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Chapter Text

Tommy woke up the day after the fight in the prison ready to march to L'manberg or Pogtopia and resurrect Wilbur, but Philza and Technoblade were armorless and sipping cups of tea, looking at house plans. He yanked out a chair and started sorting through their papers.

"House renovations, really? When are we bringing Wilbur back?"

"Soon," said Philza, mild despite the clear pain in his eyes as Tommy stacked the papers back into a different order. Technoblade immediately tried to fix them but Tommy yanked them toward himself. "We need somewhere to put him, first."

Tommy peered closer at the sketches.

Two rooms had been outlined against the back wall, small but serviceable.

Something awful rose in this throat, threatening to choke him.

One was labeled for him, in Technoblade's meticulous handwriting.

"I'm not staying here," he spat at Technoblade. "If I was really welcome you wouldn't have filled in my real room." He'd checked, when he first got back; his old dugout was refilled with stone, its existence evidenced only by the thin seams along the wall.

"It was literally in my foundation!" Technoblade said. "I couldn't leave that!"

"Where's Ranboo?" asked Philza.

"Still asleep," Tommy answered, crossing his arms and rocking his chair back on two legs. He'd thought Ranboo was dead, for one heart-stopping, sleep-fogged moment, but the lucky bastard was just sleeping peacefully, cat on his chest. "I pretended to poke his eye out and he didn't flinch."

Philza hummed.

"We'll let him sleep, then."

"Having two gods fightin' around in your head probably takes it out of you," Technoblade agreed.

Tommy clenched his teeth to keep from saying anything mean.

He liked Ranboo, but it sure burned to see Philza and Technoblade fawning over him. He'd gone back to the site of his final death, locked back into that suffocating box with Dream, and when it was all said and done, Philza walked right past him to go to Ranboo and tell him it was all over.

Not that he gave a shit.

He was a big man, and he didn't need Philza to hug him and he didn't need Technoblade adding a room to his house and he didn't need Ranboo to stay his friend.

None of it would matter soon, anyway, when they got Wilbur back.

He stole some of Techno's breakfast.

"When are we going to get wood, then?" he asked. If they were going to insist on playing house before getting Wilbur back, the least he could do was speed them along.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't complete the ritual without their help. Philza had explained last night, halting and reluctant, that he wasn't even entirely sure if he had all the knowledge to make it work.

"That's why I didn't kill him," Philza had explained, giving Tommy one of those sympathetic looks that he hated, because it made him feel like a raw, exposed nerve ending. "We might need him again."

That was Dream's whole game, wasn't it? He'd told Tommy and Tubbo he wanted control, and even locked in a prison and stripped of his armor and weapons, he had it. Everyone wanted to bring someone back.

"Soon. I was waitin' for Ranboo," Technoblade said.

Tommy jumped, startled away from the wooden whorls in the tabletop and back to the present.

He sank his teeth through the skin of one of his golden apples.

"Soon? Ugh. I'll go out and do it myself. You're both so lazy."

Philza laughed and rolled his eyes.

Technoblade sighed, put upon, but followed Tommy to collect tools and cloaks.

Together, they trudged into the tundra, felling the occasional tree.

No matter what Philza said, it had to work. If Dream could revive Tommy in prison, they could do this. A god, a zealot, the biggest man, and Ranboo. An unstoppable combo. All they needed was: a location of significance, usually the site of death; a god with some extra power, for pulling the dead from the other side; and someone with an extra life.

The last was scarce.

It didn't sit right with Tommy, going for someone who might be on their last life, but everyone whose life count he did know was someone he knew, and how could he look any one of his friends in the eye and take their life? It didn't matter if most of his friends hated him these days, even Tubbo devoting more time to Snowchester with barely a second to spare him. He still cared for them.

Maybe Dream was right.

Attachments made him easy to control.

"You're bein' real quiet," Technoblade said.

Tommy swung his axe again, ferociously.

"Thought you'd prefer it that way? I seem to remember you calling me annoying on multiple occasions, asshole. I can be loud if you want me t-"

"Are you okay?"

Tommy missed the whole tree trunk, almost coming back around and hitting himself. He let the head of his axe drop into the snow and whirled on Techno.

"What the fuck? What's wrong with you? Did dying make you go all soft? Did the afterlife fuck you up in the head?"

Technoblade crossed his arms, shoulders drawing up around his ears.

"I know you didn't have a good time in exile or the prison," he began.

"No shit," Tommy said.

"I never know how to help you," Techno continued, testily. "You steal from me and you yell at me and yet you refuse to leave me alone. Philza and I want to help you but you make it so hard."

He hefted his axe back up and turned away.

