Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Then let’s be the bad guys...”

“If I go down...this country goes down with me.”

“You’re never going to be president.”

Tommy is currently freaking the fuck out.

He can remember the exact moment that air gets pulled back into his lungs, like a deflated balloon being repumped. He reaches out with a set of fighting hands, trying to find something to hold onto, to grasp or hit or do something with. But nothing will make contact. Tommy feels like a balloon filled with helium, ready to float away at a moment's notice. He is going to fly away if he doesn’t tie himself down, if he doesn’t find something to grab onto, to make him whole. His body jolts, practically seizing, and he can feel hands grabbing him and pushing him down onto something. They restrain him and he pushes against them, not letting them keep him down. He can hear voices talking but he blocks them out, his senses becoming overloaded. He hears someone screaming and it takes him a minute to realize it’s himself.

Tommy screams again, and again, thrashing around on the surface madly, begging for someone to release him, to let him the fuck out. But the voices aren’t speaking to him. The voices are talking to literally anyone but him. He wants to shout at them, to tell them off for ignoring him when he's clearly right here. Tommy has this feeling underneath his skin that he doesn’t recognize, as if someone's digging out his skin and stuffing it back inside. He doesn’t feel right. Not in his own flesh, filled with broken bones and wounds that he knows are removing any chance that he has of living. After the Election, everything that Tommy touched seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders, pushing him down. Everything felt more intense, louder, and just…more.

When he was younger, Will had taken him to get stitches for a wound in his chin. He had woken up in bed and knocked off all of the health potions on the desk beside him, and he could still remember Wilbur’s arms having to hold him down so that he didn’t run from his bed. He’d only been eight then but even now that he’s older it still feels the same. But this time he doesn’t have potions to keep him calm, or Wilbur to hold him steady. He can feel an intense throbbing inside his head, his whole life reanimating and coming to life.

When his eyes finally open, he feels like a baby being reborn. In the way that his eyes are ripping open behind gore and blood. He feels like there’s blood dripping down over his body. A blinding light shines into his eyes like a blazing star, threatening to tear him open from the inside out.

A hooded man leans over and blocks out the light, his face blurry. “He’s way too out of it!”

“God, I told you we shouldn’t be doing this! Dream was absolutely ridiculous to give this order.”

“Dream is in charge…what he says goes.”

Tommy shoots upwards, his breathing heavy and plain blossoming through every muscle in his body. Wilbur’s voice rings out in his head but Wilbur isn’t here. Wilbur isn’t here to hold his hand so that Tommy could squeeze it. Tommy is utterly and completely alone again, screaming his throat raw until it feels like it’s shriveling up inside of him. Shards of glass slicing his throat to pieces, as if he’s still expected to breathe through the shredded tunnel. Tommy knows he’s gone through plenty of horrible and awful things in his life, but this definitely takes the cake. The last slice of cake at a party that he wasn't invited to. Tommy feels like he is smothered in blood, the smell filling his nose and blocking his senses.

Fire. Iron. Blood. Metal.

Smoke, smoke, smoke…

Laughter… a distant cackle.

“Kill me…”

“It was never meant to be.”

The hooded man’s face comes into focus but then something pricks the back of his neck and the world blurs again. Tommy can feel his surroundings flip on their heads and his mouth fill with the taste of iron. He twitches and thrashes and he feels like vomiting. His heart is aching, calling for someone to come and save him.

He misses Tubbo… he misses Techno… he misses Wilbur…

And that’s how he knows that he isn’t dead.

Dead people don’t miss things… they were missed.

——————

Everything appears much clearer the second time.

In the first moment, all he can feel is pure anger. The smell of blood still seems to fill his nose and his head feels so heavy that he can barely lift it off the surface below him. It's propped up enough that he's able to see a door across the room. The cobblestone walls of the room have no other windows and Tommy can almost feel the walls of the room pushing towards him, closing in. He wants to punch them.

He's angry at everything, at everyone, but he doesn’t know what for.

Tommy looks down at his scarred hands. They aren’t covered in blood and he doesn’t know why he thought they would be. In fact, they don’t have any signs of recent wounds, making him wonder why he is in an almost clinical setting. His throat is sore and dry, his body feels weak, but there aren’t any wounds.

He can’t help but notice that the room is still closing in. 'GO AWAY' he wants to shout, but his vocal cords won't listen.

Tommy feels very small. Not like sixteen, I mean, he is a big man normally, but he feels smaller. His body seems thin and he wonders if he’d been out for longer than he originally thought. He struggles for a minute, trying to figure out how the hell he ended up in this room, but the more he thinks about it, the more his brain hurts. His life is enough of a fucking puzzle for him to want to be one himself. What with Tubbo working for Manberg while being a spy for them in Pogtopia, Technoblade being on their side while also killing Tubbo at the Festival…

Wilbur…

Fuck.

Wilbur…the button. L’Manberg and Schlatt.

If Tommy had enough strength he would have jumped out of bed, possibly hitting his knee against the wall of the room. He remembers most of what had happened. The beginning of the fight, Schlatt collapsing in the van, Tubbo becoming president, and then… then the lines start to blur together. He remembers stalactites and rocks crumbling, he remembers smoke filling up his senses and having to pull a mask over his face to block it out. He remembers wings and… and the click of a button and… and a sword... He wondered how he was able to get out of there alive. He tries to remember what happened after Wilbur blew up L’Manberg but he just can’t.

Is L’Manberg ok?

Is Tubbo ok?

Is Wilbur ok?

Tommy nearly jumps out of his fucking skin when the door to the room creaks open and a hooded man walks in. Tommy feels like he knows the man but his head is so clouded that he can’t tell either way. Tommy is immediately hesitant and reaches to his side where he normally keeps a spare knife, before remembering that he is in completely different clothes and is most likely not allowed to keep a weapon on him.

Tommy struggles to get up, but the man quickly walks further and holds out his hands, “Woah, hey! Don’t try to get up yet. We don’t want a repeat of earlier.”

Tommy pauses, staring at the man in confusion. He wonders for a moment if the man had been there when he first woke up before remembering seeing the familiar black and red hood above him. Tommy relaxes for a moment, letting himself fall back down onto the pillows below him. The man walks forwards into the light and slowly removes his hood, causing Tommy to immediately try and sit up again.

“Bad? What are-“

“Tommy! What did I just say about sitting up?”

Tommy nods shakily, sinking back down. Bad is here, a familiar face. He walks towards Tommy with a calm smile, his horns emerging from fluffy brown hair. The demon pauses for a moment, before speaking, “I need you to stay calm while I’m explaining certain things about your case to you.”

“What the hell do you mean my case?” Tommy immediately questions, slightly hesitant.

Bad glares at him for a moment before continuing, “Well, you are in a very… strange position.”

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Language,” Bad reprimands. “And it means…” He hesitates, staring at one of the walls before glancing at a clipboard that he holds in his hand. “Tommy, what’s the last thing that you remember?”

Tommy went to open his mouth but pauses. He honestly isn’t sure what he last remembered. There was… the war. He remembers a feeling of pain in the pit of his chest like a stone had settled there. A reminder of some kind of failure. He remembers the after-effects of some kind of shock… an explosion. A man’s face flickers in his mind, their expression something from a horror movie.

Tommy harshly sucks in a breath of air. “I remember an explosion and… and Wilbur laughing… and then there was…,” Tommy winces as visions of skulls and black smoke fly through his head, the cackling just increasing as his temple pounds. “There were th- the withers… I had to stop Wilbur.”

Bad grimaces and Tommy stares at him because he isn’t sure why Bad is so upset. Maybe he had answered wrong, but he is pretty sure that’s what had happened. Wilbur had set off the bombs and… and Techno had released the withers and almost… almost killed Tubbo again. Tommy winces as his headache worsens, his nails scratching at the palm of his hands. Bad sucks in a deep breath and looks… so terribly apologetic. Then the expression fades away and Tommy is met with a more resigned face. It’s as if a doctor was about to tell their patient that they are dying. And Tommy is pretty sure he isn’t dying because sure, he feels like shit, but he doesn’t have any apparent wounds. So why, why, why-

“How old are you, Tommy? What year is it?”

Tommy squints at Bad for a moment. “Bad, you know exactly how old I am.”

“Please, just answer the question.”

Tommy frowns before dutifully responding, “I am sixteen years old. It’s 2020.”

Bad sighs and Tommy frowns again because that has to be the right answer. He knows what year it is, he knows how old he is. He even had to correct Wilbur about it a couple of days ago because his brother kept teasingly calling him six years old. This whole thing suddenly becomes very frustrating, because Tommy knows that he isn’t wrong.

Bad lets out a sigh before reaching out and holding onto Tommy’s shoulder, causing him to flinch suddenly and tense up.

“Tommy,” the demon starts, his expression apologetic, “the year is 2025.”

Tommy immediately lets out a startled laugh which, come to think of it, probably isn’t the best response at first, but this just has to be a joke. Maybe this is punishment for not being able to stop Wilbur from blowing up L’Manberg. His laugh is short at first but he just can’t stop laughing loudly, shaking his head back in forth in shock. Because 2025? No… no there just was no way.

But then Bad says something, so much worse.

“Tommy, you’ve been dead for the past five years.”

Tommy freezes.

Dead…

Dead.

“You wanna be a hero, Tommy?”

Tommy gasps suddenly.

“Then die like one!”

The voices finally click, their faces flashing in his head from somewhere in a distant memory. Tommy yanks his shoulder from Bad’s grip, newfound strength hovering within the fear that crashes into his body at lightning speed. For a brief moment, panic settles in the pit of Tommy’s stomach and he wonders if all of this truly is just a dream. Maybe he’ll wake back up in Pogtopia, asleep on his rock that he calls a bed, with the wind whistling and the sounds of Techno sharpening his sword echoing in his ears.

Tommy shakes his head. “What?”

“You’ve been dead for five years,” Bad repeats. “The explosion that you remember? You survived that… but then you went after Wilbur and…” Bad hesitates and Tommy immediately leans towards him.

“What? What happened?” He questions insistently.

“You got stabbed through the chest… Phil had shown up to try and stop Wilbur and you… you saved Wilbur from being killed… at the cost of your own life.”

Tommy freezes, his eyes wide. “No!” He shouts. “No, no, no! You must have… you must have gotten something wrong! Phil wouldn’t kill me or… or try and kill Will! And I’m not dead, I’m right here!”

Bad soothes him and tries to push him back onto the bed, ( Bed, it's a bed, he’s on a bed, not an operating table or a hard rock- ), but none of this feels or seems right and Tommy wants to choke. He feels like he should be able to overpower Bad, to push him off and run. Run far away, run back to Wilbur and Techno and Tubbo and everyone that he holds close. But he can’t because there’s a weight pushing down on his chest, that’s blocking his lungs, that’s stopping him from breathing. But he needs to breathe, he has to breathe, just take one breath…

It feels like his ribs are shattering into pieces and he feels like he’s screaming again because his throat is raw and torn and his chest is aching and he just wants to run away. For a moment he feels like he’s being delusional because he knows that Bad is right next to him but he wants nothing more than for Wilbur to be there, his Wilbur, the Wilbur he grew up with.

He just wants to be anywhere but right there.

And then he blacks out and suddenly the feelings are gone.

——————

The third time he wakes up, he isn’t alone.

Bad is already there, leaning against one of the walls opposite Tommy’s bed. However, in a small wooden chair beside Tommy’s bed, is a man that takes Tommy a moment to recognize. He’s staring down at the floor below him, golden locks of sandy hair falling in front of his face. Tommy frowns for a moment before the man glances up, revealing a familiar white, porcelain mask.

Tommy flinches as Dream leans forward towards him, the mask almost like a taunt. “There he is. Welcome back to the land of the living, Tommy”

Tommy knows that it’s a saying, but he still flinches at the reference of his past death. Tommy glares at Dream as the man leans back a bit in his chair, his body language relaxed. Tommy can feel his heart pound with anger because there are so many things that he wants to scream at Dream right now. So many things that he wants to shout and yell and get off of his chest but he feels so heavy again, just like he had last time he woke up. He wants to punch Dream in his stupid face because there is something so intrinsically wrong with what they’ve done.

Dream must be able to see the apparent rage on Tommy’s face because he lets out a deep breath and shakes his head much like someone guilty would do, but Tommy knows that there are so many worse things that Dream has done and that this is probably nothing to him. Bringing some annoying kid back from the dead? Probably part of his daily fucking routine.

“I know you’re upset.”

“You don’t know shit,” Tommy bites back, his voice slightly hoarse from screaming.

To Tommy’s surprise, there’s no argument. Dream simply glances over at Bad in the back of the room before his gaze slides back over to Tommy. If any look of sympathy or empathy is visible on his face, Tommy sure as hell can’t find it. 

“I promise you, Tommy, we didn’t want things to happen like this,” Dream tries again and if anything, Tommy’s stomach just twists more, “but this is how things had to be done.”

Tommy simply stares, his eyes blinking and hands trembling. He wants so hard to just lean over and punch Dream across the face but he can’t because his strength has left him and any hope of moving is fleeting. He wants so badly to prove Techno wrong, to show that he is the hero but he doesn’t have to die like one, but there’s no point because Tommy has already died once, so who’s to say it won’t happen again? 

But is he really expected to believe that he died at all?

“You have to be lying,” Tommy whispers, staring at the thin blanket below him. “This has to be some kind of sick joke.”

Dream reaches out a hand and Tommy flinches away, even though he’s sure it was meant to be comforting. “Let me go. Let me go see Wilbur.” Tommy orders, his expression demanding.

Dream sighs, his head shaking slightly. “That will come in due time. But for now, you need to have a bit of an adjustment period. You are a sixteen-year-old who has just woken up in a world where everyone around him has grown… has moved on and mourned his passing. This is something that will take time. Essempi has experienced plenty of trauma since you’ve been gone.”

“What kind of trauma?” Tommy questions.

“War,” Dream responds. Tommy knows that it’s supposed to be foreboding, but he’s gone through too many fucking battles at his age to be scared of the word. “Many people are lost without it. Fights have started, families are breaking, long lost empires are rising to take revenge.” Dream leans back in his seat as he says, “The world isn’t a chessboard anymore… it’s a free for all. And all though many things have happened in the past, I don’t think many people will take kindly to this. A teenager coming back to life probably isn’t the best thing to throw in their faces. People won’t react well to the knowledge that death is no longer permanent.”

“What, so you’re using a fucking sixteen-year-old kid to be your trial run?” Tommy snaps back bitterly.

“Technically speaking, Bad was our trial run.”

Tommy hesitates, and his attention goes towards Bad in shock. He feels a cold sensation go up his spine and suddenly he’s questioning everything that he thought he knew. There is a three-life system in the world but once you lost the last one… you’re gone. But Tommy lost his last one and he’s still here. He’s right here on this bed and he doesn’t know what to think about it. He can’t even begin to comprehend it.

“We’ve recently tried to come into contact with Philza but he’s been ignoring all of our calls.” Tommy’s head snaps up at the name, his eyes wide and focused on the masked man again. “We’re worried that he may abandon the wars that he’s fighting and we need him to keep up the… participation.”

“So what? I’m a fucking hostage?” Tommy says with a horrified expression.

“Not at all,” Dream responds. “However, you are Philza’s motivation. We won’t inform him immediately of your return to the living world, but you are an important key in this mission. Philza hasn’t been the same since your murder and God knows the rest of the world hasn’t either. If Philza continues to want to abandon this war, well… that’s when you will come into play.”

There’s a tightness in Tommy’s chest that makes him want to lash out and fight someone, but the last time he did that he blacked out. His mind is racing at a thousand miles per hour, so many questions filling his head. Tommy can feel his jagged fingernails dig into his hand, and he wants nothing more than to slam his fist into Dream’s face until his mask cracks and he starts to bleed. Then maybe Tommy might finally feel like he’s getting what he deserves. Because right now, nothing feels fair. This isn’t fair and he knows it’s childish to think in terms like that, but being horrified and being unable to breathe are things that crept into him like a dagger.

“I can’t believe you think you’re a good guy,” Tommy mutters.

Dream makes the same guilty face as before.

“Oh, Tommy. I am a good guy. But sometimes good guys have to do what’s necessary to protect the world...”

Chapter Text

Finding a psychic to help Wilbur through all of his PTSD and all of the bullshit that fucked up his head for months on end isn’t the hard part. There are psychics all over, ranging from familial specialists and romantic specialists. The hard part is getting Wilbur to actually attend the goddamn sessions.

Wilbur is relatively familiar with how psychics worked. Throughout most of his teenage years, he struggled with depression and Phil took him to numerous people to try and be able to talk to someone about it. Wilbur used to always struggle to keep some kind of grip on his ever-slipping existence, but he drowned it in other thoughts or actions that were probably less than good for his health. Things that landed him with broken relationships and everlasting psychological issues led him to where he is right now. 

At this point, Wilbur’s hands never truly stop shaking.

And he tries for Phil, he really tries to stay engaged in the sessions. But they are hard, and worst of all, he isn’t a very big fan of Madam Nguyen. Not that she’s ever done anything horrible to him, but Wilbur always feels like she tends to favor one side over another. And more often than not, that side is not Wilbur’s. But Phil thinks she’s wonderful and refuses to look for another psychic, so here they are again in this goddamn room, with Wilbur staring at the floor and crossing his arms like some petulant child, leg bouncing impatiently while Phil rambles on about whatever has been happening recently.

And although Wilbur thought psychics were supposed to know everything, something that Phil says surprises Madam Nguyen. Or confuses her is probably more likely, taking the new nugget of information and twisting it into a nice neat little package with a cute bow on top. She’s holding her nice notepad and pen, staring intently at Phil and listening in, always so perfectly poised and ready —

“He had an episode a couple of days ago,” Phil sighs, “They’ve been happening more and more recently. Ever since he came back five years ago, the progress that we’d had before he left seems to have just... disappeared.”

Wilbur swallows, and Madam Nguyen’s eyebrows seem to dip downwards. “Let’s backtrack for a minute here. You said that this happened about five years ago, but if my knowledge serves me correct, The Winter War has only been happening for about three years now.”

The Winter War, as the general public called it. Just like all the wars in the past and throughout the years had been named. Wilbur can imagine after the wars die down, when someone wins or if Phil finally decides he’s had enough of this bullshit and abandons the Antarctic Empire, that kids are sitting in schools and learning about these wars. Not understanding the pain that brought them on, the suffering and guilt that Will has carried while his father sits on his throne, commanding armies and fighting when all he wants to do is run away.

He tightens his right hand and remembers the satisfaction of driving a sword into a dummies chest, shooting targets over and over until his arms are sore and his hands are scratched and bleeding. Wilbur remembers the year he spent ignoring Phil, refusing to be in the same room as him until he sees Phil in his room late at night, sobbing on his bed as he holds a picture of their family at a festival years back.

His mind whirls as he stares at Madam Nguyen. She had said something and he missed it.

“Sorry, what?”

She repeats her statement, no impatience visible, “Phil mentioned five years ago… do you have an idea of what brought these episodes?”

Wilbur whirls around to look at his father. He looked sorry to have brought it up because the Winter War is one thing, but The Incident is another thing. It is on an entirely different spectrum, because The Winter War? Shit like that has been Wilbur’s life since he was 10. Sure, PTSD remains, but the damage is minor. The Incident? That is permanent. Never to be fixed. Sixteen-year-olds didn’t come back to life after being stabbed through the heart with a sword.

Wilbur remembered the blood dripping from the gaping hole, the broken gasps leaving his mouth.

Wilbur had sat there as his body fell over, keeling in on itself. And he’d done nothing.

Wilbur pushes himself to his feet, without warning, and storms out of the room because he can’t breathe. He sees a limp hand that was held in front of him fall to the ground limply. He sees black wings going to wrap around him and he remembers screaming, letting out a guttural sob as he stares at the small frail body on the rocky ground.

“You’re never gonna be president.”

He remembers the look that those bright blue eyes gave him as he grinned maniacally and he should have known that he was going to do whatever he could to save Wilbur from the downward spiral he had fallen into. As he storms out of the curtained room and walks down the hall, he can remember his broken voice screaming at Phil, hands reaching out and punching at any open surface he can reach.

“Look at what you’ve done! You killed him, you stabbed him through the heart!”

Even when Eret had betrayed them, it hadn’t been this bad. Sure, he was furious and he remembers the pure hatred he felt for them at that moment, but it wasn’t this vile or bloody. And it wasn’t permanent.

“IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME!”

“Wilbur.”

Phil’s voice, one that Wilbur can crave at one moment and then want to rip out of his brain the next, makes him look behind him with darkening brown eyes. He’s eyeing him like something tore in half and really, it kind of feels like he has just been punched in the gut repeatedly.

Wilbur sighs and stares at the wall to his left, a beautiful rug from one nation or another swaying gently against the cobbled walls. “I swear I’m trying to get better, Phil,” he whispers, looking back over at the older man.

He pauses and looks down the hall where Madam Nguyen has stepped out of her office and is silently watching them from a distance. Wilbur groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “But I don’t need anyone to be prying about The Incident… not even my psychic.”

Phil looks apologetic as he responds, “But what if this is what it takes to truly fix things? Talking about everything…”

A beat.

“...including Tommy.”

