Chapter Text
Tommy leans back on his heels to survey his little farm. He’s only planted carrots, but he has discovered a preference for the crunchy vegetable. There’s something comforting in the way it stains his fingers orange when he chops them, in the fight to free them from the dirt, and their earthy smell as he washes them clean. It reminds him of cold nights sneaking up to Technoblade’s fireplace and nonchalantly searching through his chests for something to snack on. The carrots from his garden are missing the distinct golden hue of the food Techno prefers, but Tommy likes them better as they are - he doesn’t miss the metallic taste that would take hours to dissipate.
He does miss Techno.
He wipes his hands on the grass and pushes himself back to his feet. With one last glance over his work and a satisfied nod, Tommy gathers his harvest into his shirt and makes his way back inside. The fence is a bit of a problem without the use of his hands, so Tommy tries to hit the gate latch with his elbow. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. He takes a moment to adjust his grip to free a hand to get it open. There’s a moment where it seems like he might drop his harvest, but the gate swings open without too much fuss and he catches a few escaping carrots with his arm before they can make the jump to the ground.
He steps into his home and the day’s steady breeze follows him inside. The carrots are dumped across the table. A few topple off to the floor. Tommy bends over to corral them, cursing when one is just outside his reach. He places the carrots he’s rescued back on the table and in a moment of pettiness, leaves the other one on the floor. He pulls out the table’s only chair to begin sorting through the vegetables.
Today is a bad day. Tommy could tell the moment he opened his eyes this morning. Some unnamed emotion bubbles under his skin, itchy and persistent. Usually he would spend days like this with Tubbo, getting into mischief and laughing until his ribs hurt and the itch was drowned out. Or he would pester Techno and Phil until the shadows lifted from their eyes and they would humor his stupid banter. Or he would beg Wilbur to...
He would annoy Wilbur. That’s what he would do.
Tommy glares down at the carrot in his hand. It’s small, a little misshapen, a little ugly. He tightens his grip and then throws it across the room. It hits the furnace and bounces off to roll underneath something.
Today is a bad day.
Tubbo had answered his message with an apologetic response saying he couldn’t make the trip over. He was too busy with his project in Snowchester. Tommy hadn’t bothered sending Techno a message. Their last meeting had not gone well, and he knows that, maybe, stealing from him was not one of his better ideas. He hadn’t planned on getting caught, to be fair. So, Tommy hadn’t reached out to Technoblade or Philza. And Wilbur, well, there was no way he’d try to convince him to visit, either. It would be the best for both of them.
He doesn’t miss Wilbur, not anymore. And he’s not sure what to make of the sad, broken remnant that was left in his place.
His communicator sits heavy in his pocket, but he ignores it to finish his task. It gives him something to focus on. It’s something to do instead of replay the past weeks’ events in his head over and over.
He could have died, you know? It hits him sometimes, randomly out of the blue. He almost led Tubbo to his death - his third, final death. Tubbo would have ended up like Wilbur. Drifting across the server with only a fragment of his memories. And if Tubbo had died, well. He would have shared in Tubbo’s fate. There would have been no point in living if his best friend was dead, after all.
If the others hadn’t shown up, if Punz hadn’t considered his bribe enough - Tommy shakes his head. It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. They won.
It doesn’t always feel like they won.
Today is a bad day. Tommy drops his carrot and shoves his chair back. This isn’t working. It’s too mindless and repetitive. His thoughts demand his attention and the moment he’s distracted, they suck him under stormy water. He needs something else to do. He fumbles for his communicator, searches for a contact with shaking fingers.
TommyInnit: Hotel
TommyInnit: Now
He waits for a response, stubbornly ignoring the buzzing under his skin. There’s a pressure that seems to be building up in his chest, an invisible counter ticking down until it explodes.
awesamdude: I’ll send Sam Nook.
Okay, good. That’s what he wanted to hear. Tommy shoves his communicator into a pocket and glares at his carrot-covered table. It’s what he wanted. He starts for the doorway, pauses for a moment, and then doubles back to tuck a few of the cleanest carrots into his pocket. Just in case. In case of what?