"Yeah, well, I'm not Ranboo. Not all of us can have our problems magically washed away by Phil."

"But we can still help you," Techno pressed. "Wilbur will want to help you when he's back, too."

Tommy grit his teeth.

What a wonderful reminder, that when they looked at him they saw only Wilbur's pseudo little brother, and all the imaginary obligations that came with it.

He swung the axe.

He refused to think about Ghostbur, with his vapid goodwill, pressing already-used Blue into his hands during exile as if that would help.

The tree creaked, ready to fall.

"I'm not some stupid fucking child. I can take care of myself. And even if I did need help, I wouldn't go to you, or Philza." He chopped the tree one final time and it began to topple. "Why are you even the one having this conversation with me? Philza's way better at this shit than you."

"He tried already. You kept yellin' at him."

Tommy hacked at the fallen trunk.

"I wonder why. It's not like he's the reason we have to revive Wilbur."

"Wilbur would have-"

"-killed himself anyway, if someone else didn't. I know. You know who wouldn't have? Tubbo! Who you killed." Tommy gave up all pretenses of chopping up the log, leaving behind sloppy axe marks. He stormed toward Techno and poked him in the chest. "You're just like Dream, the both of you. You can pretend to be my friend all you like but I'm not falling for it."

He knew Techno well enough to see the hit land; he recoiled, brows drawing down, ears twitching. Dream would look like that, sometimes, when Tommy refused to call him his friend: hurt. Often, it morphed into anger.

"I'm going to go chop wood somewhere else. Get fucked, Technoblade."

Tommy stalked away into the trees, far enough away he couldn't hear the sounds of Technoblade chopping up his abandoned tree.

He pretended, later, that he did not notice Technoblade trailing after him, cutting trees just out of sight. And when he had more wood than he could carry, he pretended not to hear Technoblade telling him home was "That way," because he'd been meaning to go in that direction anyway.

Ranboo was awake, when they returned, cat on his lap while he wrote in his memory book. Tommy crouched down to scratch Enderchest beneath the chin.

Technoblade hung around Phil like a kicked puppy seeking reassurance, until Phil conveniently needed something from the basement and Techno offered to help him find it. They were so transparent. How Ranboo, who offered to help too and was quickly brushed off, didn't notice, was beyond Tommy.

"They're having another one of their dumb little meetings," Tommy told Ranboo, once they were gone. "I don't know what they're planning, but it probably involves withers." The knowledge that it was almost certainly him they were discussing sat uncomfortably in his stomach. Were they discussing ways to gently shoo him away? Or were they going to find a more permanent solution for getting rid of him?

He ate another golden apple.

They started construction that day.

Ranboo insisted on helping, mulish when Philza and later Technoblade tried to steer him toward other activities, so Tommy ended up helping too because he wasn't going to be the only one laying around.

They erected the frame of the new rooms, first. By the end, Tommy was all trembling and sweaty. He sat down and ate another golden apple while Philza discussed their next steps. Ranboo settled next to him.

"You good?" he asked, quietly.

How embarrassing.

"The best," Tommy said. Before exile, he was able to erect whole houses by himself without breaking a sweat. Now, in the aftermath, it was all he could do to repair his dirt hut when it was blown up, or burned, or ruined by some stupid statue.

The apple helped, though, the rush of magic lending new strength to his limbs.

Just to prove how well he was doing, Tommy hopped back up.

"Hurry up," he said, leaving Ranboo behind and shoving between Phil and Techno. "The faster we get this done, the faster we have Wil."

"Just hold on, gremlin child," Philza said, and Wilbur's familiar nickname made Tommy want to cry and scream in equal measure.

Because big men didn't cry, he shouted:

"How hard is it to make some rooms? Let's slap some walls up and we're done!"

"It's a little different in the tundra," Technoblade pointed out.

Ranboo joined them.

"With the four of us, it'll go fast, Tommy," he said.

"Don't take their side," Tommy groused. "They're dragging their feet. I thought you wanted your son back, Dadza."

Phil did not rise to the bait.

"We're going as fast as we can, mate. I want him to be comfortable when he comes back."

They added a roof, next.

It sloped down from the second story windows, keeping the view around the house clear. Technoblade clopped around on it, testing the integrity.

"Pig on a roof, what will he do?" Ranboo whispered to himself. Tommy laughed. Philza chuckled too, but probably at the way Techno put his hands on his hips and said "Piglin!"

After that was lunch.

Tommy deigned to eat Technoblade's stupid soup. The weak regeneration tingled at his lips and spread to the rest of his body. Technoblade had fed him this soup a lot, when he was in hiding, but somehow the taste didn't lose its appeal the way golden apples did. Different spices, different additions like carrot or potato or rabbit; not just sweet with a hint of metal, like blood.