Wilbur has never been so grateful for a group of guards to begin patrol down a hallway because as soon as the name leaves Phil’s lips, he feels like he’s about to vomit. He practically dives behind the guards and hurries down the staircase. He’s grateful that Phil doesn’t try and chase after him, but the hurt in his father's eyes as he runs away gives him enough guilt for at least a month until his next appointment. God, he’s so stupid. Stupid, stupid… stupid. And nothing is ever going to fix it, but there are too many flaws and cracks in the walls that he keeps up for him to care about. So he hurries down the staircase, attempting to regain his breath.

He rushes to the library as quickly and quietly as possible, hurrying into one of the armchairs. His body lets out a horrific sigh and he doesn’t know why, but he slams his head onto the table in front of him three times, only stopping when his forehead is throbbing painfully. Outbursts are not rare, now, especially when he’s gone so long without any kind of potion. His hands are shaking and he can feel an episode coming on as he shakes slightly in his chair…

“Bad day?”

Wilbur nearly jumps out of his skin, raising his head to stare at the armchair across from him. He’s reaching into his pocket to grab his spare knife in an initial reaction but sighs and lets it go once he registers who’s sitting across from him. Wilbur wants to punch him in his face and knock out every tooth just for the adrenaline pumping through his veins at the unethical action of appearing in front of one’s self mid breakdown.

Technoblade.

“God, you… you asshole,” Wilbur sighs and closes his eyes and when he opens them, Techno is suddenly in the chair next to him, scaring the ever-loving fuck out of Wilbur again.

“Someone’s jumpy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Wilbur says. “I should stab you through the chest right now. You’re lucky I haven’t shoved you into an open fire until you have third-degree burns. You know you look like a serial killer?”

“Ah yes, I’m a regular Christman Genipperteinga,” Techno replies.

“Who the hell even is that?”

“A serial killer and bandit of the 16th century. He reportedly murdered 964 individuals starting in his youth over a 13-year period, from 1569 until his capture in 1581-”

“Dude, shut up, I stopped listening after you started saying numbers.” Wilbur glares at his twin before placing his forehead back down on the table in front of him.

“We seriously need to talk, you’ve been ignoring me for months,” Techno says, changing topics swiftly.

“Don’t be offended, Techno. I’ve been ignoring the majority of people. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a bit fucked up in the head, because some stupid green blob decided to give me control of some bombs-”

Techno groans and places his head in his hands. “Please stop talking, you’re giving me a headache.”

Wilbur snorts at the comment. He stands from his chair, already expecting the sounds of shoes following him down the hall. He figures the quickest way to get rid of Techno is to just head to where Techno most likely came from in the first place.

Techno decides to break the silence, continuing from his original statement. “So you know about the most recent developments in the war. The armies in the west have backed down slightly, most likely to regroup. Father has already been made well aware of this development.”

“Wonderful,” Wilbur replies, turning down a small passageway into a slightly tighter corridor. “That means he’s capable enough to handle it himself.”

“Wilbur,” Techno reprimands, his voice echoing off the cobblestone walls. “You know that protecting the crown is our top priority as princes.”

“Shut up with that bullshit,” Wilbur says with a growl, whirling around to face his brother. “You and I both know that we don’t give a shit about the crown. Phil, the king of this god damn nation, doesn’t give a shit about the crown. It’s why I left, it’s why you left, it’s why we abandoned this castle in the first place. You don’t even like this fucking monarchy! You’d tear it down yourself if you could!” Wilbur sucks in a harsh breath and continues marching down the hall, clenching his hand at the footsteps that continue to follow behind him.

Wilbur fights the urge to lose his shit for a second. It’s kind of like the smallest things now make him want to drive his fist through a brick wall. He is angrier than he has ever been in his life, the past five years of his existence have been inside of that rage-filled wormhole of nothing that he drowns in writing, filling pages upon pages of his thoughts. He thinks of Pogtopia, the walls of his room, carved into with scratches of words. He thinks of the button room, the anthem of his long-lost country covering the rocky walls.

The pair draw closer to the training area, the sounds of swords clashing and wood being split with arrows filling Wilbur’s ears. The brothers reach the wooden doors and pause. Wilbur waits for a moment before opening the door with a sigh. “Listen, you’re the one who’s always been protecting shit. You’re the head of the guards, the commander of armies, The Blood God. This war is your responsibility and it’s also your decision whether you want to give a shit about it. I’m just trying to salvage what little is left of my mental health. And seeing as I just stormed out of a psychic session with my distraught father and one of the only people who has tried to help me, it’s not going too great. So I’m gonna say this one time; get the fuck out of my sight.”

To his surprise, Techno actually opens the door. However, before slamming it in Wilbur’s face, he turns and shares one last glance with his brother.

“You better hope this isn’t a repeat of L’Manberg.”

Wilbur growls, “Never say that name to me again.”

The door closes shut.

Wilbur briefly considers opening the door and throwing punches at the older prince until his hands are sore and bleeding. But he knows it’s stupid and that his PTSD and bullshit are just trying to make him angry. So he doesn’t open the door, instead turning and walking down the hallway, intent on heading to his room upstairs.

His head and heart pound as he walks up a spiraling staircase, left alone with his thoughts. He lets his thoughts simmer and stew and by the time he reaches the correct level, he can’t decide if he’s more pissed off or annoyed at the situation. Even after the time taken to compose himself, he finds it hard to smile and the guards standing outside the wooden double doors. He finds it hard to do a lot of things in recent years.

The Incident had been the beginning. The Winter War is about to be the last straw.

He opens the doors and slams the shut behind him, immediately going over to the mini bar in the corner of his room. He grabs a wine bottle from the bottom shelf of the bar, popping off the cork and filling a wine glass to about half full before placing the bottle back. Unlocking a metal latch, he opens up the glass balcony doors and steps outside.

The sun is beginning to set over the horizon. Coniferous trees shake their everlasting green leaves and spring trees with falling blossoms sway in the gentle breeze. 

Back in the training room, Techno stares into the blade of his sword, the words carved at the base making him clench it tighter before he continues to take out his anger on dummy after dummy.

In the great hall, Phil sits on his throne, the crown weighing heavy on his head as he stares out a distant window. A faraway look is filling his eyes and he clenches a white and green hat in his hand.

Wilbur takes a deep breath, quietly sipping at his red wine.

“Happy 21st birthday, Tommy.”

——————

Tommy can’t get his hands to stop shaking.

When he first was given potions, he thought that they would at least make him feel calmer, possibly removing some of the pain he’s been experiencing. But the pain seemed incessant and it hadn’t stopped when he received the potions or when he’d been taken off of them. His muscles are still incredibly weak and walking is somewhat of an intense feat for him. It seems like a mountain to climb over and he’s still incredibly embarrassed he has to pound on the door so that some doctor or another can come and help him.

Tommy hasn’t seen many other people besides the main doctor in charge of him, Bad, and Dream. Though Dream has yet to return since their original conversation and Tommy is honestly thankful for that. He doesn’t want to see him. Honestly, he doesn’t want to see anyone associated with Dream or anything he’s done. He’s acutely aware of the power that man possesses and what he’s capable of. Of what he wants to use him for. The doctors refuse to let him contact his family, no matter how many times he bothers them about it.

All he is is something to hold over Dad’s head.

But they aren’t even telling Dad about him.

Tommy personally thinks they haven’t thought the whole thing through too well. Maybe they’re worried about how Dad will react to what they’ve done….how Wilbur will react to what they’ve accomplished. Tommy would be terrified in their shoes. He’s seen how Wilbur has acted in intense situations. And while he’s almost always on the same side as Will, there are still certain moments that make Tommy want to shiver and squirm.

“You're trying to sound like you know what you're doing so that you can prove me wrong. Tommy, none of us know what we're doing. We're fucked, we were fucked the minute we were thrown out.”

TNT hissing. Bombs exploding.

Tommy tries so hard to remember how he got here, how he ended up in this position. How he had supposedly died, but he can’t remember anything past the initial explosions and the release of the withers. Past the smoke. Nothing else in his mind seems to be comprehending, like an empty memory that makes absolutely no sense, no matter how desperate he is for it. A wide-open space of horror that Tommy is tempted to wrap his fingers around and strangle for answers.

He gets none. But it doesn’t stop him from wishing for them.

Tommy jumps when the door creaks open. The doctors never knock. He expects Bad or one of the other millions of doctors who take care of him, but instead, he’s greeted by a new masked face. A man, with short brown hair and a green gas mask, enters the room, a golden jacket placed over a white lab coat. He appears to be some kind of doctor, or maybe it’s just the coat, but Tommy stiffens slightly even though the man’s green eyes appear soft. He’s holding a pad and paper in his hand and his face seems sad as he looks at Tommy.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the man says, “I’m glad...I was a bit worried you’d be sleeping.”

Tommy never sleeps except when he’s too mentally exhausted to fight it off, letting nightmare plague his mind. Tommy voices none of this, instead of watching warily as the man approaches his bed. “I am Sam, or Doctor Sam I guess. Dream assigned me as one of your primary...carers when you were first brought to the facility a while ago. You may recognize me from your past but I understand if you don’t.”

The phrase “a while ago” reveals nothing to Tommy. He watches silently as the man moves towards a table of charts behind Tommy, studying them before turning back towards him. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small flashlight before asking, “May I?”

Tommy stares cautiously and then shrugs, letting Sam set his clipboard down on a table and gently grab his chin, shining the light in one of Tommy’s eyes. He does this on the other eye and continues switching back and forth two or three times before releasing Tommy’s face from his grip. There’s an awkward silence between the pair as the man glances at his charts. He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to go about it, and Tommy honestly doesn’t care enough to ask.

“I am… terribly sorry.”

Tommy’s head snaps up, his eyes going wide with confusion and Sam stares at him with a look of… distress. He’s gone from calm and professional to… odd within a few seconds and Tommy feels a small bit of fear rise in him. What is wrong with him? What if he’s about to die again? He shouldn’t be alive and this doctor is about to freak out on him—

“It was wrong, what we did— what I did,” Sam continues, shaking his head. “After Bad… well I thought that going off the grid for a bit would prevent a repeat like this one… but Dream can find anyone I suppose.”

Tommy tilts his head in confusion, mouth opening and closing in confusion. The doctor sounds genuine, but there’s something odd in being apologized to because since he’s woken up in this facility, he’s practically been ignored the whole time. Sometimes Bad would come in and just hang around and watch him. The doctors would speak and smile at him but the interactions were always brief. No one ever talked about him being brought back to life.

Tommy doesn’t bother asking about what happened to Bad. He doesn’t ask about his own resurrection either. It just seems… strange to ask someone about how they brought you back from the dead. There’s a weird barrier there that doesn’t need to be crossed and Tommy has no interest in tripping over it.

“I feel fucked up… I feel wrong,” Tommy whispers, staring down at his bed.

If this truly is the doctor that brought him back to life, maybe he’ll know why Tommy feels so empty and hollow, why he can sometimes smell smoke in his nose and hear ringing in his ears. Why his hands can never stop shaking and why he can’t remember his ‘death’. His body hurts but every time he looks at himself he sees no apparent wounds.

“That’s to be expected,” Sam reassures ( Even though it doesn’t feel very reassuring ), “However, I do believe you’ll need physical assistance and lessons to properly heal. The pathways in your brain are… in simple terms, reigniting, There are certain things that your body will have to relearn. We’ll have to rebuild your muscles, feed them, as your entire body was decaying for weeks before Dream found it. Dream has had you on hand for a while now, as if he’s known he’ll need you.”

Tommy winces and glares at Sam as he replies, “I honestly don’t give a fuck about your medical bullshit, I just want to go back home to my family.”

“For the time being, it’s best that you stay here Tommy. Until we know that you are getting stronger.”

Before Tommy can respond, Sam picks back up his clipboard off of the back table. He glances down at it with a frown and scribbles something quickly, a look passing over his face as he walks towards the door. Before he leaves, he turns around with crinkled eyes as if smiling beneath his mask.

“Happy birthday.”

Tommy’s eyes go wide and he can’t seem to say anything. His birthday seems like a foreign concept to him now. To him it’s only November… his birthday is still five months away. But here’s this guy, telling him that it’s his birthday today. The thought is wrapping around him, turning and flipping and Tommy hates how the thought burns inside of him. He holds up a hand and calls out, “Wait!” before the doctor can walk out the door.

Sam hesitates with his hand on the doorknob, turning to look at Tommy.

“How old am I?”

“Technically, you would be turning twenty-one today,” Sam responds. “However, since you died at the age of sixteen, your body was frozen in that time. Physically and mentally, you are still five years behind. But don’t worry too much, I’m sure Dream has some sort of explanation for this phenomenon whenever you rejoin society.

If they ever let me.

Tommy is left alone after that, but he doesn’t think he minds as much. His mind drifts to Tubbo and some of his other close friends. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks as he realizes that they will all be twenty-one and older. They aren’t children anymore, they’re young adults with high power positions, starting their lives without him. Tommy’s left behind, stuck in a sixteen-year-old body that had been murdered, buried, dug-up, and resurrected.

Maybe he would have preferred not being wished a happy birthday at all.

Chapter Text

Wilbur hasn’t fallen asleep, but no one needs to know that.

Considering it is the middle of the night and he hasn’t stopped slowly drinking his wine since he got back to his room, it is probably for the better that no one knows he hasn’t shut his eyes in almost seventy-two hours. No Phil is knocking on his door tonight, telling him to go to sleep. Wilbur takes another sip from his wine. He never really drinks for the Winter War, he never drinks because of that. He doesn’t give a shit about that war so why should he? Instead, he drinks for his little brother and he drinks for a nation long since gone.

The knock at his door is an inconvenience at best. He knows from a brief debrief from the guard that knocks at his door that the crown is very clearly not stolen. That the thief that broke in hadn’t made it far into the castle at all and Wilbur shouldn’t even be worried. So to have his night of drinking and sulking interrupted is just annoying. However, it came in a welcoming way at the end of the day because Wilbur’s mind had started imagining things, seeing things.

A pale body, lying on a rocky surface, people rushing by him in a blur. Wilbur, refusing to leave his side as people attempted to wrap gauze around his wounds and pour regeneration potions down a child’s throat. Then there was the intake and drop of breath as they realized that he was dead the moment they brought him out of the button room.

“There’s nothing more we can do, the sword stabbed straight through his heart.”

Wilbur grabs a winter coat off the wall, not caring about the weather outside and instead taking comfort in the thick wool. He hasn’t touched the jacket he’d been wearing on the night of The Incident in five years. He’s worried that there’s still remnants of blood on it, from when he’d picked up and carried his little brother away. He never checks though, too scared that he won’t be able to stomach it, but he doesn’t have the heart to toss it out either. He pretends it doesn’t exist, that it’s not hanging in the back of his closet. 

Wilbur considers turning around and heading back to his room halfway through the walk there just because he is already mentally done with the entire situation. But for a lack of something better to do, he keeps walking onwards. Better to deal with the situation than dream of something long since passed. Wallowing in his dreams just made his problems worse, so annoying himself by handling the small, “trivial” situation is better. In the past, he probably would have cared more, but there are very few things he cares about anymore.

As they get closer to the throne room, Wilbur begins to notice the large number of guards walking in and out of the throne room, their masks shining in the light. The moment Wilbur enters the main hallway, the people there seem to part around him. It’s very rare to see him visit during moments like this, especially in almost proper royal attire ( He only has the coat on over slacks and a white collared shirt, but whatever pleases them he supposes ). Wilbur adjusts his collar briefly before walking towards the main room.

The rug is skewed across the floor and shards of glass are scattered across the marble floor. Phil is there, waiting directly in front of the floor, discussing something with a guard. He turns and approaches Wilbur as he enters, a look of reassurance on his face as he speaks, “Don’t worry, the crown is fine. Niki interfered and scared the thief off.”

“So I was told,” the pair move together, walking and talking as they leave the throne room. Phil frowns at Wilbur’s dismissive tone and Wilbur sighs, going on to say, “My apologies, oh father of mine, I was having a nice date night with me, myself, and I. I wasn’t exactly planning on dealing with human interaction tonight.”

Phil’s face twists into the guilty look that Wilbur hates. Especially coming from Phil, since their relationship has always been rocky at best. There’s no disdain anymore, but watching your father stab your brother in front of you definitely fucks with your head. It’s not the same as when they were all younger. Wilbur doesn’t think it ever will be, and Phil has been sorry for some time now. Apology after apology spilled from lips late at night, sobs at a closed-door that hasn’t opened in days. The damage has been done, the child is dead.

And nothing will change that.

As they enter the meeting room, the first thing that greets Wilbur is the welcoming presence of Technoblade. Wilbur’s shoulders tense and he turns to glare at Phil before remembering that no one else witnessed their fight the night before and they’re all expecting Wilbur to be his usual, sarcastic and antisocial self. 

Techno raises his head as Wilbur enters, his face passive as he says, “So nice of you to join us.” Wilbur attempts to subtly roll his eyes, but Phil wacks him lightly on the shoulder anyway. Even if Techno’s correct, Willbur had not intended to dream tonight while dozing off, and then to get the message from the guard offering an escape from seeing his brother in his dreams… yeah… shit happens sometimes.

He huffs a sigh and spares a glance across the room to see Niki and Tubbo sitting together at a desk, Niki scribbling furiously with a quill. Wilbur puts his hand in his pockets, walking up behind Niki where she’s illuminated by a lantern. He taps on her shoulder, getting her attention. “So, heard you had a little bit of a run-in with our wanna-be-thief. You wanna share with the class?”

“I don’t have much,” Niki replies. “He didn't break-in at all, he just seemed to be walking through the hallway, sneaking around corners. The glass was from when I scared him off, jumping through one of the windows and escaping. He was fairly tall and had a dark cloak wrapped around his shoulders. I didn’t see too much of his actual features, but he had bright purple eyes. They almost appeared to be glowing.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow, “A magic-user then?”

“It’s a high possibility,” Tubbo says from beside the woman. “I don’t know too much about the study of magic, but glowing eyes seems like a characteristic that would be commonly associated with magic-users.”

Wilbur hums in response, peering over Niki’s shoulder. A sketch lays on the paper in front of her, a tall figure dressed all in black standing in a shadowed hallway. The entire figure appears to be a silhouette, except for the place where his eyes should be. Instead, two frayed white circles have been left in their place. Wilbur glances behind him and makes eye contact with Techno who has a weird expression on his face. Wilbur crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head slightly, pursing his lips.

“What’s up, Techno? Your frowny face has gotten a bit more frustrated.”

Techno hesitates for a beat, silence permeating the room. A spark of worry seems to flit through his eyes before it disappears, Techno’s normal demeanor reappearing. “It’s nothing really, the thought seems foolish now.” The other occupants of the room are silent and Techno quickly changes the subject back to the break-in. “We don’t have too much to go on for facial recognition, just a relative stature. Niki, can you bring your sketch over please?”

As Niki stands to walk over to Techno, Wilbur sighs and glances over at Phil, who is standing beside Techno, his arms crossed over his chest. Wilbur can’t help but feel a little bad for dismissing his father earlier, but honestly, Wilbur doesn’t want to be involved in this situation in the slightest. He doesn’t want to get tied up in shit again, which is why he claps his hands together and announces, “Well, looks like you guys got this situation under complete control.”

He turns on his heels and exits the meeting room, moving down the hallway with large strides. However, he’s stopped by Tubbo’s voice calling out, “Will.”

It sounds almost like a question, and Wilbur turns to see the younger man approach him with an odd look on his face. An expression that Wilbur doesn’t often see him wear, but it’s a strange mix of confusion and worry. Wilbur hopes this conversation doesn’t get too personal because he is not in the mood to discuss his depressive episodes again. But he still straightens his shoulders, forcing a small smile on his face because shit, he might as well try to look put together.

“Have you missed chatting with me? You worried I’m leaving too soon, Tubzo?”

Tubbo doesn’t respond with a chuckle like Wilbur thought he would, that odd look still staying on his face. “There’s something that’s been bothering me for a couple of weeks now. I haven’t said anything because I don’t think I’m supposed to know but… I saw something.”

“Alright,” Wilbur says slowly. “You’re being a bit cryptic right now.”

Tubbo hesitates. Only for a moment because he considers his words and crosses his arms across his chest as he explains, “I was meeting up with Sam a few weeks ago. We have our friendly truce meetings every month and as Sam was leaving, he dropped a file onto the table. I was gonna hand it back to him but I noticed… a name.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow, slightly annoyed at how vague Tubbo is being. He probably has a lot better things to do than listen to the man discuss some silly file that he found. 

“It had Dream’s name on it. But it was followed by another. One I think you’ll find very… strange.”

Wilbur goes to groan in annoyance, but the next thing that leaves Tubbo’s mouth makes Wilbur sick to his stomach. Suddenly he understands, he gets the worry, gets the confusion, and he can feel panic race through him.

“Theseus Innit Craft… it had Tommy’s name.”

Wilbur has avoided that name for so long, but it has finally come around to bite him back.

——————

Tommy has been forced to walk back and forth across this stupid hallway for what feels like hours now. His physical therapist stays silent almost the whole time, allowing Tommy to learn almost nothing about the facility he’s being kept in. He hasn’t seen a single other person that he might recognize, only doctors in scrubs, or Sam and Bad. He’s seen no other patients, but Tommy’s starting to doubt that there actually aren’t any due to the alarming amount of doctors in the building at all times.

It’s very hard to get his leg muscles to obey him. They feel stiff and unused, and the woman working with him has to hold his arm the entire time. She introduces herself as Alyssa, but Tommy has a weird suspicion that that isn’t her real name. He feels completely lied to by everyone in this god damn facility, his brain constantly confused and disorientated. They’ve stopped constantly injecting some weird potion into his system, and now he’s completely open to all pain that his body decides to inflict onto him.