It’s ridiculously bright outside. Tommy grumbles as he walks, occasionally pausing to shield his eyes with a hand and check his communicator. There’s a few server-wide messages from some of the others as they’ve popped in and out of the server, but nothing that interests him. He passes a pond and takes a moment to consider if it’s worth pulling out his trident, but he hesitates. He wanted to work on the hotel, which means he’ll need to deal with Sam. Just the thought of looking at another person makes him want to turn around and take his chances with the carrots.
But at least it’s just Sam. He’s trustworthy and not achingly talkative when in the role of Sam Nook. Besides, Tommy’ll just need to say hello and get his stupid quest and then he can be on his way. Sam’s been good about leaving him be unless he has an urgent request. He killed Jack just for messing with him and Tubbo, he’s protected them from creepy-as-fuck BadBoyHalo and Antfrost, and he’s...he’s been okay. Tubbo likes him, trusts him, so Tommy can probably do the same.
He’s trustworthy. He is. ...Isn’t he?
Tubbo’s always had a bit of a soft heart. He’s gotten in over his head because he didn’t want to offend anyone or step on any toes. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched for Tubbo to trust someone that will only turn around and stab him in the back (or convince someone else to lit a firework). And if Tubbo is overly trusting, then shouldn’t he step in to keep his friend safe? They can’t both be gullible.
That’s not Tommy’s style. No, he’s loud and brash and maybe a little crude (maybe a lot crude). Unrepentant and annoying. That’s TommyInnit.
And how has that worked out?
Tommy keeps walking. He’s stalling, which is stupid. He’s just trying to get out of his head so, really, he should be pumped to have something to do. How much of a bitch would he be if he turned around just because the idea of talking to someone other than Tubbo makes his skin crawl? He’s not a pussy. He’s not admitting defeat because he’s still going to meet with Sam. But it still doesn’t feel like a victory. It’s a band-aid over something he stubbornly ignores and it’ll just have to do. Not everyday can be a smashing win, can it? He kicks a rock off the path. After all, winning is so rarely in his cards.
His chest feels as if someone lit cotton on fire and packed it in every crevice between his ribs.
Today is a bad day and Tommy knows it, feels it getting worse with each step. He tries to pick out the grains of wood in the path below his feet. He tries to remember what he had been thinking when helping pave it. There had been a sense of accomplishment, being on the server in his first few days. He had felt free, unrestricted. There had been nothing he couldn’t do. It feels like eons ago. Back before the scars and fear. Before the anger.
The moment he thinks it, the boiling emotion within him is given a name. The pressure in his chest that squeezes his heart and makes it hard to breathe. He’s angry, enough that it feels like he’s going to explode from the emotion. It’s just shy of nauseating.
The hotel’s construction zone lies ahead, the entry gates now within view. Sam is nothing more than a glimmering spot of enchanted purple against the dirt behind him. Tommy pauses. The anger seethes in him, demands something of him, reminds him that he is only so good at pretending. He can’t lie to himself forever.
He can fucking try.
Today is a bad day because it’s one of those days that Tommy remembers that he’s not doing as well as he likes to pretend. He’s not doing as well as Tubbo is, nor as well as the lingering ghost of Wilbur. There is peace on the server. He even has what he’s been so desperately fighting for. Yet, there’s no peace for him. Not really. There’s no peace in his nightmares, no rest from the way his mind screams at him to escape, flee, run when someone so much as mentions Dream. It doesn’t stop his hastily concealed flinch when he sees Tubbo’s scars - a keepsake from when he failed to protect his best friend. All these lasting reminders of his failures and their consequences.
Maybe the source of his misery has been put away under lock and key, but that doesn’t stop him from retching after a too-vivid dream - a memory - does it? And he knows that Dream is responsible for the nightmares and anger and bitter taste in Tommy’s mouth when he watches the others move on with their lives. But sometimes, sometimes he can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s the problem. The catalyst of this whole mess.
