is the best.” Grian agreed. “Oh! By the way. I heard you might be avian?”

Tommy shook his head. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you vegan?” Grian raised an eyebrow. “I know enough about you to know that it can’t be by choice.”

Tommy didn’t know why he was vegan, just that the thought of meat made him feel ill. “I’m vegan to impress women.” He crossed his arms. “Because women love me.”

“I’m sure they do, but I know that’s not why. Meat just makes you feel sick, right?”

Tommy didn’t want to admit it, but Grian had hit the nail on the head, so he sullenly nodded.

“That’s how avians feel. And maybe some humans. But mostly avians. I wouldn’t want to impose, but if you get the chance, you should check your back for two raised bumps. You might be about to sprout wings and if you are, you should probably ask Stress for drugs, because it really hurts.”

Tommy didn’t think. He never thought, that was the fucking problem. He just turned around and whipped off his shirt. “See any bumps?”

Grian couldn’t stop the soft gasp that left his lips but he immediately steeled himself, pressing his face into a mask of neutrality. “Can I check? I need to feel to know.”

Tommy was frozen, shaking, but he felt better than he had in a long time and he knew Grian and Grian was nice so- “Sure.”

Tommy closed his eyes as Grian’s warm hands brushed across his back, feather-light. They were warm and didn’t feel angry and he let himself relax a little, as Grian gently pressed around his shoulder blades. “I know it’s not what you want to hear.” Grian laughed, pulling his hands away. “But you’re definitely growing wings. Welcome to the club!”

Tommy groaned in mock discontent, but he felt warm inside as he pulled his shirt back on and turned around. “I’m not a little bird bitch!”

“Those wings pressing against your skin disagree,” Grian said in a sing-song voice, leaning back in his chair. “Trust me, wings are phenomenal. Have you ever flown before with elytra?”

Tommy shook his head. “No one’s allowed to go to the end. No one’s ever had an elytra.” Tommy realized he’d probably said too much, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“That’s too bad. Flying is the best, honestly. And flying with wings is way better than flying with elytra! As soon as your wings grow, I’ll teach you to fly. How does that sound?”

Tommy nodded eagerly. 

“You wanna know how I knew you were an avian?” Grian grinned slyly, leaning forward again.

Tommy tilted his head, the question on his face answer enough.

“Henrietta liked you. She doesn’t like humans. Thinks they’re not good enough.” Grian laughed, glancing over at Etta. Etta chose that moment to chirp, seemingly in acknowledgement.

“Can you talk to them?” Tommy’s eyes were wide.

Grian looked thoughtful. “Not exactly. They understand me, but they understand all of us, really. And I can- I don’t know- feel them? I guess? And they can speak, some. For humans, they’ll mostly just echo whatever was last said, but for avians, they’ll string together sentences.” Grian shrugged. “So yes and no.”

Tommy nodded. “I’ve never had a parrot before.”

“Well, Henrietta is a good one to have. She’s very opinionated but also very sweet. I think you two will get along. I am going to bring you a jukebox and a few music disks, if you’re okay with that? Henrietta likes to dance.”

Tommy tried not to sound too eager. “That would be cool.”

“Cool! Well, I’m happy to stick around if you want me to, but if not I should probably get going.” Grian sighed dramatically. “X has been paging me for half an hour.”

“You’re good. Uh, thanks for Etta. And for- not saying anything.” Tommy gave a small wave.

“No problem.” Grian smiled. “Can’t wait to teach you to fly. It’ll be so fun.”

Maybe these people weren’t so bad after all. Stress and Grian had both been nice. And maybe- maybe he was starting to trust them. Just a little.