A part of him is happy that doctors are no longer putting weird-ass drugs into his body, but now he constantly feels a dull ache that’s exhausting his system. But he keeps walking, gritting his teeth and stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other. If he’s ever going to get out of here, he needs to be able to walk. Actually, he needs to be able to sprint, so for the time being he’ll have to accept the help he’s given and deal with the bullshit that is his physical training lessons.

Alyssa isn’t awful, he just doesn’t believe a single thing that comes out of her mouth. Even when she makes small talk about her cottage and her nice boyfriend. Something about how they met through mutual friends or some shit. She reminds Tommy of Niki, which is a thought he immediately cuts from his head. He tries not to think about his friends and family outside the facility, it just distracts him. Tommy also isn’t blind to the way that Alyssa dodges his questions about the facility and the people inside.

She isn’t as smooth at it as Bad is, but she’s getting there.

“My boyfriend and I are thinking of adopting a pet together,” she babbles. “I know that people often wait until they are at least engaged to get a pet, but we found this really cute puppy the other day and I would just love to adopt and raise him together.”

Tommy really didn’t ask but he also doesn’t care enough to ask her to shut up. He’s far too focused on his steps. The pair enter into a small sitting room and Tommy breathes a small sigh of relief when Alyssa gestures to a chair, saying, “Here, have a seat.”

She helps him to a seat and Tommy plops down into an armchair, his hands shaking from the physical exertion. He hopes that soon his body will begin to heal from all the fucking potions he’d been given. He has no idea how he’s going to get out of this facility, but he just wants to see his family again.

“So,” Tommy drawls, trying to act nonchalant. “How long have you and your boyfriend been hanging around here?”

Rather than actually participating in small talk, Tommy is really just trying to get the location out of her. Maybe just to get a relative idea of how far away from civilization they currently are. From the windows in this room, all Tommy can see is a plethora of trees and hills. No buildings in sight. But Tommy didn’t get a chance to pry anymore, because Bad walks around the corner and enters the sitting room. Tommy groans internally as Alyssa turns to Bad with a large smile.

“Hello Doctor Halo,” she greets with a grin. Tommy cringes at the formal name, placing his head in his hands. “Have you come to check on my newest patient?”

Bad nods, “Yes, actually. I came to see if I’m allowed to walk him back to his room.”

“Well, he did do very well for our first session, but I believe we are done for the day,” Alyssa says, her hands emphasizing Tommy’s progress. “You’re free to take him back at any time.”

As she walks away, Tommy can’t but feel a little guilty for being annoyed. Alyssa was nice and she truly hadn’t done anything wrong to him, but it just feels like everyone here is against him. Like they’re plotting to hurt him or something. Once he and Bad are alone, the demon approaches him slowly. Tommy grips the armchair tightly as Bad studies him. Bad isn’t normally a very scary person… really the opposite, but Tommy isn’t happy in any way at this facility. He doesn’t feel safe with anyone here and it’s clear to him now that Dream is willing to do what he has to to get what he wants.

Even bringing a child back from the dead.

“You seem to be improving,” Bad says, his tail swishing behind him. “You’re not nearly as pale as before. Did you finally start eating the food we were bringing you?”

Tommy groans and looks away. He knows it was a petulant idea, but he thought that if he refused to eat they would let him contact Wilbur. But then he’d been threatened with liquid food being injected into him and he didn’t want another needle going anywhere near him, so he finally started eating. Tommy swallows and tenses his shoulders, staring up at Bad.

“Why won’t you let me contact Wilbur?” 

It’s a simple question and Tommy expects Bad to be tired of it by now. But the demon’s face just gains that same guilty expression. “The time will come for that,” Bad says slowly as if he’s talking to a toddler. “But for right now, you’re a very special, top-secret project.”

Tommy narrows his eyes and glares at Bad. “I’m not your fucking project, and I’m not some idiot child. I’m a fucking adult now and all you guys are doing is using me.”

Bad sighs and mutters a brief, “Language,” under his breath, and Tommy quickly losing focus, his senses tuning in to a conversation he can hear in another room behind him. He frowns and furrows his brows as he hears a voice say, “There was an attempt on the Antarctic Empire crown yesterday. The crown is fine, the thief was reportedly fought back very easily. But it’s worrying that someone is trying to break in and steal it. It must be serious too since Wilbur briefly showed up…”

Tommy’s face lights up and Bad frowns in confusion, unaware of what Tommy’s listening to.

“Apparently it’s very rare to see him around anymore. He normally hides away in his room or the library, staring at books and falling into silence. It’s been almost five years since he was seen actually training or doing his job as the prince. Probably because of the loss of the young prince…”

The voice trails off as Tommy’s vision tunnels. Tommy remembers his boots pounding on rocks as he races through the rubble of L’Manberg. It all seems so vivid, the memories pouring into him and his ears start ringing, Bad gripping his shoulders tightly as Tommy’s breath becomes sporadic. Tommy’s never felt so stranded in his life, not even in The Final Control Room. Wilbur’s grinning face, maniacal as he begs for Father to stab him through the heart.

Tommy raced through the rubble, his breathing harsh as he tried to get to his family. He couldn’t let Wilbur die, he knew his brother was still in there somewhere. He missed when life was simple, when all Tommy had to worry about was whether or not he wanted to skip his history lesson that day. Tommy had woken up on the 16th thinking that he was finally going to make Wilbur happy, that they were finally going to get their nation back. But by waking up that day, by deciding to go and fight… he’d unknowingly signed his death wish.

“That’s what happens to heroes, Tommy.”

Wings flashed in his vision and feathers flew through his face. Smoke rose in the background and caused Tommy to stumble and fall as he got to Wilbur. He raced through the rubble, sprinting to get there. His only thought was to save Wilbur, to keep Wilbur alive. And when the metal buried itself in Tommy’s heart, he doesn’t remember the pain. All he could remember is the feeling of emptiness. A shocking horror filled his body as he collapsed on the ground. He could hear screaming in the background but all he could do is smile because he did it… he kept Wilbur safe… 

“NO!”

“Tommy, please wake up.”

“WAKE UP YOU IDIOT!”

“Tommy, please, just get up.”

“....I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry!”

“TOMMY!” Bad’s voice is louder than the one in his head and his hands are on Tommy’s shoulder and suddenly he’s on the floor, his back pressed against his chair. Bad’s expression is scared and his ears are twitching nervously as he looks at Tommy. Tommy’s sweating profusely and he can’t breathe, can’t draw air into his lungs and he’s dying. The sword is stabbing him through the heart and he’s collapsing once again, buried under rubble and dust.

“Father… he… he was gonna kill Will…” Tommy gasps, his entire body shaking.

“Tommy,” Bad says, his tone dripping with sympathy. “You’re safe here, Tommy.”

Tommy opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water and turns to Bad. The demon has been nothing but kind to him but Tommy can’t help but notice the absolute bullshit in that statement. He glares at the demon and rips Bad’s hands away and stands shakily.

“I need to call someone, Bad. I need to call Wilbur or Father, or someone, please.”

Bad begins to shake his head and Tommy has never felt so frustrated. He begins to limp away, his hands tugging furiously at his hair. It’s never the time, it will never be the time, and Tommy thinks that’s bullshit. Because his family has spent five years thinking he was dead, and he thinks that’s plenty of time.

——————

Very few people know where Dream spent a lot of his time. Where he relaxes after a long day.

Wilbur Soot is one of those people.

It’s no secret that Dream is very hard to find. The man never has one permanent home and it takes a lot of Wilbur’s patience to actually find him. He finally finds a small house built into a hill, the wooden door slightly worn and cracked. Wilbur knocks furiously at the door, his fist pounding on it over and over until it finally lets up and opens. 

Normally Wilbur wouldn’t bother with actually talking to Dream, but he needs answers. He’s tried so hard to stay off of Dream’s radar since the 16th, but he’s a powerful man and Wilbur needs to talk to him. He doesn’t know how complex Dream’s thoughts are and the man seems to know almost everything about everyone at all times.

Dream knew Tommy through fighting and war, but he didn’t know Tommy the way that Wilbur did. He didn’t know the bright-eyed teenager who strived so hard to prove himself, to try and be just like his older brothers. He was always so young and innocent and Wilbur can’t help but blame himself for his death. He was the one who whisked Tommy away from the castle. He’s the one who gave the kid an uniform, who made him in charge of a brigade.

Tommy used to look at Wilbur like he held up the universe.

And it fed Wilbur’s ego, selfishly, but it also terrified him.

And in the end, he let him down.

After hour five of waiting for Dream in an empty house, being bored out of his mind, Wilbur finally hears the door open. Dream must know something is off before he even enters the room because his bow is drawn and ready to shoot Wilbur who is sitting on the couch, his feet propped up on a coffee table. Dream lowers his bow, his white mask dirtied with dirt and mud, as if he was out in the woods

“I could have killed you.”

“You’ll wish you did,” Wilbur replies with a grin.

Dream simply scoffs, crossing arms over his chest. “Oh, will I? And to what do I owe this visit, Your Majesty? Last time I checked, you want nothing to do with me.”

“That is still true.” Wilbur puts his feet down and sits forward, standing to his feet. He buries his hands in his pockets and saunters over to Dream, his eyes dark and threatening. “I’m gonna give you one chance to answer this question honestly. Why the hell, was there a file, with yours and one Theseus Innit Craft’s name on it?”

Dream doesn’t react.

He doesn’t even flinch and it frustrates Wilbur to no end.

“And how did you happen across that?” Dream asks, “Do I need to tighten some security on my end?”

Wilbur clenches his fist, “Don’t get off-topic, you son of a bitch. You have no right to pry into Tommy’s life. You know nothing about him-”

“I think I know plenty,” Dream counters. “I have databases about everyone. We have to keep the system updated about people’s lives, about their interactions with different people. Tommy’s file kept updating often with the quick loss of his first two lives… and then we had to update our radar again…”

Wilbur stares with a clenched jaw as Dream finishes, “And now we have him down as deceased. Because that’s exactly how his story ends.”

In terms of fighting, Wilbur has always taught himself to use words before fists. But in his blinding rage, Wilbur can’t help but punch Dream’s mask, creating a splinter in the middle of it, even just to feel the satisfaction. Dream doesn’t fight back, simply stumbling and rubbing his jaw lightly. 

“Fuck you, man,” Wilbur growls. “The ending is just… that was a fucking child.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Dream responds. “But that doesn’t change the ending. Despite what you may think, I’m not heartless. But you have to separate things from feelings. It’s the only way to get your job done, for the greater good.”

“Greater good my ass. Are we talking about me, or are we talking about my little brother? What, you think I stopped participating in a war because I wasn’t professional enough to separate my feelings from my ‘job’? No, I stopped fighting cause I was done with participation in wars. I was done burying children. I was just done .”

Wilbur turns to walk out and pauses at the door, turning to look back at Dream. “You keep my little brother's name out of your stupid fucking files. If I even hear you say his name ever again, I will come for you, and I will kill you.”

He yanks open the door, slamming it behind him.

Chapter Text

A little less than five years ago… Phil’s life had fallen into shambles.

It wasn’t the first time. Not long before that, it had started with his wife. A burning house fire and his selfless wife, refusing to leave anyone inside. In the end, she died from irreversible damage to her lungs. It had taken months to put himself back together after that. Months of hiding behind the mask he puts on for his subjects, of avoiding his children because he was too scared that he was going to put them in danger if they got too close. A load of good that did, they all ran off eventually and left him alone.

He thought they would be safe, away from him and his problems. But then there had been Tommy. Tommy was one of the only good things in his life after she died. Almost every month after her passing, Tommy would beg and plead and finally draw Phil out of his room, making him come see whatever thing he did that day. Whether it was learning a new sword move that Techno taught, or some chords Wilbur taught him on his guitar, Tommy always got him to come out of his room.

It only took one night for all of that to crumble to the ground. For all of Phil’s happiness to be snatched away and destroyed at his feet. Tommy… murdered by his own hand. A sword straight through the heart in an attempt to protect Wilbur.

Phil had no idea how bad things had gotten.

He only got small updates about what was happening when they all left. Letters from Wilbur sent on ripped-out notebook paper, messages from Tommy about the crazy thing he and Tubbo did that day. Sometimes even a letter from Techno after he left to go see Tommy and Wilbur. But nothing prepared him for what actually had happened.

He remembers getting the message. A message in the middle of the night from Tommy, after almost two months of radio silence. He had spent the whole day signing letters to other kingdoms, ready to sit and relax, while his kids were out fighting wars.

“Wilbur’s going to blow it up, please help me.”

Phil responded frantically, seeking answers and desperately trying to figure out what his youngest meant, but he received no response except for a set of coordinates. He packed a bag in a panic and flew out within the hour, trusting his guards to keep the kingdom safe. His wings beat harshly as he soars through the skies, rushing to get to the location. As the sun began to rise over the horizon, Phil started to see smoke billowing in the distance, stuttering in the air when he saw two armies meet, two of his sons facing each other across a crack in the ground.

He remembers landing and walking into a cavern to see Wilbur, his son’s voice cracking as he mutters about a nation long gone. He remembers desperately trying to convince him that it wasn’t worth it, that so many people had built their homes on this land.

But in the end, he was too late.

“It was never meant to be.”

“Kill me, Phil. Kill me, stab me with a sword, murder me-”

“YOU’RE MY SON!”

He hadn’t even heard Tommy approaching from behind him, the sounds of the withers blocked from his memory. Tears dripped down his face as he raised the sword to end his son’s life… 

Phil remembers the day so vividly that it shocks him sometimes. A lot of days, Phil tends to spend most of his time outside of his body. He does his duties as king, he protects his citizen, he reads stacks of books. He avoids passing Tommy’s room, instead taking the long way to the library every day.

But today he’s in his body as he paces in Wilbur’s room, anxiously tapping his hand against his leg as he waits for his middle son to arrive. He doesn’t feel anger or resentment towards Wilbur anymore, doesn’t feel any negative emotions towards anyone but himself these days.

The door creaks open and Phil turns to see Wilbur enter his room and jump when he sees him standing there. “Holy shit, a warning would be nice next time,” he mutters, closing the door with a creak.

Phil stays silent, watching Wilbur hang up his coat and turn to face him. An odd silence passes between the pair as they stand awkwardly. “Did you… did you need anything? You want like… like a drink or something?” Wilbur asks.

Phil smiles, and it isn’t forced. He’s probably just really tired, he’s always tired, but this is important. “I’m fine, Will. But thank you.”

Wilbur nods and awkwardly sits down on his bed, Phil continuing to stand in the middle of the room. He thumbs an envelope in his hands and takes a deep breath, hesitating before saying, “I found something, while I was going through letters a while back. Do you know how I always get those letters from citizens about problems? Yeah um… I found one from Tommy… it must have been written months before the 16th because it mentions L’Manberg as if you guys were still ruling it but um…”

Phil takes a breath and continues, opening up the envelope and pulling out a sheet of paper, “There’s a paragraph in here, that I think you should hear.”

Wilbur looks like he really doesn’t want to, but Phil doesn’t give him a chance to refuse hearing it before he starts to read. “Please don’t be upset at Wilbur for letting me fight in a war. He’s the coolest older brother ever. He doesn’t always have the time to mess around with me, but it’s some of my favorite moments when he does. Sometimes, I think Wilbur’s worried that he’s being too lenient with me. He talks about wanting to break the cycle of neglect in our family, or whatever that means. Maybe I can offer him some support if he forgives me for giving up my discs and dueling with Dream. But I think we’re doing great. I hope he’s proud of me.”

Phil hands the letter to Wilbur, who pauses before grabbing the paper. His eyes are wide, round, and he runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s had for years.

“I want you to keep it,” Phil says. “I’ve read it thousands of times, it’s practically ingrained into my brain.”

Phil can never hate Wilbur for what he’s done. But he can hate himself.

——————

Tommy is pacing.

The stiffness in his legs and arms have slowly slipped away the longer he’s been stuck in this god damn facility. But with that, came this antsy feeling in his bones from being left alone for so long. People still brought him food. He still had an easily accessible bathroom and shower, but other than that, it’s complete radio silence from the people around him. And there’s something very unsettling about that.

Tommy craves some form of human connection. For someone to talk to him. He’s been pacing in this cramped room for so long that he’s starting to use the wall for support, his mind whirling. Ever since he had a panic attack on the floor of the sitting room, no one has told him much. God, Tommy just wanted to get out of this god damn facility.

Everyone thinks he’s dead.

Everyone thinks he’s dead.

It’s a horrifying thought, really. It burrows within the pit of his belly and reminds him that yes, this is reality and this is where he is. That everyone he knows has moved five years forward and Tommy still feels sixteen. Maybe it doesn’t matter to adults, like Father, but it matters to some of Tommy’s friends. If Dream ever decides to let him go, will he go back to the Antarctic Empire? Will he be able to connect with his friends and family at all?

The thought that Tubbo might be married startles him.

Tommy’s holding the foot of his bead when the door to his room opens, causing him to startle and accidentally hit the edge of his bed. Three figures appear; Dream, Bad, and Doctor Sam. Tommy swallows thickly, suddenly feeling like a small kid in trouble as the trio file in and Dream approaches him. Tommy goes to step backward, the bed preventing him from going any further.

“What?” Tommy mutters. “What the fuck you want? Did I do something?”

“Oh you haven’t done anything,” Dream responds, gesturing towards the bed. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Tommy furrows his brows and moves around the foot of his bed to sit carefully on the mattress. He kind of hopes that they’re about to tell him that he can finally contact his family. But his hopes quickly fall when he sees Sam walk towards him with a blood pressure device.

“Woah, Woah. What the fuck- why do you need to check my blood pressure?” Tommy asks.

Dream explains, “Bad informed us that you had a panic attack. I just want to do a quick check-up.”

“It wasn’t…” Okay, it was, but he doesn’t want Sam to be poking at him more. “It wasn’t a panic attack, I just… thought I remembered something.”

Tommy turns to Sam with a pleasing expression and the masked man hesitates, holding the blood pressure cuff in one hand. He glances over at Dream who raises an eyebrow and sighs, staring at Tommy apologetically as he wraps his upper arm with the monitor. Tommy groans and stares at Dream as he says, “Well, either way, we can’t have you falling out.”

“Hey, you wanna know what would help me?” Tommy questions. “If you guys actually let me contact Wilbur… or Father, or someone. To at least talk to them.”

That’s only partly a lie. He doesn’t want to just talk, he wants to get the hell out of here. He’s positive that if he can get in touch with someone, they will come for him. Sure, hearing from someone that you thought was dead for five years is pretty bad… he doesn’t know how much worse it could get from there.

Dream’s response is as blunt as expected.

“We aren’t letting that happen yet.”

His response isn’t like Bad's. Bad at least tries to soften the blow with reassurances, but Dream is quick and to the point. Tommy turns to look at the demon who is yet to say anything. Bad looks stoic because of fucking course he looks like that in front of his ‘boss.’ Tommy sighs and swallows thickly past the lump in his throat, tempted to scream, but knowing very well that it isn’t going to help his situation at all. He’s stuck… there’s nowhere to go and no one to run to.

His eyes burn and he feels immature and stupid. Clenching his hands into fists he grits out, “I should get to leave if I want to.”

“This isn’t how this works, and you know it,” Dream responds.

Tommy grinds his teeth together, slowly losing patience. “You aren’t even close to being a good guy, are you? You’re just a selfish asshole who wants to use me for your personal gain against Father. You wanna make me your leverage and turn me into your little soldier. Well I’m done… I’m done fighting in wars.”

There’s a pause and then Dream lets out a bitter laugh. The porcelain smiley face mask comes closer to him as Dream steps forward, and Tommy is tempted to punch him across the face. Dream saunters forward and kneels in front of the bed. It’s almost frustratingly patronizing like he’s talking to a toddler.

“As I said, I am the good guy,” Dream says, his tone sharp and demanding. Tommy’s eyes go wide as Dream continues, “You and Wilbur think you can just be done. But that’s not how this works. You two signed up for a war the moment you started your little nation. You claim that you are the good guy, that you’re the hero, Tommy. But you don’t realize the destruction that trails after you. Did you ever think about when Wilbur started going insane? It’s when you and him were exiled, when you tried and stopped Wilbur from doing what he wanted. That was your fault. I have done everything in my power to keep you comfortable here. So my suggestion to you, is that you accept my hospitality, and shut the fuck up.”

Tommy’s shoulder shakes as Dream stands and pats his arm, a bit rough. He turns and exits the room without another word, Bad trailing closely behind him. There’s a moment though. A moment when Tommy is left alone with Sam. The doctor had begun to pack his things, but Tommy notices the way he keeps glancing at the door. He picks up his bag, walking towards the door, but for a split second he bends down to whisper urgently in Tommy’s ear.

“Everything is going to be ok. I’ll see you soon. Be ready.”

There’s an underlying promise there and Tommy looks on in shock as the masked man leaves the room as well.

——————

Tubbo is a fairly simple person.

In recent years, he’s adjusted his brain to always try and see things in black and white. Back in the days of L’Manberg, he always put his emotions first. But those memories were pushed to the back of his mind the day of the 16th. The years after that have changed him. Sometimes he’ll sit in bed and just think about how he doesn’t have too much of a reason to go on anymore. The days when he doesn’t wish to go on. He almost let his emotions get the better of him multiple times, alone for hours in this massive castle. But now The Winter War is happening and now he doesn’t see anything in black and white anymore, everything is just a moral grey.