Tommy brushes some dirt from his shirt. It leaves a smudge, but it’s barely noticeable. The emotion coiling in his chest hisses at the annoyance. Right. He needs to get to the hotel, get a task, and lose himself in it. Maybe Sam needs wood? It’s back-breaking work, but it doesn’t leave enough mental room to focus on anything other than bringing his axe back for another swing.
He checks for his axe, ignoring the name tag that pops up when he pulls it from his inventory. The Axe of Peace is his now and there’s no point in feeling guilty over it. Technoblade probably had a new, better axe by now so it was well within Tommy’s rights to keep it. It had been given to him, right? You don’t return gifts. Loans, maybe, but Techno had sided against him in the end and destroyed L’Manburg. Tommy figured that was payment enough.
He should rename it then.
The axe’s blade is scuffed with a few small chips along the blade’s edge. It’s enchantments make his fingers tingle with their power. He needs to find a way to repair it eventually. Sam might know how to do that. Tommy didn’t quite trust himself to not accidentally cut himself without some guidance. He gives the axe one last quick look-over and tucks it away.
Sam's waiting for him. He’s leaning against the sign, although he must have spotted Tommy because he stands up and moves back into his usual position. Tommy picks up his pace. It’s not because he wants to get to Sam, it’s just that he doesn’t want to look like he’s hesitating or purposefully taking his time - which was not what he was doing, not at all. If he refuses to acknowledge it then it didn’t happen.
He pushes the gates open and starts up the stairs towards Sam. He makes it to the edge of the sign before Sam tilts his head and points towards his hardhat.
“Oh, shit.” Tommy opens his inventory to find his safety equipment and takes a moment to replace his armor. “Right, okay, better?”
Sam nods. He fiddles with a little remote in his hands and Sam Nook’s high-pitched, cartoonish voice spills out from his mask. “Hello, TommyInnit.”
With a sigh, Tommy says, “Hello, Sam Nook.” There’s something else vying for room in his too-full chest. It’s something brighter, less demanding than the anger. He ignores both.
“It is very good to see you again,” Sam says. It’s a little odd to hear such upbeat words when Sam, himself, is otherwise stoic. His eyes are trained on Tommy, revealing nothing, and there’s no way for Tommy to gauge his expressions with Sam’s gasmask in the way. There’s a beat as Sam seems to notice Tommy’s attempts to read him. “You’ve been gone a while. As you can see--”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tommy rolls his eyes. “I have other things to do than, y’know, manage this.” He gestures at Sam.
He is ignored. “As you can see, some weeds have sprouted around the build site in your absence. The Crimson has also begun to spread in the area. Do you think you could deal with these?”
There’s weeds growing alongside the path and more surrounding the foundation of the hotel. “And you couldn’t take care of those?” Tommy hops off the path to pluck a thick-leafed plant from the ground. “I mean, surely you could’a taken care of a few silly weeds, Sam.” He shoots a glare at another cluster of weeds happily tucked in the shadow of the fencing.
Sam is quiet, just watching him. His eyes are neutral, too neutral, and it’s almost enough to snuff out the brilliant tendril of whatever in his chest. NPC or not, it’s a little unnerving. Tommy rips out another weed. Okay, not quite what he was expecting, but it’s still better than staring at carrots. Anything would be better than staring at carrots. Maybe he was tired of carrots. No, no, not with their memories.
It takes about an hour to clear the last of the pesky weeds from the construction site. There were a few thick-stemmed plants with spiky leaves that would have hurt like a bitch if he hadn’t been wearing the stupid, clunky work gloves Sam had forced on him. He’s not exactly grateful for the strict enforcement of the safety equipment, but it’s maybe something similar. Tommy begins to trudge back up the hill towards Sam.