And that’s exactly what he feels when he stares at the file on the desk in front of him.

It had been sparked weeks ago, the furious search through libraries and vaults to try and find something to give him insight into what the file means. He’d seen Tommy’s name and had only fallen down a rabbit hole from there. Tommy was his best friend, the one he always looked up to and followed. He trusted Tommy with his life, and the vividness of certain memories still startles him. He’ll go to sleep at night, Ranboo’s tail curled comfortingly around his leg, and he’ll dream of blonde hair and a wide grin, of two discs flashing in his vision.

Of red blood dripping onto rubble and dust… of wide-open blue eyes staring into the sky…

Tubbo sighs and shoves his face into his hands, grunting in frustration. All of that led him to where he is right now, deep in a rabbit hole of undistinguishable languages. Now he’s in a place of pure aggression and he isn’t sure if he really cares anymore because he knows that it’s probably pointless and there’s probably no point anymore—

The door creaks open behind him, and quiet footsteps enter slowly.

“You good, Tubbo?” Ranboo’s voice questions. “I thought we were gonna go eat dinner.”

Tubbo doesn’t bother responding, instead of turning to face his husband and pointing to the file on his desk. “Come look at this.”

Ranboo steps closer and leans over the top of Tubbo’s head, squinting at the paper. He furrows his eyebrows and his ears twitch, his tail flicking back and forth. “Tubbo, why do you have a file written in Enderian? Where the heck did you get this?”

“It’s a file that Sam left at our last meeting. I was gonna give it back but… it has… it has Tommy’s name on it. And so I had to try and figure out what it is.” Tubbo sighs again and waves his hand. “But I can’t find any fucking translator for it so I’m just stuck and frustrated.”

Ranboo frowns and glances at Tubbo, who’s rubbing his head. “Tubbo… you do remember that I’m part Enderman right? Like that… that’s my native language, Tubbo.”

There’s a beat and then Tubbo starts laughing into his hands, eventually dissolving into groans. Ranboo frowns and rubs Tubbo’s shoulder. “Can you translate it for me, please,” Tubbo asks, his voice tired.

Ranboo nods quickly and stares down at the file, his tail wrapping comfortingly around Tubbo’s arm. “It’s mainly just science ramble, a bit about Tommy’s life and death… I can’t seem to figure out most of it, but it briefly mentions something called Project S.O.U.L.”

Tubbo’s head snaps up and Ranboo jumps slightly, turning to look at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“You’re fine, Boo,” Tubbo reassures. “That’s actually all I need for right now. I actually know what that project is, it’s something Sam told me about once.” The boy pulls out a separate sheet of paper and writes as he talks, “Project S.O.U.L. is a secretive project that Sam and Dream did years and years back. It stands for Savior Organization for the Utilization of Life.”

Tubbo scribbles onto the paper, a diagram being drawn of two figures. “Sam didn’t tell me much, but basically, Bad used to be a human and died. Dream used this project to be able to bring Bad back from the dead, causing him to become a demon.”

Ranboo tilts his head, staring down at the paper. “Wait, but how did they do that?”

“It was a form of dark magic,” Tubbo responds.

Ranboo stays still for a moment and Tubbo can tell he’s trying to wrap his head around the information. It’s nothing monumental, but he can tell Ranboo is trying to make the connections and understand the concept of resurrection. In the world they live in, it was bound to be a possibility at some point, but Ranboo still struggles to properly write the English alphabet. “I don’t understand… how is this linked to Tommy?”

Tubbo takes a deep breath and anxiously taps the table. “Well, from what you’ve told me and what I know about the project… I’m starting to think it’s not a coincidence that the project is mentioned under a file about Tommy.”

Ranboo suddenly looks horrified, his voice slow as he whispers, “You don’t think Dream would…”

Tubbo shrugs.

“I wouldn’t put it past them."

Chapter Text

Tommy isn’t truly “ready” when he is supposed to be.

Honestly, he’s been confused about the entire situation. Tommy’s normally the kind of person who needs someone to explicitly state the plan, or else he’s gonna run off or mess it up somehow. He can’t work with simple orders like the ones Sam gave him. It isn’t that they’re particularly vague, they most certainly aren’t. But to some degree, they had felt that way to him. In the end, because of the confusion, Tommy really only has himself to blame for the whole debacle.

It starts when the light in his room flickers on and Tommy blearily sits up in bed, his eyes tired and unfocused as Sam walks in. The man gives a glance at this hallway before sliding into the room and shutting the door tightly behind him. He’s still dressed in his doctor’s coat, and Tommy can assume it’s the middle of the night by the way he looked, ready for a whole day of work. It makes Tommy feel like he can’t be the only person in this facility, and that they’re doing a great job of keeping the other patients from him.

Sam is carrying a pair of shoes with him and he rushes towards Tommy, face looking urgent. He pulls the blankets back from Tommy and gestures for him to sit up fully, Tommy clambering to do. He slides to the edge of the bed as Sam drops the shoes onto the floor, Tommy taking it as a sign he’s supposed to put them on.

“I thought I said to be ready.”

“Sorry,” Tommy's voice comes out hoarse from sleep. “I just thought… well I don’t really know what I thought.”

Sam only sighs and Tommy is pulled to his feet. A rush of panic filters in as Tommy is lead towards the door, his body still stiff and sore from sleep. He knows at this point that Sam is helping him to escape. And if it’s true, Tommy is starting to worry a little bit because he’s not back to full health yet and his body still struggles with moving too fast. If the need for running ever comes up, he’s positive he won’t be able to do it. He’s still tired and Sam is helping far too much for Tommy to be expected to make this escape all on his own.

To his immense relief, as they get into the hallway they don’t break into a sprint. It’s more of a power walk, and Sam orders into his ear, “If anyone asks, you just got jittery and I’m taking you on a walk around the facility to help you sleep.”

Tommy nods quietly and they continue walking onwards. They move fast, faster than Tommy would have liked, but not too quickly that he can’t keep up. After going through a glass door that Sam has to use a keycard to get them through, Tommy doesn’t recognize anything anymore. The walls go from white to almost off-green color, and they go on for what feels like eons. His mind wanders. A part of him knows that this is his escape, but another part of him is kind of terrified. It doesn’t feel this simple to hide from Dream, but if he could just get to Wilbur, to some kind of help. Maybe he could be protected.

Will Wilbur even want him back though. He’s so fucked up now, a mess of science and DNA and things that should be impossible. He’s not right. Tommy’s supposed to be dead and he has been for five fucking years, so he doesn’t comprehend how they could ever accept him as alive again. How they’d be able to adjust to having a teenager around again. Maybe they’ve moved on, have started better lives without him, and maybe they’re fine now… Maybe they’re better with him gone.

Even with all of these worries, he keeps moving.

He just knows one thing for sure; he can’t stay with Dream.

Not when they plan to use him as leverage to make Father continue fighting in whatever war is going on this time. It doesn’t make any sense to him, though he guesses he’s not supposed to. They probably withheld so much information from him, just because he’s a stupid child… and technically a prisoner but that one doesn’t matter. Maybe if they had just explained… and then no, Tommy decides that thought can’t be entertained. Whatever Dream is doing is wrong.

Sam uses his keycard to open the final door. Once the final door opens, they’re outside, nighttime causing Tommy’s eyes to have to adjust to the lack of light once again. They’re in what appears to be an empty warehouse lot.

They only walk a couple more feet, light shining from a small lantern hanging above Tommy’s head. Finally, they stop and Sam turns him around, holding him by his shoulders. Tommy notices for the first time that the doctor appears worried. Stressed out. Tommy begins to feel a small amount of guilt in the pit of his stomach, but he pushes it down and stays quiet, instead gnawing on his bottom lip. Sam looks at him very seriously and begins to speak very slowly.

“You’ll have to continue from here on your own.” Sam takes out a small coin purse of gold and a couple of diamonds, shakily placing it in Tommy’s hand. “Take this. Walk south from here along the dirt path. Make sure to stay close to the treeline so that you can hide if need be. I don’t know everyone who’s working for Dream, but avoid most people just in case. There’s a small village a few chunks from here, you’ll be able to follow signs from there.”

Tommy’s throat feels dry as he accepts the money and pockets it into his jeans. Bugs chirp in the background and Tommy can hear the faint buzz of a bee as he asks, “What is Dream going to do to you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I knew the risks when I made this decision. You deserve to be home with your family, Tommy.”

Sam pauses before saying, “Don’t waste this opportunity.”

And Tommy truly doesn’t want to waste it. But he feels awful about just leaving Sam after he’s helped him escape from the very place Sam had helped trap him in. His eyes cloud over and Tommy swallows and stays still, unable to move. It’s not until the masked man gives him a light shove that Tommy able to force himself to begin to walk away towards the dirt path. He wants to say something, anything to show how grateful he is to Sam. But his mind comes up short, so Tommy settles simply. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice thick with gratefulness.

Because he can go home.

He can find his brother.

And Tommy can finally start to fix the mess that he’d caused.

Sam says nothing in response, so Tommy turns around and starts to walk. It’s not all that difficult to place one foot in front of the other. He doesn’t look back, for fear he’ll just get upset again for leaving behind the kind man. Even if that same doctor helped bring him back from the dead, Tommy knows that he never truly wanted it to happen.

Tommy trudges along, his feet feeling relatively heavy as he does so in the tall grass after entering a more wooded area. He stays close to the tree line, as told, and whenever he hears voices he quickly ducks behind a tree. Tommy can imagine all of the wild animals that may be in these woods and hopes that none of them want to eat him for a midnight snack. Not that he wouldn’t taste good he’d just rather not die again.

These thoughts occupy his mind, distracting him from his goal; finding his family. Everything that he’s learned so far is weighing him. Tommy’s going to be going back to a completely different life. The problem is, it doesn’t feel that way to him. To him, it only feels like the two weeks in the facility have passed since the 16th. But it can’t be the same, and it never will be the same. Because he died, and it’s been five years, and that can’t be reversed.

He stumbles a bit in the grass and tries to imagine Father stabbing him. It’s an odd pain and he never wants to think about Father killing someone… let alone himself. It just feels really wrong. He wonders if Father ever saw him as a failure, if that's what he thought the night that he died. He imagines different people finding him, finding his body. He wonders what Wilbur thought.

Tommy wishes he could tell him sorry.

Every day, and forever he would apologize to his family.

And to Tubbo. Because Tubbo had to finish his entire childhood without him. He abandoned Tubbo just like that, leaving him behind. And sure, Tubbo has other friends but they were always so close. Everywhere one of them went, the other followed. They always had so many plans, adventures to go on.

His chest hurts and Tommy spends what feels like hours thinking of all of the sad things. Things that make him weary, make him want to just collapse to the floor until the ground opens up beneath him and steals him away from the cruel reality of what’s happened. Tommy squints through the treeline when he finally sees light through the branches.

Tommy starts to stumble a bit over twigs and rocks as he makes his way towards the light source. His shoes are disgusting from walking in the grass and mud. He’s sure he looks disheveled as he finally walks into the town. He looks around the deserted streets before finally walking into a bakery. The sweet smell of pastries fills his nose and he orders a slice of bread and water.

He taps his fingers on the counter as he waits and then drops a couple of gold coins when the woman on the counter brings back his food.

“Hey, can you tell me where I am?” Tommy asks.

The woman pauses in her counting of the gold coins and glances up, looking at Tommy with a raised eyebrow, “You’re in St. Pearl.”

“Oh,” Tommy says

A beat.

“Hey, do you… do you know how far that is from L'Manberg?”

The woman makes a strange expression as if she’s trying to figure out a difficult puzzle. “About half a day’s walk. I’m guessing you don’t wanna walk at night for any longer though, there’s an inn right up the road.”

“Oh, thank you,” Tommy responds, taking his bread and water and slowly walking out the bakery door. He takes a bite of the bread and grins as the warm taste fills his mouth. ‘ This is so much better than that shit facility food,’ Tommy thinks as he walks towards the inn.

Just as Tommy is about to enter he notices a poster on one wall. It appears hand-drawn and painted, the paint peeling off slightly. It depicts an explosion with a creepy smile on the front. Below it are groups of people kneeling and holding their hands over their heads.

The poster’s caption at the bottom reads in bold letters.

A VILLAIN IS JUST A HERO YOU HAVEN’T CONVINCED YET

——————

The crackling of fire on torches stops the hallway from being completely quiet. The faint light illuminates the cobblestone walls, footsteps gently pattering on the carpet. Steady breathing can be heard as the footsteps continue down the passageway. 

The open window allows in a cool breeze and a cloak is wrapped tighter around broad shoulders. A shaky exhale can be heard as the feet speed up, the clacking of boots sounding as the floor changes to oak planks.

A slightly wrinkled hand slides on stone bricks, tapping on each one twice before pushing on a final brick. There’s a pause and then a sliding of stones. The rocks scrape against one another as they fold inwards, revealing a gap in the wall.

Another breath, and then the sound of descending footsteps as they travel down the dimly lit passage. The scraping of stones comes again from the top of the stairs as the entrance closes again. A mutter can be heard from the subject of the footsteps, a cloak trailing on the ground as the passageway becomes thinner.

The person comes upon a wooden, a small gap blocked by iron bars on the upper door. The man knocks upon the door, and then pauses before whispering in a hoarse voice, “ Sic Semper Tyrannis .”

There’s a pause and the door slowly slides open, revealing a deep chamber. Lanterns hang from the ceiling and rugs are hanging from the walls. A round table sits in the center of the room, grand chairs surrounding the room. The person can recognize people sitting in all of the chairs except one. At the head of the table, a vague shadow can be made out. A crown sits upon full hair, the color indistinguishable. A large cape is draped over their shoulders and two bright red eyes stand out in the dim lighting.

The man speaks, his voice is deep as he says, “Welcome to the Syndicate, Zephyrus. We’re glad you could finally join us.”

——————

Over the years, Nikita Nihachu has been one of the only sources of wisdom Wilbur has. Even when Phil actually spent time with him when he was little, he still had so many duties, and his knowledge of the world rarely extended into actual comprehensible life lessons for a child. Wilbur used to think that it was because Niki grew up in a household where they had a normal family that actually knew how to talk to each other and be honest, but he was starting to think that it stems a little bit deeper than that. Maybe Niki is just good at being a friend and caring about Wilbur, despite all of the times that Wilbur has shown how absolutely incompetent he is.

Especially in the last five years, when his entire life has gone to shit.

Wilbur still remembers the night, the day after the 16th, when he confessed how Tommy died. He remembers her horror when she remembered that he’s only a sixteen-year-old kid because Tommy had never really shown how young he truly is. Niki was never really close with Tommy, not many people ever were. So they tended to forget that they brought a teenager into a warzone. Two teenagers really, cause Tubbo always trailed at Tommy’s heel. He remembers crying into Niki’s shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

“He’s dead, Niki… I killed him.”

“You didn’t kill him -”

“You said it yourself, it was wrong for me to bring a kid, for me to let him get involved… and now he’s dead.”

Niki had done her best to try and reason with him. To convince him that it wasn’t his fault, that Tommy was the one who willingly gave up his own life to save Wilbur’s. That it was Wilbur who tried to keep him safe, who always tried to protect him during the war. Wilbur couldn’t have stopped Tommy that night, Tommy’s a selfless jerk like that. He always put others' needs before his own and after Wilbur started losing himself, it was Tommy who always stuck by him and tried to keep him sane and safe.

Tommy chose to save Wilbur’s life that night. Wilbur didn’t choose to take Tommy’s.

Wilbur really shouldn’t be surprised when Niki shows up with that concerned look on her face. He knows immediately that Phil probably sent her, possibly with the message of, ‘he’s closing off again… delving into the back sections of bookcases and staying up all night.’ It’s not that he’s annoyed or angry, he’s more… not ready to talk about it. Because there had been the exchange with Phil, the letter, and Wilbur had read that same paragraph over and over again, Tommy’s messy handwriting so painfully obvious on the paper. There are smudges from scrubbed-out sentences and errors, and Wilbur can’t remember the last time he let himself cry.

“I’m worried about you, Will.”

They’d sat in silence at first and that’s the first thing Niki decides to use to break it. Slowly, Wilbur turns around in his armchair, holding the letter in his hand as if it’s the most delicate thing in the world. Just like the way he’d held Tommy’s cold, limp hand and felt his small fingers, wishing they would grip his back. Tommy had a list of things to do written on his hand because teenagers do that, they write notes on their hands and Tommy is a fucking child.

“Aren’t you always worried about me?” Wilbur responds, tilting his head.

“It appears to be a majority of the time,” Niki says. “I’m getting better about prioritizing what to push you about, but Phil is… Wilbur, you know he’s trying so hard and I know you are too, but you have to do something about this.”

Wilbur ignores this comment and instead holds up the letter in his hand for his friend to see. “Phil was in my room around… probable sometime in the morning yesterday.”

Niki stays silent, her eyebrows raising and her arms uncrossed. Niki knows how rare it is for Phil and Wilbur to willingly talk to each other, how hard it is for their talks to not end in either one of them leaving or a huge argument. Tommy’s death had been hard on both of them, even if it was in different ones. They both blamed each other but secretly blamed themselves. Wilbur had always tried so hard to raise and care for Tommy whenever Phil failed, but he seemed to come up short at one of the most important times in Tommy’s life.

Tommy had always worked so hard to prove himself to Wilbur, without knowing that Wilbur was proud of him without the kid even trying. 

The concept is difficult because Wilbur has spent so long trying to be the father that Tommy never had. While Wilbur may only be Tommy’s older brother, he strived so hard to be there for Tommy in every way imaginable. Even if Tommy felt like he had something to prove he didn’t have anything to prove to Wilbur. Wilbur looks down at the letter and clears his throat, “He um… Tommy wrote this… said he wanted me to be proud of him…”

There’s a pause and Niki doesn’t get a chance to respond, because Wilbur’s on his feet in a split second. He slams the letter onto a table, grabbing his cup of water and throwing it at a wall. The last of the water in the container trickles down the walls as the glass shatters on impact. Niki doesn’t flinch, simply shutting her eyes and sighing in disappointment as Wilbur looks for other objects to throw. Book after book flies through the air and slams against the walls because Wilbur is so fucking angry and it isn’t enough. None of it is enough.

It isn’t until Wilbur starts slamming his fist into the table does Niki finally intervenes, grabbing his arm and yelling, “Wilbur, stop it! Get a grip!”

“Why?!” Wilbur shouts, ripping his arm away. “What the hell do you want me to do? What the fuck could you possibly want me to get a grip on? The fact that Tommy got himself stabbed to death on my account. Just to, to what? To protect me from a death that I wanted?!”

Niki takes a breath, stepping towards him. “He was just a kid, kids just want to prove themselves -”

“Oh, I’m really fucking proud now,” Wilbur spits out. “I’m really damn proud that he went and got himself stabbed through the chest. I’m really proud that he’s rotting underground while all of his friends are having a great time in this pristine and perfect fucking castle when he should be too! I’M PROUD THAT HE MARTYRED HIMSELF TO SAVE MY LIFE!”

Everything inside of him is unloading. Maybe it’s been five years, but it feels just as fresh as day one. Wilbur turns around and shoves into his hair, gripping onto his hair while trying to get a fucking grip on reality. It feels like he’s forgotten how to bring air into his lungs. His fingernails dig into his scalp and time after time Wilbur finds himself in a whirlwind of anger that can’t be extinguished no matter what happens.

“Five years, Niki,” Wilbur hisses. “He would have turned twenty-one a few days ago. Finally able to take a sip of my fucking whiskey, old enough to consume alcohol.

“And somehow he was supposedly old enough to die that night.”

Wilbur can hear Niki’s footsteps slowly approaching him. A hand lands on his shoulder and only a response that Niki can muster sounds. “Tommy was brave, Wilbur. And I know, that somewhere underneath all that anger, you truly are proud of him.”

And he is… he really, really is.

Wilbur doesn’t get a chance to respond when the doors to the library slide open. He whirls around and Niki does the same, seeing Tubbo enter through the door, Ranboo following close behind him. Wilbur furrows his brows and says, “Um… hello? Did you forget that knocking exists?”

“I’m sorry, Will. But this is urgent,” Tubbo responds, walking towards Niki and Wilbur’s table.

“Tubbo, I’m tempted to sacrifice you like the goat you are. You have picked a very inopportune moment to show your face, Niki and I were in the middle of a best friend bonding moment.”

The pair enter further into the library and Wilbur can already tell based on the looks on their faces that something is very off. As if the heavy weight from all of his anger has settled into becoming an unknown horror. Both Niki and Wilbur share a glance as Tubbo stays silent. Wilbur begins to notice the worry lines in Tubbo’s forehead and the nervous twitch of Ranboo’s tale.

Wilbur continues in the silence, “I’m sorry, but why do I feel like I’m about to shatter another three glasses?”

Even though Wilbur knows the husbands have no clue what he’s on about, they stay silent and don’t audibly voice their confusion. Ranboo looks up and quietly suggests, “Um… maybe you should sit.”

“Or we could just stand,” Niki counters. “What’s up? Is it something to do with the thief the other day?”

“Not really,” Tubbo says. Wilbur begins to feel the familiar prickles of anxiety beneath his skin, Tommy’s letter forgotten and replaced with worry from the investigation the other day… and the file Tubbo had found.

“Did you find something?” Wilbur asks.

I didn’t necessarily find something. More so, it’s a lot of dots that I think are connected.” Tubbo pauses and anxiously taps against the file in his hand. “You’re not going to like it. So I agree with Ranboo, you should probably sit. I mean, if you’re already throwing mugs -”

“Tubbo,” Wilbur says warningly.

“I’m just saying, if it is true, then it’s big. And you haven’t exactly been the most level-headed individual in recent years. Trust me though, if Ranboo had let me, I would have just sent you a quick letter. And pray that no one is nearby to hear your yelling.”

Wilbur can feel the color begin to drain from his face as concern begins to set in. Why do the pair look so worried? Even Tubbo, who tends to never show his true emotions, has an intense spark behind his eyes, a flash of anger and fear. Wilbur shifts awkwardly on his feet and takes a deep breath before insisting, “Tell me.”

“The file has Tommy’s name on it,” Ranboo starts, rubbing his arms nervously as his tail flickers side to side behind him like a long snake. “However, there is… there’s something else. Something Tubbo doesn’t just think is a coincidence of them being together.”

Wilbur’s eyes find Tubbo’s and the smaller boy asks, “Project S.O.U.L… Have you ever heard of it?”

Wilbur shakes his head, his fist clenching and unclenching in worry.

“It was a very controversial procedure. Even the original head doctor left immediately after the experiment was done. It was a project meant to be kept in place to protect people. But after Bad died in that tragic accident years and years ago, Dream decided to test it out…”

Niki holds up her hand, tilting her head. “And what kind of procedure is it?”

Tubbo takes in a deep breath.

“It’s a procedure meant to… to bring the dead back to life.

Wilbur can feel his heart stop.

It’s as if his ribcage tightens around him and he’s constrained to that moment, there in time, with his friends. Ranboo is staring at him nervously, Tubbo looks angry but steadfast, Niki seems terrified, and Wilbur… Wilbur isn’t sure what he’s feeling. It’s like some kind of mutated sense of betrayal, but he isn’t sure want for. It’s not that he has ever trusted Dream to such a degree to feel hurt but this… the thought of it ever being tied to Tommy’s name… it makes him weak at the knees and he begins to think that he should have sat down after all.

Bring the dead back to life.

Bad had been dead.

Tommy is dead.

“You’re joking,” Niki whispers, her voice hoarse and choked up. “He wouldn’t… that’s just -”

“Wrong?” Tubbo prompts. “Yeah… yeah, we thought so too.”

Wilbur takes a step back and Niki holds a hand, gripping onto his arm as if she’s afraid he’s going to collapse. Wilbur has to hold onto the edge of the table to stabilize himself. It feels like a panic attack is about to set in, and he can’t let it. Not in front of all of these people, not when this new information is setting into his bones, trying to convince him that this is reality. Dead people can’t come back… and why would Dream even want to bring Tommy back from the dead?

Tommy was never that amazing of a fighter.

He hadn’t…

But no.

No, he’d been important in some sort of way.

Wilbur tears away from Niki’s hand so suddenly that the woman jumps. He’s moving towards the door, sprinting really and Niki calls out in concern, “Will, where are you going?”

They don’t get a response. So, they follow.

——————

For a few moments, Niki is fully convinced that her friend has completely lost it.

More so than per usual.

She doesn’t know where exactly to pinpoint his concern, or where things should stop. But once they arrive in a small garden in the back of the castle, the floral entrance all too achingly familiar to Niki, she realized. She realizes what’s about to happen. Why Wilbur was dragging two spades behind him through the dirt. The sky has gone grey in the mid-afternoon, shrouding them in dull darkness that leads them to the perfectly decorated gravestone.

Theseus Innit Craft

April 9th, 2004 — November 16th, 2020

And Niki understands as the rain starts to fall.

Tubbo assists in the digging while Niki stands beneath an umbrella with Ranboo. There are only two shovels and Niki keeps glancing around anxiously, making sure that no one else is watching them basically rob the grave of a child. Maybe not rob, but invade, and it feels so wrong. Niki knows that no amount of reasoning is going to stop Wilbur in his manic pursuit. It’s like something from a horror movie as time goes on and Wilbur and Tubbo get soaked to the bone in their clothes. It makes it more difficult to dig, water rushing into the hole and dragging mud with it. Tubbo and Wilbur don’t stop, and Niki’s not sure how their bodies aren’t on the verge of collapsing.

Niki realizes that Wilbur will never be the same. The night that Tommy died, Wilbur lost a piece of his family. His younger brother and Niki can imagine having to go through that all over again. Wilbur throws his shovel aside and begins digging with his bare hands. Niki tries to think about how Wilbur might survive the disappointment or the shock.

Because… because…

Tommy had been mourned. He’d been cried over and buried and yet there they are, thinking of the slim possibility that something unnatural has occurred. There’s no joy on this occasion, because how could they feel happy? It’s horrifying. And if Dream had done something like this and then hidden it, Wilbur is not going to handle it now. Niki can already imagine the shit show it is going to bring.

She glances up at Ranboo, who meets her gaze. His eyes are wide and scared and as still as a board, avoiding the water with everyone bone in his body. She wants to ask him if he thinks everything will be alright because she has no idea.

Then there’s a hollow thump as Tubbo’s shovel hits something.

Niki and Ranboo step closer to the edge of the hole as Wilbur gets on his hands and knees, pushing mud and water off of the casket that’s now clear to see. Tubbo scrapes away excess dirt before stepping out of the hole to not be standing on the lid. Wilbur moves closer to the edge, hesitating for a moment.

There’s no countdown. No words, no nothing. Just all four of them, staring at a teenager’s casket, waiting.

Then, with several tries to break through, Wilbur lifts the lid and it creaks, revealing the inside.

Rain could have poured in reverse.

The sky could have opened and begin to snow again in mid-April.

Because the casket is empty and left behind is the silky white inside, stained by mud and rain as the grave begins to flood.

Chapter Text

If it had been up to Wilbur — wholly and completely up to him — he would have gone over and murdered Dream within the hour.

He considers different ways he could do it. Maybe he can put him through the exact same pain that Tommy went through, stab him through the heart. Maybe he can drug Dream, drag him to the tallest tower in the castle, and then push him off. A lot of scenarios rush through his mind, but nothing quite fits what Wilbur wants and it doesn’t make him feel the way he wants to feel. It doesn’t get rid of the indescribable amount of rage that he has, that’s welling deep inside of him. It’s been thriving inside of him since the moment he’d been forced to rip up the grass and break open the wooden casket that was supposed to hold his brother’s corpse.

But even if he can’t decide on the method, he still considers it as he stands at the pier of a nearby village overlooking the water. People laugh behind him, families are with their children, and Wilbur thinks that this must be the reason Tubbo forced him to wait here. He played mediator, contacting Dream through Sam a couple of days ago and asking ( more like threatening according to Ranboo but Wilbur thinks those bastards deserve it ) Dream to meet Wilbur there. Out in the open, and Wilbur’s pretty sure that it probably won’t look good if he murders Dream in front of all of these families, especially children.

Wilbur sighs, sitting down and leaning forwards, rubbing the sides of his temple. He’s spent about a quarter of the time vomiting and the rest of staring directly into the sun. The air feels humid from the rain the previous day. It hadn’t stopped raining the day after they dug up Tommy’s grave. It was almost as if the sky had been mourning him too. And Wilbur honestly supposes that today is just an awful day and it’s not going to get better anytime soon. Definitely not with what is happening and what is going to happen in the near future.

Because Dream has Tommy.

Tommy’s grave is empty.

And Wilbur is going to refrain from killing Dream.

“You trying to burn your retinas?”

Wilbur is going to stab Dream.

The question almost makes Wilbur spontaneously combust with rage. Wilbur whirls around, seeing Dream standing there in his usual get-up, that same stupid green hoodie that Wilbur has wanted to tear to shreds since the moment he saw it. Dream steps forward easily, his hands in his pockets as he leans nonchalantly against the railing. As if nothing in the whole world is wrong. 

“Yeah, maybe if I stare into it for long enough I’ll be able to look at you without wanting to stab a sword through your chest,” Wilbur bites out. Dream's mask stares back at him, a single crack running along the center.

“I could kill you,” Wilbur grinds out through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s all you want to do right now,” Dream replies, twirling something mindlessly between his fingers. “I know you, Will. You may want me dead but the answers are most likely eating you up inside. So go ahead.”

Wilbur’s fingers tighten into fists and his nails dig into his palm. His jaw hurts from grinding his teeth together so much and he hisses out, “ Why? Why him? Are you a fucking animal Dream? Why are you experimenting on a fucking sixteen-year-old? ”

“After Bad, this was no longer experimental,” Dream interrupts. “And you know full well why we didn’t revive him as an experiment.”

Wilbur sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. “Because I was his brother.”

“Not just his brother,” Dream says, tapping the wooden railing. “See, I’m not too concerned with how Tommy saw you. It’s more about how you saw Tommy. I’m gonna be honest with you, but you’ve never really been one for forming lifelong caring relationships with people, even your family. I mean come on, Wilbur. You and Techno can barely stand one another and I’ve heard that you and Phil can’t stay in the same room for longer than ten minutes without yelling at one another. And at first, Tommy was that too. At least when you were kids.” Dream starts walking closer, his mask leering at Wilbur. “Dad had to go and leave to fight a war and the kids were left alone. Poor old Tommy, just a kid without his parents. Well one of them’s there and just absent… but the other’s dead.”

Wilbur stands and whips to face Dream, his finger pointed directly at the man’s chest. “Don’t you dare talk about Kristen that way ever again.”

Dream tsks and swipes away Wilbur’s finger, sidestepping him and continuing to ramble. “Well someone had to step up and care for Tommy. So good old big brother Wilbur came along and raised him. You were just keeping him alive to show that you were capable at first, but then you got invested. You realized that Tommy was more than someone you just had to take care of. You cared for him. You liked being needed by someone. You stepping in, you dressed up as ‘Dad’ and filled in the shoes -”

“Shut up,” Wilbur growled. “You don't know the first goddamn thing about me. Tommy wasn’t… he wasn’t someone I was using for my own gain, he was my little brother, a kid. A kid that you want to use against me so that I actually fight in your petty stupid war.”

There’s a pause and then Dream nods, gleefully responding, “Oh, that’s exactly it! However, it’s not just you that I’m after. You see, Philza is the main person I’m trying to go after here, you’re just an easy way to get through to him.”

“Look I’m not here because of your stupid fucking war! This has nothing to do with that!” Wilbur shouts, no longer caring who hears him.  “I’m here… I’m here because you dug up a kid and brought him back to life. How long did you even let him rest before you forced him to become your little puppet? A week? Maybe a few hours?”

“I knew that the moment he died you were going to be mentally destroyed.” Dream continues, ignoring Wilbur’s rant. “We removed his body a couple of days after he was buried, however, we only started the procedure a couple of months ago. His body required a lot of work and restoration in order to be fully operational. He only regained consciousness several days ago, but before that, it was simply a case of restoring the body for… future needs. And once we realized that Phil wasn’t going to participate in this war, well we knew that we had to persuade you somehow.”

Wilbur can’t help himself, grabbing the front of Dream’s hoodie where the fabric bunches up. There’s no satisfaction from the response, seeing as Will can’t see Dream’s fucking face behind that stupid paper plate of a mask. “Where… the hell is he? And I swear to every single God on this fucking server, if you lie to me, I’m gonna light you on fire and blow you up just like I did my nation.”

“I’ve had much worse people threaten me, Soot.” Wilbur can’t help but feel like that’s a lie. Sure he may have faced worse than Wilbur right now. But Dream hasn’t seen the worst of him. The people who have are most likely dead.

“Tell me where he is right now. You’re going to give him to me, and then you’re gonna stay the hell away.”

No quip is returned. There’s a moment of silence… and then the silence continues… and Wilbur’s hand begins to loosen on Dream’s hoodie, startled by some confusion that begins to race through his mind.  Eventually, Wilbur completely lets go of Dream and stumbles backward as the realization begins to set in, in some awful, twisted way. A way that intimidates him, but he can’t let it show when the king of dickheads is right in front of him.

“No… no, Dream… you don’t mean…”

“We lost him,” Dream admits. “Last night… apparently you're not the only person who let this small kid crawl his way into your heart. One of your doctors let him escape last night, sent him off with some coins. We have people searching for him, but that is partly why I came here today. If anyone can find him, you can.”

Wilbur scoffs, “And why the hell would I help you?”

“Because the kid is still sixteen, Soot. What happens if he runs into one of his old war friends? Or goes running off looking for the castle? Or L’Manberg? He died. He’s not ready to go out into the real world. What he needs right now… is protection.”

“Yeah, protection from you,” Wilbur mutters.

“No, protection from himself,” Dream replies, wiping dust off of his shoulders. “Some people aren’t going to be happy when they realize some kid has been brought back from the dead. They’ll go crazy, begging for the same to happen to their loved ones. If you help us find Tommy, then he can go home with you. But you’re not gonna be allowed to tell anyone else.”

“Or… I just tell Phil and Techno anyways because I can do whatever the hell I please,” Wilbur argues.

Dream steps forwards, Wilbur refusing to stumble back. Dream looks up to stare at Dream, the slight height difference making Wilbur smirk. “Do you really want this? The war has been going on for years, Wilbur, and I’ve been lenient. I may just be one man, but I have many more behind me. What do you think that’s gonna do to Tommy? To Phil?”

Wilbur falls silent.

Shit.

It feels like someone is twisting his arm behind his back. On one hand, there’s Phil… letting him know after he’s suffered so long with the knowledge that he killed Tommy. And then there’s the want to keep Dream as far away as possible. But then again…

Wilbur sighs, looking away from Dream and out into the water.

This is definitely not how he wanted this meeting to go.

“Do we have a deal here, Wilbur?”

Wilbur sighs and the words feel like acid leaving his mouth.

“I know where he would go.”

——————

Tommy stumbles through a patch of mud, his feet catching on another twig. He wraps the loose coat he got from the inn closer around himself, his breath shaky. The slight cool chill of April is getting to him, his teeth chattering slightly. He’s been walking for hours, trying to ration the small amount of nourishment he has in the bag across his chest. He passes by sign after sign, desperately hoping to find a familiar wooden post, an oak slat nailed against it, a name hurriedly written across it.

“Will, we’ve gotta make it official!” Tommy shouted, leaning up in his chair.

Wilbur sighed and leaned against the table, his elbows still automatically finding their way onto the wood even after years of proper manner being taught to him back home. “Oh yeah? What’s your brilliant idea this time?”

“You know those wooden signs that people have that like… point to different villages and stuff? We gotta make one of those!” Tommy pulled out his bag and grabbed a wooden slat out of it. “Hey Tubbo, can you grab those paints for me from the other room please?” Tommy’s voice is muffled from the leather bag but Tubbo nodded and ran off to go grab them.

Tommy looked out of the bag to see Wilbur grinning at him. Once Tubbo returned, the trio spent an hour designing their own “L’MANBERG THIS WAY” sign. After they’d finished, Wilbur went out with Tubbo and Tommy to nail in their sign, the wooden post symbolic to them.

“I have a good feeling about this place,” Wilbur said, an arm wrapped around Tommy’s shoulders as the pair sat together on the L’Manberg walls.

“Yeah…a good feeling…” Tommy mutters to himself, the cold air crystallizing his breath as he stares at where he knows the wooden post would have been. Instead, a sign hangs from a tree, a beautifully carved wooden slat that reads, “SNOWCHESTER - NORTHWEST.” Tommy frowns at the sign but walks along the familiar path.

The dirt path is wet from the rain a couple of days ago, mud splattering against Tommy’s shoes as his hands brush against wooden fences. He takes a shaky breath in before stepping onto an oak path, the wood creaking beneath him as his feet patter along.

The whole place has been covered in a thin layer of snow, the temperature is still cold up here. Tommy glances around him, trying to discern how far away he is from where he's trying to go. The whole area has been changed and renovated. Houses have been turned into cabins, huts overturned to become stables. Tommy keeps walking along before he notices a familiar path through a gap in a cave. He grins and runs towards it, markings and engravings on the walls scratched in and filled with memories that Tommy can remember from long ago. 

He steps out from the cave and blinks in the bright sunlight, waving a hand above his head. He lets his eyes adjust before looking down. He pauses for a moment, his feet rooted to the spot. He’d completely forgotten about what… he hadn’t even realized…

Wooden posts surround a massive lake, the sun reflecting off of the water. A massive hole had been blown into a once-bustling valley, remnants of buildings now long ago. Nature had taken its course on the land. Spanish moss drapes from willow trees and different ferns and plants surround crystal clear water. Tommy stumbles down the stairs in front of him, reaching the fence in a bit of a daze. He can see different fish swimming in the water, and he quickly ducks beneath the fence and rushes to the water’s edge.

Frogs sit on green lilypads and a small group of goldfish swim together lazily and Tommy feels like he’s about to cry as his hand reaches out to touch the water. He expected to see his nation but he forgot what happened, he forgot how long it’s been because holy shit of course it wouldn’t look the same. It’s been five years.

Five years.

Nothing is wrong, everything is right as rain. Because of course there’s no L’Manberg. There’s no Wilbur here and no Tommy and it hurts just a little too much but his feet have stopped working and he doesn’t quite remember when he started sitting down but now one hand is stroking a goldfish and the other buries itself deep in lush grass and soft dirt.

His eyes are starting to glaze over and he can feel a sob start to wrack through his body and he tries to restrain himself, clenching his teeth and breathing in and out deeply. He inches closer and he can feel his knees begin to get wet from the water beneath him. Biting his lip isn’t helping as he sits on his knees and desperately tries to regain some of his dignity. A kid crying on his knees next to a lake probably isn’t normal and he honestly feels kind of dumb. It feels so very dumb and he hates himself and he hates Dream for not just letting him stay fucking dead.

Five years is a long fucking time.

It’s long enough for people to meet, start dating, and get married. It's enough time for a baby to be born and start going to school. It’s enough time for a new village to take place of a nation that was once his, now gone with the wind. Enough time for history to get covered up and for nature to take its toll on a place that Tommy had placed all of his hopes and dreams into. He feels angry and upset and he wants to fucking hit something. No one he knows is here, they’re all gone and Tommy has no fucking clue where they might be.

Tommy leans back against the wooden fence, his hands slipping from the water as he stares at a small fish swim around in the lake. He pushes his knees to his chest and sighs, staring at his reflection. His shoulders tremble as he bites back more tears and he chews on his bottom lip in a desperate attempt to silence himself.

‘Stop crying, stop crying,’ he thinks. ‘It’s not a big deal. You knew the place was blown up, you have no right to be upset right now. It really isn’t a big deal.’

But it feels like a big deal.

Because this used to be Tommy’s home and now there are strangers here.

Tommy swipes the sleeve of his coat across his face and sniffles, obnoxious even to his own ears. He breathes in heavily through his mouth, trying to ground himself, and just as he thinks he has it under control, Tommy hears the sounds of feet pattering against a wooden path. He uses the fence to prop himself up, glancing behind him and he can’t recognize the person but he knows the voice immediately.

“Tommy.”

Bad.

Tommy immediately scrambles over the wooden fence, stumbling slightly as Bad starts to run towards him. Tommy books it down the path, rapidly wiping the tears off of his cheeks. He glances behind him to see Bad holding something in his hand. He has no clue what it is but Tommy can’t help but think that Bad is about to hit him with something. Did his escape from this fucking facility really have him end up with a death sentence? But instead of an arrow coming out, Tommy can feel two metal wires pierce the side of his skin where his shirt has ridden up slightly. Tommy groans as his body tenses, electricity flowing through him.

He convulses as he falls onto the dirt, Bad slowly approaching. Despite the pain and tenseness of his muscles, Tommy forces himself to grab the metal wires and rip them out. He grunts as the flow of electricity stops, scrambling back to his feet. Bad attempts to jump on him but Tommy kicks him in the stomach, making contact with the demon’s chest and forcing him backward.

He breathes out before running back towards the edge of the lake, the ferns brushing against his legs. Loose pebbles shift beneath his feet as he starts sprinting towards the lake, jumping over the lake, and skirting around the edge of the water. He can hear more people behind him and he picks up the pace, puddles forming the longer he ran.

His side still burns from ripping out whatever the fuck Bad just tried to hit him with and his mind is still slightly cloudy from the whole thing in the first place. What the actual fuck, Bad?

Tommy can hear footsteps behind him and something like a cord wraps tightly around his ankles and Tommy is sent tumbling and rolling into the dirt. He slides to a stop and groans as he lays on his side. He desperately tries to rip the cord off of his ankles, the rope tightly tangled around his feet.

“Fuck, fuck, shit,” Tommy swears under his breath, hearing footsteps crunch on the grass. He quickly glances behind him before looking back at his legs but he pauses.

It’s like a dream has just been ignited within himself. Something so distant and yet so vivid. Tommy’s head snaps towards the source of the sound, and sure enough, it connects with exactly the person Tommy was thinking of and his fingers drop from the rope around his ankle. His eyes widen with a sensation that he can’t quite place.

Wilbur…

Wilbur Soot Craft, standing barely twenty feet away on the other side of the wooden fence.

And Tommy knows logically that he shouldn’t really be scared. But the last time he’d seen Wilbur, he’d been psychotic and insane and blowing up the nation that Tommy had poured his heart and soul into. Now it’s suddenly apparent that Wilbur had thrown the cord now wrapped around Tommy’s ankle and he’s desperately searching for a reason as to why Wilbur would work with Dream again.