He’s about halfway up when he notices how much Sam’s finished in his absence. He stops to stare. It looks...it looks like Sam’s done nothing. He can see what looks like a reception desk and the roof is complete, but that’s all. The hotel is supposed to be done within the next day or two and the first floor isn’t even finished.
“What the fuck,” Tommy says. He marches up the hill and ignores Sam’s head tilt. He slips past the sign. It doesn’t look as unfinished from the front, but it’s not saying much considering it’s still missing the fucking walls and oh, the next seven floors. “What the actual fuck is going on.”
Sam hadn’t moved to follow him, but Tommy wasn’t exactly whispering and the sign isn’t a good soundblocker. “Hello, TommyInnit. Have you finished clearing the weeds and Crimson from the build site?” His voice is a little muffled, and he isn’t speaking any louder than normal. At a different time, it could have been funny.
“I, yes, I got the weeds - no, wait, Sam! What the fuck have you been doing? There’s shit-all done.” Tommy goes to rip down part of the sign so that he could actually see Sam, but pauses. He steps around to go back to the path. As he rounds the sign, Sam’s eyes are immediately on him. “It looks exactly the same! I was gone for five days, Sam Nook!”
There’s nothing in Sam’s expression. Absolutely nothing. “Have you finished clearing the build site?”
“I’m not concerned about clearing some shitty weeds or vines or whatever!” Tommy gestures at the hotel. Sam tilts his head as if he’s considering what Tommy said. A beat of silence passes between them.
“Have you finished clearing the build site?” Sam moves his head back to watch Tommy. If he hadn’t been watching, Tommy would have missed Sam narrow his eyes - just a fraction, but it’s the first hint of emotion that Tommy’s seen from him as Sam Nook.
Another day Tommy might have ignored it, but today was a bad day and the hotel wasn’t finished and the sun was too bright and his thoughts were too loud. It’s the first sign of emotion from Sam Nook - it’s a sign of weakness. And there’s no mercy for weakness, Tommy knows.
He’s had first-hand experience.
There’s no one else around them, no one else on the server, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Not even Tommy can hear as that invisible counter settled in his chest hits zero. The anger buzzing against his skin erupts and something dark and vicious emerges. It wants. It wants so badly it hurts. It demands blood and anger in turn. It’s hungry and Tommy?
Tommy is already having a bad day.
Sam’s not standing at his full height. His posture is slumped, probably in an attempt to appear less threatening. He only has his construction safety equipment on - his hardhat and work clothes. They’re fortified with enchantments just like the matching set that Tommy’s wearing. They’re designed to be hardy and easily spotted, but they’re no defense against the anger that Tommy can feel building against the back of his throat.
He takes a step towards Sam, fingers itching with the need to release the fury battering his insides. “Can’t even build a fucking hotel? What are you, a scam? Are you trying to scam me, bitch?”
Sam doesn’t move back even as Tommy presses into his space. His gaze has slipped past Tommy’s shoulder, but at Tommy’s words, his gaze jerks back. They’re still fucking empty. “Is there something wrong, TommyInnit?”
“Yeah, there’s something wrong. Have you even looked at the hotel, you bastard?” Tommy snaps, and the anger purrs with the venom in his voice. “I bet you haven’t even thought about it. What were you doing, huh? Fucking around with the stupid Egg?”
There - Sam’s shoulders draw up, tense. He hit a nerve. Good. “You are upset, TommyInnit.”
“Turn off that stupid voice! It’s annoying as shit.” Tommy draws back, watching with narrowed eyes as Sam fiddles with the remote. He tucks it away and turns his attention back to Tommy. “Fucking finally, jeez.”
Hearing Sam’s voice instead of Sam Nook’s is a bit disorienting. It’s as smooth and neutral as his expression. “You’re upset.”
“No shit!”
Sam takes a step back and Tommy rocks back on his heels, watching. He freezes when Sam holds his arms up, but Sam doesn’t make any moves toward him. He just tilts his head. (Was that something Sam always did?) “You may hit me if it would make you feel better.”
Oh.