Tommy is wrong. He’s an experiment… and maybe Will can see that.

Slow and intentional steps are taken towards him and Tommy feels his chest spasm. Maybe he’s crying again but he isn’t quite sure as he desperately scrambles to undo the restraints. His hands aren’t working with him though, the cord is too tight, and Tommy is looking back up again to see Wilbur ducking underneath the fence to stand closer to him.

Wilbur’s eyes are wide and his mouth is open slightly and all Tommy can feel is fear, so much fear as he hears Bad and other men shouting a ways away, possibly trying to surround Tommy while he’s down. Wilbur isn’t saying anything and he’s stopped approaching Tommy. When he takes one more step forward, Tommy scoots backward and yeah, he’s definitely on the verge of tears because he doesn’t want to go back. He just wants to go home, he wants things to be the way they were before.

Wilbur must notice the way Tommy is cowering because he halts.

“Wilbur, please!” Tommy shouts, breaking through his fear to cry out. “Don’t make me go back with them! I haven’t done anything… I don’t… I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry, please don’t make me.”

Maybe it isn’t the most dignified opening. Something to say to his brother who’s just found out he’s alive after being dead for five years. But gosh, it’s all Tommy can think of. Wilbur is going to send him back and the man has yet to say anything back in response.

Tommy yanks on the ropes around his ankles and yells, “Please, please, please… I’m sorry! I know I should be dead, I’m sorry!”

That seems to snap Wilbur out of whatever daze he’s in. He blinks several times at Tommy and the boy flinches suddenly when Wilbur takes several purposeful strides towards him. Wilbur is on his knees in the wet grass in front of him in a matter of seconds. Tommy reflexively shuts his eyes closed and he tries to control his rising panic as Wilbur orders, “Look at me.”

Tommy can’t, he can’t. He can’t open his eyes because if he does, Wilbur is going to send him back with Dream and he’s going to be locked up forever -

“For fucks sake, Tommy, look at me!”

His eyes snap open. Wilbur has never yelled at him like that before. Sure Will’s been angry or pissed or upset. But this sounds… he sounds terrified. Like he’s scared out of his mind. Tommy’s eyes meet Wilbur’s and he tries his best to understand what Wilbur’s thinking as his brother’s hands raise to hold Tommy’s face. His eyes desperately search Tommy’s, looking for something. Maybe proof… like if he stares for long enough he’ll be able to figure out if Tommy is real.

“It’s me,” Tommy croaks weakly, “It’s me Will.” Tommy raises his hands, flexing his fingers and wincing. “I… I can move and I - I’m alive.”

Wilbur looks like he’s on the verge of snuffing out Tommy like he’s some horrible nightmare that stepped into reality. His hands go a little lax on Tommy’s face and Tommy has to blink several times as Wilbur’s hands drop to his side. “Do you believe me?” Tommy whispers.

Wilbur neither confirms nor denies it. But he doesn’t look like he’s about to explode anymore as he stares at Tommy. Wilbur stares at him as if he’s a ghost and Tommy supposes he is to the man. The voices from before are getting closer and louder and Tommy can sense them growing ever nearer.

Tommy’s heart drops into his chest as Wilbur stiffens beside him. Tommy kicks at the restraints around him but they won’t give so the kid does the first thing that he can think of. He wraps his arms tightly around Wilbur’s chest, embracing him in a hug and talking quietly in his ear. “Wilbur please, don’t make me go with them. Please, I don’t - I know that you may not think it’s me, but fuck it’s really me.”

Wilbur stays still before his arms reach up and wrap around Tommy, cradling him against his chest. The hug envelops and protects him, one hand burying Tommy’s head into his neck as if trying to shield him from Dream’s men.

It doesn’t feel like home but it feels safe. It’s the safest that Tommy has felt since waking up in that dark room, even if he feels like he’s being held so tightly that he can’t breathe. He can only smell Wilbur’s shampoo and the fresh rain from the night before.

“You’re not going with them, Tommy. You’re coming with me.”

——————

It was one thing to be told that Tommy was alive.

It is another thing entirely to see it himself.

At first… well at first honestly, Wilbur nearly lost his shit. Mostly because the entire thing felt like complete and utter bullshit. It felt like it couldn’t even be remotely real. Looking at him, seeing his bright eyes that had disappeared five years ago, feeling his arms wrap around and desperately cling to him… Yeah, it brought him back to reality. Wilbur had scared himself when he had grabbed Tommy because he didn’t know what to do. He’d felt out of his body at that moment because it felt like someone had stolen Tommy’s face.

That face that used to look at him with trust and admiration… now it held fear.

Fear of Wilbur.

So there next to that lake, Wilbur held him as tight as he possibly could. Maybe if he did, if he covered Tommy for long enough, Dream’s lackeys wouldn’t even look at him. Of course, it had all been part of the plan. An attempt to compromise and make this less of an episode than it was inevitably going to be. But then Tommy had started running and it honestly hadn’t been Wilbur’s intention to wrap up Tommy’s ankles but he couldn’t risk his little brother getting away. The server was too big and the village was too new and Wilbur had barely been here more than twice. He didn’t know what kind of state Tommy was in but clearly, he was thinking slightly more clearly than Wilbur was.

Things had moved on relatively from there.

The mercenaries and doctors and whoever else was there finally stop hovering around them, Wilbur is able to pull Tommy to his feet, cutting away the ropes from around Tommy’s ankles. Tommy is shaking, trying to stay as far away from Bad and the other men as possible. Wilbur can’t look at Tommy in the face… it’s hard, to even acknowledge that Tommy is sticking this close to him, practically attached to his hip as Wilbur walks him away from the other men and down the road.

He can still sense Bad behind them as they walk.

Because for Tommy it had only been a couple of days.

But for Wilbur, it had felt like an entire lifetime.

Wilbur reaches his horse and helps Tommy up onto it before climbing up himself. The boy clings tightly onto his waist, his arms freezing and his breath cold against Wilbur’s neck. Tommy keeps trying to push forward and look up at him and Wilbur keeps avoiding his gaze. He can sense Bad behind them watching the exchange and Wilbur restrains the urge to strangle every single person he comes into contact with. And Tommy is so desperately trying to look at Wilbur and he just can’t.

Because the last time he had looked into Tommy’s eyes, they’d been empty and staring up at the sky as his blood trickled onto dusty rocks.

Tommy is alive. He’s shivering behind Wilbur and he’s alive enough to be afraid of Dream and as angry as Wilbur is that Dream had done this to his brother. It is… it’s like something opened up inside of him to remind him that Tommy is genuinely there.

Wilbur only finds Tommy when the kid grabs the edge of his coat sleeve and tugs. Like something a toddler would do to get an adult’s attention. His eyes are wide and aware as they stare into Wilbur’s, and he whispers, “Where are we going?”

Wilbur’s throat feels dry.

“We’re going somewhere safe,” Wilbur replies. Tommy risks a glance back at Bad who stares straight back, causing Tommy to shiver as Wilbur continues, “He won’t be staying long.”

Bad rolls his eyes, “There’s no need to lie to him.”

“I’m not lying,” Wilbur mutters. “You aren’t staying. ”

Bad simply hums, Tommy’s hand not leaving Wilbur’s sleeve. The fear in Tommy’s eyes when he glances back at Bad doesn’t miss Wilbur. He can’t help himself when he asks, “Did they hurt you.”

Tommy whips his head back to look up at Wilbur who’s staring straight ahead. Bad scoffs, “He wasn’t mistreated -”

“Did I ask you?” Wilbur feels Tommy flinch, his hand letting go of his sleeve. “I was asking him. Tommy… did they?”

There’s silence behind him and Wilbur can practically sense the indecisiveness rolling off of Tommy in waves. “Don’t lie to me, Toms.”

“No,” Tommy’s voice is shaky as he speaks and Wilbur knows deep down that it’s because of him. He’s the one scaring Tommy and the way he is right now, the way he’s been since Tommy died and since this mess of a war started. This depressed and angry and rash person doesn’t have an ounce of level-headedness left in him. “They didn't hurt me… they just… wouldn’t let me leave.” 

Wilbur doesn’t get a chance to reply. He halts his horse in front of a cottage and hops off, helping Tommy get down before tying his horse on a post against the side of the house. The two walk inside, followed closely behind by Bad much to Wilbur’s dismay.

As the trio enters the cottage, Wilbur quickly shuts the door behind them. Tommy hovers in the doorway as Wilbur enters the living room. Bad approaches Dream, who is silently sitting in an armchair and Wilbur realizes that that’s probably why Tommy has frozen in the entrance. Wilbur lightly takes Tommy by the elbow and tugs him just enough that he finally steps forward. Wilbur’s still surprised when he looks at Tommy’s eyes, still bright and full of emotion… and right now that emotion is terror.

“Come on, Tommy,” Wilbur says. “Sit down.”

Wilbur is struggling to keep himself together as Tommy curls in on himself against the couch, but Wilbur continues to stand. He stands close enough to Tommy that he’s half blocking him from Dream’s view. Dream’s mask still manages to seem like it’s looking directly at Tommy as he comments, “That was a bold escape.”

Tommy’s mouth opens and he hurriedly asks, “Is Doctor Sam ok?”

There’s a beat of silence and the longer that it lasts, the paler Tommy becomes. Dream and Bad risk glances at each other and Dream replies, “Appropriate measures are being taken.”

Wilbur can see the guilt shining in Tommy’s eyes as he says, “Please don’t be angry at him, he was just trying to help me.”

Tommy then looks to Wilbur, “Will please, Sam was just trying… he helped me get out, you can’t let them -”

“Appropriate measures are being taken,” Dream repeats. “That is a matter that will be dealt with later.”

“Woah, Woah,” Wilbur interrupts, waving a hand angrily. “Hell to the no. There will be no later here, Dream. Tommy is off the streets, so you and your gang of idiots can get out. There is nothing else to talk about. Tommy is safe and no one knows he’s back. I’ve played by your rules.”

Dream crosses his arms over his chest, the stupid smiley face on his mask seeming to leer at Wilbur. “You have to think I’m an idiot. The moment I get out of here you’re going to pull back on everything we agree on and this kid is immediately going to want to talk to his friends and family.”

“You think I’m going to risk that?” Wilbur scoffs, “I agreed to your terms. You keep your fucking distance -,” Bad tenses and huffs out a sigh, “- and I keep him off of everyone else’s radar who doesn’t already know. He stays safe with me until you clean up the mess you made. No one except those who have to need to know.”

“What?” Tommy turns to Wilbur as his voice cracks and Wilbur desperately tries not to stare at Tommy’s most likely betrayed expression.

“You’re forgetting something very vital.” Dream tsks and wags a finger patronizingly, “You need to start helping out in this war. Fight, do something useful with your time. Maybe I won’t destroy your precious little kingdom and kill dear old dad.”

Wilbur growls and grinds his teeth together. He’s already having trouble restraining himself from taking Tommy back to the castle right then and there. Now he has to actually fight again and step back into habits that he thought he left behind. He considers fighting back, telling them to fuck off. But another part of him knows that that would just make things harder for Tommy. So he lets out a deep breath and glares at Dream, muttering, “Yeah fine, whatever. Now get the fuck out.”

Wilbur pauses thought, before approaching the two people across from him. There’s a beat of expectation and then Wilbur is slamming his fist into the side of Dream’s head. Unfortunately, the man is only briefly dazed and doesn’t fall off of his armchair. Tommy lets out a shout behind him and Bad tenses, moving to step between them before Dream holds out an arm, saying, “It’s fine, Bad.”

“Will…” Tommy gasps behind him.

Dream stands from the armchair and looks up slightly at Wilbur who keeps his eyes glared at him. It’s a dare. Dream doesn’t take it. “We’re gonna be watching you, Soot. Don’t go looking for a fight.”

And with that Bad and Dream exit in sync, their boots clicking on the wooden floor. Wilbur is left to stare out the window as he watches the pair leave, unable to turn and look at where he knows Tommy is sitting.

“You’re not actually going to keep me here, right?” Tommy asks. “You’re gonna let me go see Phil and Tubbo.”

Slowly, Wilbur turns to face Tommy. His little brother who’s alive and shouldn’t be. Wilbur feels like he should be happier and sure, there’s something incredible about it. Something that he fears. But god, five years… he knows the life that Tommy has waiting for him is going to be a difficult one. There’s Tubbo, who’s married and moved on. Phil has held a sense of guilt and barely shows any joy these days, barely fighting in his own war. Techno spends his days either training or disappearing into the library. Not that Wilbur gives a flying fuck what Techno does with his time.

“Wilbur?” Tommy tries again.

His fist hurts from punching Dream. He wishes he could know if Dream’s head hurts, because now he’s here, dealing with this shit and it’s all Dream’s fault. He approaches Tommy, who look young and afraid, and yet wiser beyond his years. Wilbur kneels down carefully in front of him and explains quietly, “I think… that’s going to have to wait a while.”

“No, no, no,” Tommy mutters, his eyes going wide and he looks horrified as he begs. “Please, please, you have to let me… talk to someone else, just see someone, please -”

Wilbur swallows hard and his hands reach out to grab onto Tommy’s forearms as firm as possible without hurting him. Maybe to ground Tommy, but more likely to ground himself. His heart feels like it’s buried in the pit of his stomach and if he’s feeling like this he can’t imagine what Tommy is feeling.

“Listen to me,” Wilbur starts. “Dream is… the people who work for him are a bunch of assholes. But they’re powerful assholes. Who, if they are really, truly tired, could take you away. The amount of suffering that you would have to go through to hide from them would just add to the list of problems that you already have on your plate. This is for the best. You’ll get… you’ll get to see everyone eventually.”

Tommy argues, “But they aren’t gonna take me, they won’t. Not with you here.”

Blind faith like that had cost Tommy his life.

“Tommy, it’s just for now,” Wilbur says, trying desperately not to let his voice shake.

He can see the way Tommy’s eyes begin to water and he looks like he’s just been betrayed. The boy tugs at the hands on his arms but Wilbur keeps a firm grip. He looks like he’s at a loss for words but manages to find enough to start muttering, “I can’t do this - I can’t not see them… I wanna talk to someone, to see everyone, to tell them I’m sorry.”

Tommy’s chest is heaving and Wilbur’s had enough panic attacks to know when someone is having one. Wilbur shuts his eyes and hushes Tommy because he doesn’t know what else to do to convince Tommy that this is the best solution right now.

“I don’t understand,” Tommy’s trying to calm his breathing. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

Wilbur opens his eyes to look into Tommy’s. Tommy’s stopped tugging at his grip and it takes Wilbur a minute to remember that Tommy is still sixteen fucking years old. “You’re just going to go to bed, okay? And when you wake up, we’re going to go somewhere else and we’ll wait this one out. You’re going to be safe.”

“Wilby, please. ”

Wilbur breathes out, willing himself not to cry. It’s clear that this isn’t what Tommy wants. All he’s wanted since the moment he woke up was to see everyone again. But for now, he’s stuck with Wilbur and Will can’t think of what else to do. How he’s supposed to handle this. Until something can be discovered, this is the only option that they have. The easy route. 

Wilbur is still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that Tommy is even alive right now.

“It’s just going to be a little while longer.” Even though they’re his own words, Wilbur feels like he’s lying. He has no clue how long this is going to be. He stares at Tommy, takes in the fact that he’s blinking slowly, breathing in and out, and he’s not fucking dead.

And Wilbur wants to keep it that way.

He sits down next to Tommy on the couch and pulls the boy into his arms, squeezing him as comfortingly as he can. He’s afraid of breaking Tommy underneath his hand. He thinks of picking up the kid from jagged stones and hurrying him outside, only to watch him die on the soft grass. It feels like holding glass and he’s terrified that Tommy is about to shatter in his grasp.

Tommy’s there, and he’s alive, and his face is rushing with blood from how upset he is. It’s amazing, extraordinary, but also oh so backward. There’s something intrinsically wrong with the whole thing and Wilbur can sense the number of challenges that he’s going to have to face after this.

But for now, he runs a careful hand through Tommy’s damp hair and softly whispers, “Everything is going to be okay… I’ll make sure of it.”

Chapter Text

Tommy blinks slowly, stretching his arms above his head and sitting up, rubbing his eyes. Wilbur had shown him one of the rooms in the cottage last night, a small area with a twin bed and a dresser pushed up underneath a small window. He refused to talk to Wilbur after he stopped sobbing into his chest like a child, instead curling his arms around himself and staying quiet until he was able to shut the door of his new room on Will’s face.

As he opens his eyes, he turns to look at the window on the opposite side of the room from his bed and freezes. What would have been a wall with fading floral wallpaper is instead a marble counter in front of a row of drinks. Tommy looks around himself, hearing chatter in his ears but seeing no people. The glass clinking of drinks reverberates around him and conversations drift in one ear and out the other. As he turns back to look at the… apparently bar, he notices a shadowed figure walking around behind the counter, deep humming coming from under his breath. Tommy glances at himself and notices he’s wearing a black suit, a white button-up shirt underneath and a simple tie tied around his neck. The red booth seat underneath him creaks and groans as he looks back up at the figure behind the counter. Massive gray ram horns curl around dark brown hair, Tommy figuring out that the man is wearing a suit similar to his own.

He finally turns around, a drink mixer in his hand as he hums the tune to some song or another underneath his breath. Stubble lines the sides of his face and he makes eye contact with Tommy, a wide grin spreading across his face as his red eyes lock onto the blue of Tommy’s.

“Tommy! You’re back, man. Fuck, this is fantastic. Things got lonely up here.” There seems to be the permanent echo of a laugh in the man's voice, alcohol dripping down from his mouth. Tommy’s tense shoulders from when he first got here only get stiffer as the ram hybrid struts over towards Tommy, a bourbon in one hand and a cherry swinging from the other. He slides into the booth across from Tommy, swirling the metal straw in his glass, hitting blocks of ice against the side of it. “Shit, metal straws are great. They’re environmentally friendly, and you get a nice weapon! It’s great, don’t you think it’s great, Tommy?”

Tommy glares at the man, his arms crossed over his chest. His stomach churns and rolls and he’s starting to feel like the suit he’s wearing is choking him. “Fuck off, Schlatt. This isn’t real, I’m not dead anymore.”

Schlatt laughs, a full body movement that causes his drink to shake on the wooden table between them. “Oh, Tommy. You think you could escape? You think you could leave? This is my limbo now, Tommy. You’re back with me, kid.”

“Don’t call me a kid,” Tommy mutters.

“Sorry, senior citizen , where are my manners?” Schlatt holds out his empty hand and another glass appears, a red liquid with a lemon slice cut and placed on the edge of the cup. Sprigs of some vegetables are inside of it and a toothpick of olives has been balanced above the drink. Schlatt sets it down on the table and slides it towards Tommy, who glances down at it with disdain. “Oh come on, take the Bloody Mary,” Schlatt calls, leaning back in his seat.

“I don’t want whatever drink you just fucking conjured. It’s not like it'll taste like anything,” Tommy spits out, staring at the drink with mild disgust before sliding it back across the table. “The hell am I anyways? And the fuck’s with the lights in here, they’re all bright and purple and shit.”

“Fuck, we lived in such old times man. Seriously wishing that I lived during a time when electricity was invented,” Schlatt sighs.

Tommy glares and raises an eyebrow. “And I wish I hadn’t lived during the same time as you at all,” he counters.

Schlatt grins, teeth missing and yellowed, most likely from drinking. “Ah, so glad you’ve accepted it so quickly. I knew you’d come around. Come on, walk with me.”

Tommy hesitates, then stands beside Schlatt, tensing when Schlatt slaps his back and swings an arm over his shoulder. The pair walk out the door of whatever bar they are in, a long hallway appearing in front of them. Wallpaper is peeling off the walls and there are no windows, only small yellow lights hanging and swinging from the ceiling. “You’ve probably figured out where we are. You never really told me what you’re good old death hole looked like —,”

“Don’t call it that.”

“I’ll call it whatever the fuck I want.” Schlatt scoffs and continues, “You were always so whiny and lame about it. ‘Oh, I don’t wanna be here, it’s so dark down here, I don’t wanna do this.’ Well guess what buddy! This was mine!”

Schlatt pushes through a door and the pair appear in another bar. Purple lights are flashing along the edges of the walls and people are walking around and chatting to each other. Girls are draped across guys' laps, drinks being passed around from place to place without a care. Schlatt chuckles as Tommy shuts his eyes. “This is the dream, the life! A hotel composed of just nightclubs. Drinks are free at the bar, there are girls everywhere- you like girls don’t you?” Tommy wrinkles his nose. “Come on, man. You didn’t want me to call you a kid and now you’re disgusted by a sex club?”

Tommy bites his lip, flicking his eyes open and blowing out a frustrated breath through his nose. He turns around and walks out the door, his black shoes kicking up dust from the musty carpet beneath him. He can hear Schlatt stumbling out the hallway behind him and he’s suddenly right behind Tommy. His breath reeks of rotten alcohol and Tommy flinches away. “Aww, are you upset? You’ve dealt with me fine for over a hundred years man. You’re older than all those fuckin people out there and you’re acting like a child. Is that what you wanna be remembered as? ‘Look, it’s Tommy Innit’s grave.’ ‘Oh, he’s just a child. Don’t care.’ Is that what you want?”