Oh. They’ve done this song and dance before. Sam had offered, perhaps in different words, and Tommy had considered it. But Tubbo had been there - gentle, compassionate Tubbo, his best friend with a heart of gold and best of intentions. He had let out a nervous laugh and placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
“There’s no need for that, right Tommy?” His voice had been too high for his attempt at casualness to work, but Tommy had still agreed. He still moved the axe back into his inventory, much to the relief of Tubbo. Sam had been just as stoic then as he was now.
Tubbo and his pristine moral compass are not here.
If it would make you feel better. And now?
It would. It would make him feel better. It would sedate the anger still scratching at his chest and that would make him feel better. (Right?) Tommy snaps his inventory open to pull out his axe. Sam’s eyes shoot down to where it gleams in his hand. His expression cracks to reveal something mournful. It’s all Tommy needs.
He’s not used to being in control in situations like this. It’s a powerful feeling, almost overwhelming. He feels strong.
He’s tired of being powerless.
“Yeah, it would make me feel better,” he says and lashes out with the axe. It’s an attack born of blind anger, sloppy and ill-aimed. It catches Sam just below his clavicle. He stumbles back with the force of the blow, a wheezing gasp escaping his mask.
It works. Tommy’s anger basks in the violence, but it is not quite content. Sam straightens out, one hand beginning to stray towards where he’d usually keep his sword before hesitating. Instead, he spreads his arm back out and waits. He tilts his head in that stupid, annoying way again.
“Fucking stop that.” Tommy tightens his grip on the axe. There had been a flash of fear in Sam’s eyes, although they were now devoid of emotion. He saw it, there was no way he had imagined it (he saw it, he saw it and didn’t stop) . He goes to heft the axe into another blow, but hesitates. He doesn’t want to kill Sam. That’s not what he’s trying to do.
He drops the axe, ignoring the thud of it biting into the wooden path. Sam’s eyes stray back towards it, but Tommy’s anger-fueled punch in the ribs has him taking another step back and regains his attention. Sam grunts at the impact, but took the hit better than before.
It feels good - great even. Tommy’s almost giddy with it. He lands another punch and Sam takes a half-step back with it. He was braced for it that time. Tommy’s fists are up, watching for Sam to come towards him. Even if Sam (who’s stronger than him, what was he thinking?) retaliates, he can defend himself. TommyInnit can hold his own. He put Dream in his place - he can handle Sam.
His anger is sated. He can feel it curl up, content to hide away in whatever depths it had come from. He feels lighter. Unstoppable. Sam’s drawn himself up back, but he’s made no move to retaliate.
“Aren’t you going to hit me back?” Tommy regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. Sam might not have hit back, but Tommy just gave him an open invitation. But to his surprise, Sam just shakes his head. “C’mon, pussy. Not man enough to try? Scared I’ll fucking beat you?”
Shut up. This is the part he remembers. Tommy letting his mouth get the better of him, trying to match his ego against those who are stronger and better equipped. This is the part where he should shut his fucking mouth and run away as fast and as far as he could. When they lose their patience and respond in kind. Not everyone had, sure. Not Techno or Phil when he had annoyed them, but others (green and terrifying), well, others had (he did). They (Dream) got impatient, got angry, got violent. But when does he ever listen to common sense?
The sense of power, his satisfaction at no longer being the helpless one comes crashing down. Sam’s going to...he’s not going to let Tommy get away with this. With his anger gone, something wary (scared) takes its place.
It’s like he’s on autopilot. Still spitting insults and he’s pulled his axe from the wood. Sam has drifted towards the sign, only a step or two to the right. He hasn’t pulled out a weapon or taken a step towards Tommy.
“Are you feeling better?” Sam’s voice is steady.
“No, I’m--” What’s Sam doing? Why isn’t he...doing anything?
Sam gestures towards the axe. “You can use the Axe of Peace.” As if he hadn’t already.
That draws Tommy up short. “I, wait. What? No, I don’t want to kill you, Sam.”
Sam nods, but doesn’t say anything else.
“I don’t,” Tommy says, a little defensively. He doesn’t want to kill Sam. That hadn’t been the point. Sam had offered, right? And he just wanted to feel better, to lose the anger that had been dogging him.
What had he done?
Sam takes another step back so his hip is leaning against the sign. “Are you feeling better, Tommy?”
He doesn’t answer. He just waits. Waits for Sam to do something, for him to narrow his eyes or open his inventory or...or something. Anything. But Sam only tilts his head. He looks tired and sad.
Did Tommy disappoint him? Only he could disappoint everyone that’s been trapped in his gravity. Wilbur, Techno, Tubbo, Ranboo, Jack, Fundy, Niki, and... no. That’s it. That’s all. Because he is locked away and out of sight, out of mind. He has no say on whatever the fuck just happened, no influence. No influence. None. Because Tommy isn’t like him. No, because maybe he gets his friends hurt, but Tommy never means for them to be. It’s accidental. He’s not violent (you took two of his lives). He’s not...whatever Dream is. He doesn’t purposefully hurt people like that. Like what…
Like what Dream did to him.
Right?
Tommy realizes his gaze has been locked on the path and Sam’s been talking to him. Sam’s moved closer, but he’s still left a foot or so of space between them. He’s softly trying to get his attention. Tommy tears his eyes away from the wood in time to see Sam’s eyes crease with something like grief.
“Hey Tommy, you with me?”
Tommy jerks back, bringing his axe up when Sam shifts closer. What is this? It’s wrong. Tommy just fucked up. He doesn’t deserve this gentleness. He can feel his stomach drop when Sam makes a hastily aborted flinch when the axe moves, as if he was trying to hide it.
You hurt Tubbo. You hurt Techno.
You hurt Sam.
“What the fuck.”
Sam raises his eyebrows. Tommy shoves the axe back into his inventory, not caring where it ends up and drops down to his knees. He shoves the palms of his hands into his eyes. “What the fuck.”
Tommy doesn’t look up when Sam settles down nearby, not quite touching but closer now that the axe (how could he have been so stupid?) is gone. He startles when Sam starts to talk, still in a tone that just oozes compassion. Gone is the emptiness and neutrality that had bothered Tommy so much.
“I told you I wasn’t going to harm you, no matter what.” There’s a tapping noise and Tommy drags his hands down his face so he can see. Sam’s tapping the heel of one boot against the edge of the path in time with the drumming of his fingers. Sam’s full of movement and he’s so much more alive than Sam Nook. “Not even if you hit me first.”
That drags a laugh out of Tommy, although Sam doesn’t appear to appreciate it. “Yeah, well you should have anyway.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Tommy paces Sam's rhythm and matches it. Tap-tap-tap against the wood. “Why the fuck not? It’s not like I don’t deserve it.”
Sam lets out a harsh breath. “Tommy, no one deserves it. Not you, not me, not anyone.”
“I don’t know, maybe I can think of like, one person,” Tommy mutters before rolling his eyes when Sam raises an eyebrow. “I can.”
There’s a moment of silence. Sam breaks it first. “You’ve gone through a lot. More than most kids your age. Don’t. Don’t fight me on that right now.” Tommy swallows his argument. “What you did, you were angry and hurt. That doesn’t excuse it, but I can understand it.”
“You...I. Shit. I shouldn’t have, you didn’t deserve--”
“No,” Sam holds up a hand to stop him. “I didn’t. But you know who else didn’t?”
Tommy shrugs and Sam sighs. It’s a little distorted through his mask, but Tommy can catch the meaning behind it. “You, Tommy. You didn’t deserve to get hurt either.”
There’s another beat of silence, but then Sam’s reaching over to rest his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. He paused before touching him, as if waiting for some ill reaction. Tommy’s grateful for it, but there’s an equal measure of disgust that Sam thought it was necessary - that it was.
“You didn’t, Tommy. And that’s the truth, whether you believe me or not.”