Tommy glares at Schlatt, slapping away the beer bottle that’s somehow gotten into the other man’s hand. He points an accusing finger at Schlatt’s chest, pushing him back against the beige wall. “Shut the fuck up, man. You don’t know jack shit about me. You don’t… you don’t get to decide that, decide what I do. So what if I’m over a hundred years older than everyone else? It doesn’t matter, cause I’m just fucking stuck here again, and none of that was real and…”

Tommy’s finger falls limp, his hand pulling away from Schlatt’s chest. “It wasn’t real.” Schlatt’s face, previously annoyed, is regaining its gleeful expression. Tommy stumbles backwards, his back hitting the wall on the other end of the corridor and his suit bunching up against him when he slides down the wall. “None of it was real. I was… I was hallucinating… just like before — I thought they were stopping, I thought I was done…”

Schlatt kneels down in front of him, his face leering at him with a Cheshire grin. “You’re stuck with me, Tommy. What would you have had anyways? If that was real? Wilbur won’t let you see anyone. You’d be trapped. Alone. All of your friends are gone. I’m your only friend Tommy.”

“No…” Tommy mumbles, repeating the word until his words slur together. He shuts his eyes and places his hands over his ears as Schlatt continues to talk and talk, his voice droning on and on without stop. His breathing is becoming faster and heavier, his chest rising and falling faster and faster and faster and he’s dying, he’s dying again, he’s already dead and no one’s there for him anymore —

——————

Tommy sits up in bed with a gasp. His body is cooling with sweat and his arms feel like they’ve been liquified. His skin is covered in goosebumps and he shivers. Cautiously, he creeps out of bed, taking the comforter with him as he goes to stand and look out the window. He hesitates as he stares out at Wilbur’s horse, eating the grass and dandelions off the ground.

He hesitates. Really hesitates.

It’s still dark out, probably some time in the early morning since Wilbur sent him off to bed early around 22:00. Tommy’s wearing a sweater over a pair of slacks, the change of clothes that Will had left on top of the dresser for him. He reaches his hand behind him to feel the hair brushing the base of his neck. He hasn’t really had time to cut it while he’s been stuck inside of a facility. The room has a faint smell of lavender that vaguely comforts him, but the very strong temptation to jump out the window and go find Tubbo or Father is still lingering.

Wilbur isn’t gonna let him contact anyone.

Even though Will kept saying earlier that it’s not gonna be for long, it doesn’t feel very true. Because when Tommy looked into his eyes yesterday, he’d seen uncertainty. He’d seen a sense of pity and a slight sense of mistrust. Tommy knows deep down that it’s been five years, that Wilbur has changed, but he doesn’t want to accept it. This Wilbur is different from the one Tommy knew. No longer cool and loving, with sarcastic humor. Now he’s just angry… and sad.

Tommy glances at the window latch and slowly reaches out towards it, the blanket slipping off of his arm. He grabs the lock, and quietly flicks it upwards. The windows are tall and large, like floral versions of the windows in the castle. Tommy takes a deep breath and begins to push outwards. However, the moment that he feels the breeze from outside, a voice startles him, causing him to flinch and pull his hand away from the window.

“You heading somewhere?”

He whirls around to see that his door is now open and the light of a lantern from the hallway is illuminating his room. Tommy quickly scrambles to causally lean against the wall of his room, the comforter pooling at his feet. Wilbur appears from the hallway, his face tired and yellow due to the lantern. His hair is messy and curled around his head, but he doesn’t look like he’s been asleep.

There’s a moment that the two of them simply stare at each other from across the room. Wilbur’s face is tight, his mouth is set in a line, and Tommy shrinks in on himself. There’s movement as he enters further into the room, approaching Tommy. Tommy cringes as Wilbur silently reaches over and shuts the window closed. The breeze is immediately cut off and Wilbur locks the window. Tommy doesn’t look over at him, instead continuing to stare intently at his door.

“I wasn’t leaving,” Tommy finally speaks up.

“It’s a bit cold in here, not too sure why you’d want to crack open a window.”

Tommy doesn’t reply, instead shrinking further into himself. Everything is already so different. Wilbur is acting like he needs to walk on eggshells around him, like he needs to be cautious at every turn. They were so close before this, they were always so relaxed and happy around each other. Then Exile happened… then Manberg… then his… death. Tommy tries not to be frustrated because he knows that this whole thing has to be scary for Wilbur. Tommy’s a dead man walking for fucks sake.

Wilbur gives him a light nudge on the shoulder and Tommy stops leaning against the wall, instead awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. Wilbur makes a vague gesture with his head towards the bed. Tommy takes the hint and heads over towards it, taking the comforter from the floor along with him. The blanket is pulled over him as he sinks down into his new mattress. Wilbur glances out the window, his jaw tight.

“I want to remind you how just, completely unfair this is,” Tommy calls.

Wilbur’s head turns to glance in his direction. “Not fair?”

“Yeah, not fair,” Tommy scoffs. “You’re just… you’re completely letting Dream tell you what you have to do. You’re not telling anyone else that I’m alive and it’s… it’s not right! You would never do that, Will. It’s not like you. You’d… you’d find a way to let them know.”

Wilbur bites his lip and glares at the ground, as if he can burn a hole through the carpet. He’s making weird faces and keeps sighing, rubbing his arms. “There’s…about that. I kinda brushed over this with Dream but… not everyone… still thinks that you’re dead.”

Tommy stares at him with wide eyes as Wilbur turns his head to make eye contact with him, wincing. “Who? Who doesn’t know that I’m dead, Wilbur?”

Wilbur hesitates, glancing away quickly before glancing back over and taking a deep breath. “Niki…,” he hesitates again and then mutters, “Tubbo as well.”

“Tubbo knows?” Tommy’s voice is quiet and it cracks on the name. Wilbur winces again and nods. “Then why can’t Father know?”

“Tommy I don’t think you fully understand yet. You’ve been gone. Gone. Phil stabbed you through the heart and you were dead. It’s not your fault and I’m sure as hell not blaming you for it, but… you didn’t see what your death did to everyone. It made all of our lives a living hell. So if we bring you to anyone, and Dream suddenly decides that he just wants to take you away again? Yeah… fuck no. I’m not making Phil or… or Techno or anyone else go through that again. If waiting a couple weeks until Dream gives us a ‘Good to go’ saves them all a bit of suffering, then I’m going to do it.”

Tommy’s hand subconsciously moves to hover over his chest, right where his heart is. He knows from examinations that he has a pale, raised scar right over top of it. He wonders if the wound was still bleeding profusely when he’d been buried. How red had his skin been stained?

“He really… he really did that?”

Tommy knew deeply in some part of his mind that Father had been the one to kill him. But there’s something really disturbing about hearing that come out of Wilbur’s mouth. His brother approaches him quietly as Tommy presses his hand onto his sweater. Wilbur pauses in front of him, running a hand through his hair and avoiding Tommy’s eyes like it's his only mission in life.

When Wilbur nods his head slowly, Tommy begins to feel a slight sense of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Will. I was… I was just trying to protect you but I only made things worse.”

There’s been one moment that Tommy’s remembered since he woke up. A moment when the pain had disappeared. He felt himself becoming sleepy as he stared straight up. He remembers warm arms picking up and laying him down on rubble and dust. He stared up at the night sky, at the shimmering stars, and wondered when they began to seem so dull to him. He used to smile at the stars and they would smile back, but instead they looked like they were crying for him. He wanted to stretch his arms upwards, just to have a small touch of their shimmer upon his skin. He wanted to shine as he died… just like the stars.

Wilbur vigorously shakes his head, kneeling down to be at eye level with Tommy. “No, no hey. You couldn’t have…”

Tommy’s eyes are soft as the two finally make eye contact. Wilbur gently grabs onto his wrist, softly rubbing his thumb against his pulse point. He reaches his other hand up to gently lay it over Tommy’s, straight above his heart. “After he… after he stabbed you, there was nothing you could do. You couldn’t stay awake, Toms.”

Wilbur’s hand lingers over his for a few more moments. Tommy imagines what the wound must have looked like, how much the blood leaked through his shirt. “It didn’t hurt,” Tommy murmurs.

It’s only partially a lie. He mostly said it because Wilbur’s eyes are becoming glossy and he really doesn’t want to see Wilbur cry right now. He knows that he’s remembering all of these things that Tommy will never understand… because he’d been dead. According to Wilbur, he’d barely made it out of the cave before he died in Wilbur’s arms.

Wilbur’s small smile tells Tommy that he knows he’s lying. Tommy glances down at his lap as one of Wilbur’s hands reaches up to run a careful hand through Tommy’s long hair. “It’s gone white,” he whispers, picking up a small lock of it.

Tommy doesn’t respond. There’s a bit of silence and Wilbur pulls away. “Go back to sleep. We’re gonna get up early tomorrow.”

He doesn’t tell Tommy why. He simply ruffles his hair briefly and smiles. “Promise you’ll let me speak to Father when I’m allowed?” Tommy asks.

Wilbur nods. “Of course.”

——————

Wilbur comes in to check on Tommy multiple more times throughout that night.

He doesn’t sleep a wink.

It’s not that he expected to sleep. The days have been long and he’s known that it’ll just drag on through the night. He knows he’s gonna be exhausted by morning when he has to wake the kid up and take him all the way to the castle without informing every guard in the kingdom, all of the workers, Techno, or Phil. He knows that Niki, Ranboo, and Tubbo all know that Tommy’s alive… they’d all been there when they dug up his grave. But until then, none of them had realized the full extent of it. Except maybe Tubbo. He found the file, he has talks with Sam every month. Tubbo has matured far too much for his own good.

Every time that Wilbur heads towards Tommy’s room after their conversation, he sees Tommy curled in on himself atop the bed. He makes different faces throughout the night but he mainly sleeps peacefully. Looking at his little brother, Wilbur desperately wishes he could do the same. Tommy is curled underneath the massive fluffy comforter Wilbur had set out, his mouth open with a bit of drool dripping onto the pillow. Wilbur snorts quietly when Tommy mumbles, snoring peacefully. Wilbur misses when he could sleep like that. Maybe being dead for five years does have its perk… very little, but still a couple.

He leans against the doorway of the room, as if waiting for Tommy to just vanish before his eyes. He knows logically that he won’t, that Tommy is real and solid and can’t just disappear in front of him. He keeps thinking that this is some weird, bizarre fever dream, and that he’s gonna wake up suddenly and be in his massive bed in the castle. He’s never even thought of the possibility of death being reversible. Death has always been one of the only constants in his life, and if that doesn’t show how fucking sad Wilbur’s life is, then he doesn’t know what will.

Wilbur thinks back on one of the last peaceful nights between them. Before everything went to shit, before Wilbur blew it all to hell, before Techno set off the Withers to kill everyone, before the voices got too loud and Tommy sacrificed himself to save Wilbur’s pathetic existence.

Wilbur walked along the stone pathways of Pogtopia, the lanterns swinging back and forth slowly on their metal chains. He planned to head to bed when he began to hear soft music coming from above him. He paused in his step and looked upwards towards the exit of the ravine. His hand dragged across the sharp stone wall as he walked towards the opening in the mountain.

Stepping out into the moonlight, Wilbur’s eyes adjusted to the night and looked out towards the lake. Two figures were seen on the bank of the lake. One held a violin up to his neck, his fingers poised to form the cords as he gently drew the bow across the strings. The other is a smaller boy, sat down on the wet grass and a guitar placed in his lap. His small fingers fell across the strings, slowly picking a harmony to accompany the melody of the violin.

The pair didn't pause as Wilbur walked closer, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. Tommy glanced at him briefly out of the corner of his eye before his attention returned to the instrument that he played.  Techno didn’t turn at all, his eyes closed. Wilbur sat down next to his younger brother, reaching his hand out towards the shimmering lake. He knew that Tommy always used to play the piano back at home, but he remembered briefly hearing from Techno that their brother was also learning guitar. Guitar was always Wilbur’s instrument of choice, the strings a comforting escape from reality. When he heard Tommy play it then, he let his eyes close as he drifted away into the music, humming along to the song that they played.

His humming grew in noise as the music grew louder, the tempo increasing. Wilbur glanced behind him when he heard rustling. Niki and Tubbo danced along the grass, Niki’s hair flowing behind her as Tubbo twirled her across the ground. The pair smiled together and Wilbur grinned with them, their happiness infectious. He continued to hum, Tommy’s higher voice joining along with him. Niki laughed as Tubbo spun her too far and Wilbur snorted when Tommy accidentally missed a note. Techno purposely missed a note a second later and Tommy burst into loud laughter. The group played together, drifting away and forgetting for a moment about everything that would happen afterwards.

Right then, Tommy was just a boy who always wanted nights like this, of peacefulness and music and dancing. Techno was a mentor and a brother figure, someone that people looked up to. Niki was a beacon of hope, the sign that they all can still have a sense of humanity. Tubbo was a young boy who just wanted everyone to be happy.

And Wilbur was at peace. 

Wilbur blinks when Tommy rolls over in his sleep. He doesn’t wake up, just sprawls out across his bed like a starfish. Wilbur turns away slowly, shutting the door behind him as he leaves. He hasn’t heard Techno play in years. He doesn’t know if it’s out of grief or if he still does and Wilbur is just never there to hear it. Probably the latter.

Wilbur spends the rest of the night wandering throughout the cottage or sitting on the soft grass outside with his horse. He continues to occasionally head over and check on Tommy. By the time the sun comes up, Wilbur has drunk almost the whole supply of tea in the cupboard. He sits on the kitchen counter when his communicator finally receives a response from Niki, who has most likely just woken up. Wilbur didn’t tell her everything, just said that she needed to get to the stay away cottage as soon as possible. And by as soon as possible, he most definitely demanded that she head his way the moment that she wakes up. 

When Niki walks through the cottage door with her pink hair tied up loosely atop her head and dark circles underneath her eyes, Wilbur braces himself for impact. “You know that I hate being woken up early in the morning, Will,” she says, her palms rubbing furiously at her slightly red eyes.

“You act like I woke you up at 3 am,” Wilbur mutters.

Niki sighs, crossing her arms over his chest. “Well… you didn’t, but still. I have a life outside of you. Anyways, why the heck did you need me here so early anyways, we haven’t visited this cottage in almost a decade.”

Wilbur hesitates, his finger tapping anxiously against the teacup he holds as he anxiously glances down the hallway towards Tommy’s room. He can see understanding start to come to Niki but she stays silent, waiting for Wilbur to confirm or deny her silent suspicion. He continues to debate internally with himself, his heel hitting against the marble counter as his legs swing back and forth.

“Will?” Niki finally pipes up.

“I… um…” Wilbur takes a deep breath, his eyes widening. “He… I…”

“Wilbur?” Their heads both snap towards the hallway in sync, Wilbur quickly sliding off the counter to stand on his feet, his teacup left abandoned on the table. Tommy emerges from down the hall. His fluffy hair is a mess on his head and his sweater is crumpled.

Silence.

Upon seeing each other, Niki and Tommy’s eyes both widen. Niki looks like she’s seen a ghost and Tommy looks like he thinks he’s about to be reprimanded, as if he’s done something wrong. Wilbur cautiously steps toward Tommy, gently taking his hand as Niki continues to stare in shock.

“Okay… okay,” Wilbur begins but Niki quickly cuts him off.

“Holy… holy shit. ”

“Okay!” Wilbur says, a little louder this time, glancing back to look at Tommy behind him. His shoulders are slouched and he’s curled back in one himself. Niki’s hand is over her mouth as she stumbles back towards the door.

“When we… when we found the empty grave and… and Tubbo had that file… I mean like I thought, it was likely but he’s… oh my god.” Niki’s hair has fallen down around her shoulders, stray strands floating around her face. “I think I’m about to have a heart attack.”

“Let’s not do that,” Wilbur says. “Listen to me, Niki. This is the reason why I needed you to come here so early. You need to help me sneak him back inside the castle. We just have a… a little bit of a situation.”

“You’re calling this little?” Niki’s eyes are wide and Wilbur is starting to worry that she actually is going to have a panic attack. He knows that she was there, but it doesn’t look like any of the information actually registered in her head. Her eyes are beginning to water and she turns away towards the wall for a moment. Her breathing is the only noise in the quiet room as she attempts to compose herself.

As she turns back around, Tommy silently pipes up, “I’m really sorry, Niki.”

“Oh, Tommy no,” Niki immediately responds, shaking her head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Wilbur turns to look at Tommy, whose eyes are down towards the floor. “Hey Toms? Can you head to your room for just a minute? I need to speak to Niki briefly.”

Tommy nods, turning and moving back towards the hallway. Once Wilbur is sure that he’s far enough away and hears the door shut, he focuses back on Niki. He gestures towards the stool beneath the counter and asks, “You want a seat?”

Niki nods, her hand over her most likely racing heart as she stumbles into the wooden chair. “Oh my god… Will —,”

“I know,” Wilbur says. “Trust me, Niki. This isn’t… this is not what I would have wanted. Like, holy shit, it’s amazing to see him again, to see him breathing and to hear him talk, but fuck, this entire thing is just agony.”

“I don’t understand, why would Dream do that?”

“He was planning on using Tommy as leverage… for the war.” Wilbur laughs bitterly. “And also against me. I don’t know if it was their plan from the beginning but part of my agreement with Dream in order to stay with Tommy is that I have to participate in the war. As a royal monarch it has always been my duty to do that but Phil has let me by… but Dream is forcing me to. I don’t fully understand why he so badly wants me to be a part of it.”

“Did you at least kick Dream’s ass?” Niki asks.

Wilbur snorts. “I punched him a couple times, just to make myself feel better. But unfortunately, that’s not entirely in the cards for me. Dream has far too much leverage and I feel like Tommy’s been through enough shit since he was… revived … to have to worry about being on the run.”

“He looks almost the same. His… his hair’s gone all white though,” Niki comments.

Wilbur nods. “He’s still sixteen. Not to be too morbid with you but… you don’t really age when you’re dead.”

Niki simply blinks.

Apparently putting a morbid disclaimer in front of a sentence does not make it any less morbid.

——————

Tommy thought the ride to the cottage was bad. This one is even worse.

He knows that part of the awkwardness of this ride is that Tommy doesn’t particularly want to go to the castle. He would much rather either stay in the cottage or just run away and find someway to contact Tubbo so that he can just see his best friend again. The one bright side that Tommy thought of when Wilbur mentioned that they were going back home ( Their first home ) was that he could see Father again ( He doesn’t think about Techno… he hasn’t really thought about Techno at all since he woke up. Apparently someone you were close to telling you to go die kind of turns you off from them for a while. ) but then Wilbur had to repeat that Tommy isn’t allowed to talk to anyone who wasn’t there when they originally found out he's alive. 

No one speaks. Everytime that Tommy even tries to speak up, he gets no response. It’s like constant pins and needles with them. A part of him feels a little guilty for being frustrated with them since he’s just shown up in their lives after they’ve spent five years with the knowledge that he was dead. But then they continue to stay quiet and ignore him and his frustrations feels a little validated.

He picks at his fingers for a minute, quiet. Finally, he looks over from where he’s sitting behind Wilbur on his horse and says, “Niki?”

Niki’s head turns towards him from where she’s riding side-saddle on her Appaloosa. “You… you were there.. right?”

It’s the only explanation that Tommy can find for why Niki is so tense. He knows that he and Niki were never really too close but they had their moments. He looks forward to see Wilbur grip tighter onto the reins. “Tommy,” he mutters, slightly warningly.

“Yeah… yeah, Tommy. I was there,” Niki responds, looking forward again.

“What happened?” Tommy asks.

“Nope, we’re not doing this right now,” Wilbur interrupts.

“Will, you can’t stop me from asking. And I’m not… I’m not asking about how I died… I think I’ve got that part down. What… what happened afterwards? After I died?”

Wilbur stays silent. Niki’s hand reaches down to rub against her horse’s shoulder, almost like a nervous tic. “Well. L’Manberg was gone. There was nothing really we could do about it and since… since you were gone, there was nothing anyone truly wanted to do with it in general. Dream and the rest of his crew vanished. Philza, Will, and Techno all took you back to the castle for a funeral, since you were still considered an official member of the royal empire. Tubbo and I attended the funeral, and then Philza offered the castle to us as well.”

“What was my funeral like?” Tommy asks.

Niki winces at the morbid question but still answers. “It happened at night. The kingdom held a lantern walk, and everyone came together to do a parade of sorts. We buried you in the back garden. Right underneath the stars.”

Tommy smiles and turns back around, his head leaning against Wilbur’s back as they walk across the path.

They continue to ride silently towards the castle. Wilbur had told Tommy to wear this massive black cloak that’s currently draped over him, since they’re gonna have to sneak him into the castle without alerting someone. They pass through the town, Tommy glancing around at the familiar buildings and town houses with nostalgia.

 As they approach the gates of the castle, Wilbur and Niki dismount off of their horses, Tommy sliding off the saddle after Wilbur. Niki and Wilbur make eye contact and a sort of understanding passes between them. Niki takes the reins of Wilbur’s horse along with her own ( Tommy really should figure out the horses names ) and walks off towards the castle stables.

Wilbur glances down at Tommy and takes a deep breath, walking towards the castle's gates. They stop in front of the guards, who glance at Tommy briefly before turning their attention to Wilbur.

“Please state your name and title.”

“Wilbur Soot Craft, Prince of the Antarctic Empire. I wish to enter my home without question,” Wilbur responds. The guards take one look at Tommy, who’s staring intently at the ground, and then nod at Wilbur, moving aside their spears and creaking open the metal gates. Wilbur nods back in response and walks inside, Tommy quickly hurrying along right behind him. They pass through the gardens towards the back. Cherry Blossom trees line the edges of the area, flower petals falling slowly to the ground. 

Wilbur takes one look around them and then walks quickly up to a door in the side of castle, pushing it open. The wood groans as Wilbur pushes the door open, gesturing for Tommy to enter in front of him. The door shuts quickly behind them. Tommy instinctively grabs Wilbur’s wrist as they hurry down the long corridor. Wilbur twists and turns through different pathways, up and down stairs. Tommy has vague memories of these tunnels, of long games of hide and seek when Father was locked away in his study.

Eventually, they reach another wooden door built into the stone brick wall. Wilbur takes one quick glance behind him at Tommy and carefully opens the door towards them. A tapestry has been placed in front of the door and Tommy strains his ears along with Wilbur to hear if anyone is coming along. After a few seconds of silence, the pair step into the hall behind the tapestry, shutting the door and walking out from behind it.

Tommy recognizes the hallway, smiling at the familiar paintings and shrubbery around him. Wilbur takes Tommy’s hand as they quickly walk across the hallway to a familiar room. Wilbur slowly opens the door, Tommy letting go of his hand to walk inside of his room.

A bed is in the center of the room, a familiar red comforter atop white sheets. Drawings and paintings line the walls and the closet of his room is cracked open slightly. A small layer of dust lines every surface, fingerprints visible on the smudged surface of his mirror.

“I um… no one’s really come in here since… you know. The maids come in here sometimes but really it’s just… kind of been left alone.” Wilbur’s foot taps anxiously against the ground as Tommy walks over to sit down on his bed. “Look I… I really hate to just leave you here and run, but I have to go let everyone else who knew at first… I have to make them aware of the situation.”

Tommy’s stomach drops. He hates being referred to as a situation, as a problem. Tommy had been resurrected, it’s fucked up, and he knows that. But being referred to as an issue that has only made everyone’s life worse? Yeah no… that’s not really making him feel so good. Tommy nods silently, happy at least a little bit that this means Wilbur will let Tubbo know, that he might be able to see Tubbo soon. 

“Good… and lock the door behind you please.” Wilbur takes one last look at him from across the room before turning away and shutting the door shut behind him.

Tommy grabs the key from his dresser drawer ( Thank fuck it’s still there ) and locks his room door, heading back over to his bed and curling into a ball. He shuts his eyes closed.

——————

Wilbur finds Niki near the entrance to the library.

Niki was heading back from the stables when Wilbur runs into her. He places a comforting hand on her shoulder and she smiles softly at him. They walk in together, seeing Tubbo and Ranboo sitting across form each other. Their noses are both buried in books but they look up when Wilbur and Niki walk in. The husbands stand and they stare at each from across the room. Wilbur’s expecting one of them to break the silence and finally ask. Tubbo looks like he’s about to burst. But he doesn’t. The pair stay silent as Wilbur and Niki fully enter into the almost empty library, shutting the door behind them.

Probably tired of the awkwardness, Ranboo finally questions, “... So?”

“So what?” Wilbur counters.

“Did you kill Dream?” Tubbo asks, avoiding the actual question he wants to ask. “I tried very hard to find a place where you most likely wouldn’t fight.”

“I got one good hit in but no, he’s still alive. Too many people around and too many of his ‘friends’ working to take him away from me, so I was on my best behavior.”

“Tommy,” Ranboo whispers. “So, he’s…?”

For someone who has never met Tommy before, Ranboo’s entire body is an anxious mess. His hair is messy and his tail won’t stop flickering back and forth behind him like a cobra caught in a musician's trap. His empathy is almost sickening and Wilbur attempts to relax his shoulders. The less emotion the better, he doesn’t want to burst into tears. “He’s alive. I brought him back to his room and told him to lock the door so that no one would find him.”

“What did Dream make you do?” Tubbo asks. Even they had no faith in the fact that Dream would just give up Tommy without a fight ( If he did have him ). They were the ones that revived him in the first place. He was more to them than just some toy they could give away. The thought just makes Wilbur angry again but he pushes it down.

“No one else can know about this. That’s part of the deal that I made, of why he’s hiding up in a locked room and not being shown to anyone. Also, I have to help… my father in the war. Forced participation and all that, I don't fully understand.”

“They won’t let you tell Philza?” Ranboo asks.

“Nope,” Wilbur shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Tommy’s a gift you know. He’s not a kid to Dream, just leverage.”

Tubbo argues, “Then why are we letting Dream control us? We fought Dream once, we can fucking do it again.”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to do,” Niki counters. “Tubbo, the entire basis of the Winter War is us against Dream and his path for eternal domination or something. We can’t just go up to him and tell him to stop. I’m not defending Dream, I would never. What they did to Tommy is awful, and awful. But it could be worse. And going against Dream over something that could so easily be taken away from us is not in our best interest.”

Tubbo breathes out slowly, looking over at Wilbur. “How long did he say Tommy was to be out of contact with everyone?”

“He didn’t,” Wilbur replies. “We’re just kind of… trapped.”

They all fall into silence. Dream has always been the bad guy to them, opposing them, but it’s at least been a bit of a morally grey situation. But that grey has turned to pure black, because bringing a child back to life, knowing the kind of problems that Tommy is going to face and the pain and confusion that it’s going to bring to everyone involved? It’s something Dream doesn’t want to think about.

“So, Tommy’s gonna stay in his room?” Tubbo asks. “Does that… can I see him?”

Wilbur stays silent, glancing up towards where he knows Tommy’s room is. He knows that Tommy has to be kept alive and he knows he took a  risk bringing Tommy into the castle but he couldn't just keep him alone inside of that cottage. “Not right now, but eventually,” Wilbur finally says, frowning when Tubbo’s ears droop. “We have to keep him safe.”

Wilbur thinks about all the things that he’ll have to do later. How he’ll have to explain to Phil why he wants to participate, to become a general. The looks that he’ll receive, especially from Techno. But for now, he sinks down into the couch against the wall and lets Tubbo lean against him, the pair wallowing in a kind of sadness that they can’t explain. And the room is quiet.

Chapter Text

Tommy winces as the glass he threw against the ground shatters loudly on the hardwood floor. He didn’t mean to throw it that hard but he’s gotten really frustrated with all that’s happened in the past 34 hours or however the fuck long he’s been locked up in the castle. It feels like it’s just the same as the cottage. But instead of floral bedsheets and green tea, it's a massive king bed and a bookshelf full of texts and journals. 

Tommy groans and whines as the back of his head bangs against his wardrobe, immediately cursing himself and rubbing the bruise. He’s sure making a lot of noise for a kid who was told to be quiet. He’s had a lot of time to think while he’s been trapped in his old home. Tommy thinks, maybe years down the line after things are hopefully back to normal and he no longer feels like he’s constantly suffering from a manic episode, he can think of better ways to cope with his rebirth. And he’s calling it a rebirth now. Because right now he feels like a newborn, floundering around in the world, unsure of what to do and where to go. Not even wanting to try and unlock the room and run around because he’s terrified of Dream and what he’ll do to his friends… his family.

His hand idly brushes against the soft rug on his floor, humming underneath his breath. He goes to stand up and find something to do when his door knob rattles. Tommy tenses and his eyes go wide as he looks at the wiggling doorknob like a deer in headlights. There’s a pause as the door knob goes still and Tommy releases a deep breath. He immediately sucks it back in when a click and another rattles sounds, as if someone is trying to… break in.

Reflex kicks in and Tommy opens the door of his wardrobe, scurrying inside and jamming the door shut behind him. His breathing is heavy in the quiet space and he wipes a small bead of sweat off of his forehead. The door outside of his closet makes one final snap and Tommy shoves a hand in his mouth when he hears it slowly creak open. 

Someone steps into the room and quickly closes the door behind them, their footsteps quiet on the fluffy carpet of Tommy’s room as they pad over towards the window. The window creaks open, the chill of the outside air sweeping underneath the closed closet door and reaching the tips of Tommy’s toes, causing him to shiver. They must sit down on the bed because Tommy can no longer see the shadow of their feet on the floor. A clasp is flipped open and a wooden trunk or something creaks open. The room is silent for a moment and Tommy revels in it, sucking in a quiet breath and untensing his shoulders.

Then the violin begins to play.

The hum of the strings begin at a C, slowly transitioning into the light of an Emin. The melody of a song begins to play and Tommy has to hold himself back from banging the closet doors and running out. He doesn’t even know what he would do when he sees him. Would he hug him? Punch him? Tears well up in the corner of Tommy’s eyes as the song continues to play. There are lyrics to the song, lyrics that Tommy hums inside of his head and has to stop himself from singing out loud. But the violinist was never much of a singer. He preferred to play in the background, stirring a tune that played at festivals for miles.

Tommy sniffles silently as the violinist stands, continuing to play his melody. Tommy remembers writing the song with him, three boys sat together in a ballroom, papers spread out before them and musical instruments laid beside them. Cords and lyrics scribbled in red ink that he joked was blood.

In the quietest voice possible, Tommy can’t help himself from whisper-singing, “I’ve never had a home… always been on my own… cause home is someone that you… can come back to…” His breath hitches as he sings to himself, covering his mouth with one hand in a desperate attempt to remain hidden. He worries that the violinist heard him, but the violin continues telling its story through music, a sad tune that’s trailed by an essence of hope. “I’m always on the run… without a destination… but someday I hope I’ll find my home.”

The violin plays a final verse, dragging out a final G cord before the room descends into quiet. Tommy can hear a sniffle from outside the door and he shuts his eyes, as if he could block out the memory of him crying by blocking out his sight. There’s a beat where Tommy sits silently in the closet as the wooden trunk is closed and the clasp is shut, the violinist closing the window and locking the latch. Tommy could sense him trying to make it seem like no one was ever in the room. Tommy wonders if this is a regular occurrence for the man as the door is opened and locked from the inside before its shut.

Tommy stays inside of the wardrobe for another five minutes in perfect stillness before he finally deems it safe to come outside of the wardrobe he’s been curled up inside of. His legs crack as he leans against one of his bed posts and stretches. The room looks the same, and Tommy has to stare for an abnormal amount of time to find the indentation on his bed from where the wooden trunk lay. His feet tap on the floor for a moment as he comes to terms with who was just inside of his room and what the fuck he may have been doing inside of Tommy’s room.

Tommy glances at one of the bookshelves against his wall and randomly grabs out one of the worn and bound journals out of the second shelf. He needs to take his mind off of the violinist, off of what that might mean, off of the confrontation he’s sure they’ll have later on. The cover of the book appears to have a red stain ( probably from strawberry jam, Tommy was always a food hoarder as a kid ) and the spine is fraying. Tommy sits down on his bed and opens up the journal to a random page, engrossing himself in his childhood memories.

‘Father finally let Will and Techno take me out to the marketplace today! I know Father means well, but I’ve always wanted to see the festivals that I’ve viewed through the open window and now I finally could! Will promised to always keep me in sight and Techno brought his really cool shiny dagger to keep me safe. I tried to steal that dagger once and failed, but Techno actually let me hold it at one point. It’s a gift from Father, with the engraving “Golden Days” on it. I don’t really know what it means, but it’s really important to Techno, and it always looks cool whenever he holds it. He’s awesome!

‘But speaking of gifts, at one point, Will started talking to this pretty baker lady named Sally and I showed Techno this really cool red beanie at a market we passed by earlier. Techno bought it for me so that I can give it to Will as a gift for his birthday in a couple weeks. It’s super soft and Techno had to stop me from stealing it and wearing it myself. Techno let me hide it inside of his cape until we reached the castle, where we asked one of the maids to help wrap it for us and keep it hidden until Will’s birthday. I think he’s gonna love it!

‘Father’s been getting quieter these past couple days. He always seems tired and he barely comes out anymore. Normally I’m able to convince him to come to the mini concerts that Will and Techno and I always hold for the staff, but he didn’t come to the most recent one. I cried afterwards when I realized I didn’t show up and Techno let me cry into his shoulder, even though he always told me that “Big men don’t cry.” I think Techno was upset too.

‘This concert was really important too! We’d finally finished writing the song that we’ve been working on together forever. It’s the first song me or Techno had ever written and Will was so cool as well, especially since he’s written songs before. We wrote the song about our own experiences with finding home in each other, since the castle never truly felt like home to us. It’s really good and we were all super proud of it and the villagers all loved it but… I wish Father was there…’

Tommy shut the book shut and blinked away the tear that threatened to fall down his cheek. The journal is tossed against his pillow as he curls his knees up to his chest. He takes a deep breath in, shakily letting it out and falling back onto his bed.

“This fuckings sucks.”

——————

“Father, Father! Look at the flower that I found!” Phil startled and set his book down as a six-year old Tommy climbed awkwardly into his lap. He had brought Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno out to the willow tree by the hill for a nice picnic, since Tommy always loved finding different flowers and bringing them to Phil. A ball of small blue flowers are pushed into Phil’s open hands. “What are they, what are they?”

Phil laughed quietly and smiled down at his son. “These are hydrangeas. They mean love and devotion to your family.”

Tommy gasped with childish excitement. “They’re really pretty. They reminded me of mom. Was she your hydrangea?”

Phil smiled sadly, running a hand through the small curls of blond hair on Tommy’s head. “Your mother was many things to me. She was my hydrangea, my red rose, my camellia, my freesia—”

“Yeah, but what do all of those mean?”

“It means that Father loved her very much, Toms,” Wilbur piped up, sneaking up from behind the pair. Tommy glanced at the clump of flowers in Phil’s hand. His gaze was focused and he glanced back up towards Phil with an innocent expression, briefly glancing over at Wilbur.

“Do you still love her?” Tommy asked.

“Of course I do. And I love you.” Phil turned to Wilbur and tapped him on the nose, causing the older boy to laugh. “And I love you.” Phil glanced down the hill where he can see Techno sitting at the bank of the river. “And I love Tech.”

Tommy grinned and giggled. “How long will you love us for?”

“I will love you guys forever.”

Tommy blinked and a look of confusion came over his face. “But forever is such a long way away. Why can’t you love us now?”

Phil laughed. He picked one of the hydrangeas and placed it behind Tommy’s ear with a smile, his hand soft as it lay on the brown-haired head resting on his shoulder. “Forever isn’t a long way away, Toms. Forever means always. And always means today, means tomorrow. And the next day, and the next day, I will never stop loving you.”

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek and giggled again. He picked at one of the blue flowers and placed it loosely in Phil’s blond hair, free from it’s usual hat or crown. “I love you too, Father. Forever, and ever!”

“Phil? Phil? You old man, get the fuck up, Phil.” Phil startles into a sitting position, glaring at the person who was shaking his shoulder.

“Wilbur, what the hell are you doing in here, mate? Thought you disappeared on one of those week long adventures you do all the time,” Phil mutters, his voice quiet. He raises a hand to pull down one end of his hat, blocking out the bright sunlight streaming in through the open windows of the throne room.

“I um… I came to talk to you about something, actually.” Phil frowns at his middle son. Wilbur’s cheeks have gone red and he scratches the back of his neck, a tic Phil can sense after years.

“Alright then,” Phil mutters, straightening in his seat. “What is it?”

Wilbur steps out from where he was beside the throne, maneuvering to stand before the throne, in front of the spot many villagers often come to pay their respects or ask for advice. Wilbur hesitates for a moment, as if he can’t bring himself to do it, before bending down and kneeling on one leg at Phil’s feet. 

“I, Wilbur Soot Craft, Son of Philza Craft and Prince of the Antarctic Empire, do humbly offer my undying fidelity to the crown, and humbly request that I may be trained as a soldier and loyal member of the royal guard.” 

Wilbur stays bowed at Phil’s feet after he finishes, his gaze intent upon the ground. Phil stares at his son with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He’s sure if Tommy were here, he would tell Phil off for having his mouth open, that he would be able to catch flies if he didn’t close it. “What… What changed your mind?” Phil is able to get out, Wilbur taking this as his cue to glance up. ( He stays kneeled however. )

“I’ve been doing some thinking in recent days and I’ve decided to stop being a fucking dick and get my head out of my arse,” Wilbur says with a laugh. “No, not really. If I’m honest, I think Techno finally knocked some sense into me the other day during a chat that the two of us had. I just… I’m tired of running away. I’m tired of wallowing in my own self-pity and sitting around, waiting for someone to tell me off so that I can scratch at them like some old cat.” Phil snorts and the corners of Wilbur’s lips raise into a half-smile. “So? Do you accept my gracious offer?”

Phil looks down at Wilbur and rests his head on his hands. The two stare at each other for a moment, contemplating and thinking. Phil knows his own thoughts, but sometimes he desperately wishes he could view Will’s. His son always did have a good poker face.

The king stands from his throne, walking around to stand behind Wilbur. He glances back at the brown-haired boy, who’s turned his head to follow Phil’s path.

“Come with me,” Phil says, quickly walking off down the halls. The echo of footsteps behind him is the only thing informing Phil that Wilbur is still behind him. The pair walk through a small door and enter a dimly lit passageway with a tall ceiling. Their boots echo on the cobblestone floor that switches to wooden stairs that creak and groan as they descend. The only thing lighting their path downwards are torches against the wall and a single lantern that dangles above the center of the stairs. Stone brick walls are misshapen below the ground and the hallway Phil leads Wilbur down has stains and grass growing in between its cracks.

Phil stops when the corridor ends, their walk blocked by another stone wall. Bricks have been knocked loose and bits of rubble and a few pebbles line the floor immediately below it. Wilbur coughs awkwardly as Phil behind to tap the loose stones back into place, beginning to ask the question of if Phil took a wrong turn and they need to head back, as a final brick is pushed into place against the wall.

The wall seems to collapse and fold in on itself, bricks sliding and screeching against one another as a doorway is revealed. Phil struts through the gap, Wilbur taking another moment to marvel at the mechanics before quickly running to catch back up with Phil. They hurry down another flight of stairs until a wooden door with a metal slat is the only thing standing before them.

“Do we have to do another fuckin, fancy button manuever to open this one too?” Wilbur asks. Phil turns and glares at him, simply knocking on the door once. The metal slat is flipped open and Wilbur can barely make out the phrase, “Sic Semper Tyrannis” before Phil steps back and the door flies open.

A massive round table adorns the center of the room, a chandelier of soul lanterns lighting the domed area. Tapestries line the walls and carved chairs are placed around the table, gold nameplates on the backs of each. “Zephyrus,” Wilbur mutters to himself, reading the engraved name on the chair closest to him.

At the center, back of the room, is a massive rug. The symbol is a depiction of an abstract bat, with wings covered in blood and a small crown. The top reads, “The Syndicate,” and below the symbol, the phrase, “Sis Semper Tyrannis” has been woven. Wilbur pauses before the rug and turns to stare at Phil with confusion. “Where the fuck have you brought me?”

Phil spreads his arms out wide, gesturing to the room. “Welcome to the Syndicate, Wilbur. A group of elite guards and soldiers that have been trained by my best soldier to protect the crown. I think you’ll fit right in, Orpheus.”

——————

Tubbo absentmindedly fiddles with the small bronze key in his hand, pacing back and forth down a short corridor. Ranboo watches him anxiously, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as Tubbo stops to tap his feet and bite his lip before continuing his repeated walking and turning.

“Uh… Tubbo?” Tubbo glances up at his name, blinking at his husband.

“Mhm?”

“Are you… do you just wanna continue to walk back and forth here for exercise or are you actually gonna do what we came up here… to do?” Ranboo asks. Tubbo glances down the hallway, his gaze landing on a large wooden door with gold engravings.

“I… I am, I’m just feeling a little…,” he hesitates, wrapping his arms around himself. “Ranboo, it’s been five years. Five years without him and I’ve… I moved on, I made my own life, I met you and I moved into the castle and I just… What if I’m too different?” Tubbo’s gaze meets Ranboo’s and the smaller boy looks terrified as he pats the key with his index finger. “What if he doesn’t even remember me?”

“Oh, Tubbo,” Ranboo mutters, walking over from where he was leaning against the wall. One of hands reaches out to grab Tubbo’s and he gives it a light squeeze. “Don’t you remember what Wilbur said? From the moment Will first got Tommy back, he wouldn’t stop asking about you. Asking how you were, begging to see you. I think you're the last person Tommy forgot when he was… gone.”

Tubbo takes a deep breath, shivering slightly. “Yeah, you’re… you’re probably right.” He steps away from Ranboo and takes another glance down the corridor. “I’m gonna head on in. I would say wish me luck but I… I don’t quite know what luck would do for me in this scenario.”

Ranboo smiles at the back of Tubbo’s head. “No reassurance needed. Go say hi to your best friend for me.”

Tubbo grins back at Ranboo and practically skips his way towards the large wooden doors. He inserts the rusted key into the lock, twisting it to the left until he hears a satisfying click. The door is pushed open and Tubbo has to pause briefly in the doorway to take it in.

A fluffy, red comforter on white, satin sheets.

A cracked glass frame atop a photo of him and Tommy from when they were still young. Before L’Manberg. Before Dream.

As Tubbo glances around the familiar bedroom, he realizes that Tommy isn’t inside of it. His eyebrows furrow and he shuts the door behind him, straining to hear any kind of noise. As he stands in silence, Tubbo can hear the faintest sound of breathing from inside of the mahogany wardrobe, breathing hitching when Tubbo steps closer.

He raises a hand to knock, whispering, “Tommy?”

A beat.

Then… “Tubbo?”