But apples were more portable.

He had sixteen on his person alone, and knew that if he stole enough Technoblade would vanish for a day or two and return burdened with gold and fresh apples to replace his stock.

Techno had blown up L'manberg and everything Tommy and Wilbur had worked for, but at least he'd never made Tommy toss his golden apples and armor in a hole and forced him to watch as he tossed a lit stick of TNT on the pile.

Tommy was so fucked in the head.

Just to remind himself he hated Technoblade, he kicked him hard in the shin.

Technoblade jumped so violently he knocked into the table, causing poor Ranboo to spill his soup all over himself.

Over Ranboo's apologies, Techno growled, "Could you stop bein' annoying for five seconds?"

"You're the annoying one, bitch!"

"Ranboo, I think Techno has a spare shirt that might fit you. I'll go look," Philza said, plucking his own bowl off the table as it wobbled again from the force of Tommy's second kick, which missed and hit the table leg. Ranboo tried to rescue what was left of his own soup.

"Please don't kick me," Ranboo said, scooting his chair back.

"I wouldn't," Tommy said. He paused. "Not on purpose."

"Thanks," Ranboo said, insincerely.

"Why are you even kickin' me?" Techno demanded.

"Because you are a bitch!"

Techno groaned.

"Come on," he said. "Make yourself useful, let's go finish the walls of your--of the guest room."

Chapter Text

Two days of grueling effort later, the rooms were done. Tommy leaned against the doorframe of Wilbur's room. In one corner was his guitar; Tommy had assumed it was stolen from Pogtopia after Wilbur's death, lost forever, but Philza had withdrawn it from storage, dusted it off, and settled it on the stand.

He remembered Wilbur strumming the notes of L'manberg's anthem on those strings.

"Ready to go?" Technoblade asked, at his shoulder.

Tommy tossed a golden apple from hand to hand.

How stupid was it, how simple revival was?

"Of course, Big Man," he scoffed.

Tommy did not know if he was ready to return to Pogtopia, torches burnt out and lanterns smashed among hundreds of buttons; he did know he was ready to have Wilbur back. So he followed Technoblade out into the snow and stood beside Ranboo while Techno and Philza checked their saddles.

"We'll meet you there with Punz," Philza said. Punz almost certainly had all three lives left, and since he had taken two of Wilbur's three lives, even Tommy felt it fair he trade one away to bring him back. "Remember to keep a low profile on the border, don't be stupid." That last part was definitely directed at Tommy, but Ranboo answered before he could with,

"We'll be careful. You be careful too."

Technoblade swung up onto his horse.

"Don't worry about us," he said, with a feral smile, tusks prominent. He kicked his heels into Carl's flanks and the horse took off across the snow.

Phil whooped and urged his own horse after him.

Ranboo sighed.

"Well, I guess we better start walking."

Tommy kicked at the snow with an armored foot.

"I still think we should have gotten the horses," he said, and started for the portal. His armor hummed, keeping away the effects of cold; Ranboo's armor hummed even louder, shimmering and swirling, fighting to keep the burns from melted snow at bay. Their armor didn't have to work for long; in the nether, they sprinted across the narrow paths, freshly disturbed with hoofprints, to avoid hostile mobs.

Tommy took the lead.

"What is Pogtopia?" Ranboo asked, when they stepped through a portal that dropped them in the middle of a pathless field.

"Where we lived when we were fighting for L'manberg's independence. The second time, I mean. It was Wilbur and I who founded it after we got exiled. Techno was there too, but he doesn't count. He had a giant secret base, and shit." The base would be somewhere to their right, but Tommy forged straight on, toward their old ravine home. Rather than risk an interruption in L'manberg, they had opted for another location important to Wilbur.

"Cool," Ranboo said.

Tommy pulled a face.

He kicked in the dirt blocking the entrance, and didn't bother replacing it, instead descending down the dangerous staircase with Ranboo close on his heels. They needed to make a bed for Wilbur's new body to respawn on; Ranboo held the supplies for a simple cot, but Tommy was almost certain there was an old bed in one of the hollow rooms they could use instead.

He was right.

It was his own old bed, undyed white wool. Together, they dragged it into the main area, and sat on it to wait.

"What's with all the buttons?" Ranboo asked, looking around.

Tommy thought about it.

He ate a golden apple.

"Wilbur put TNT under L'manberg. Schlatt found out and put up all these buttons. I pressed a lot of them; no TNT here."

Hurried footsteps echoed off the walls.

Tommy and Ranboo leapt up, swords at the ready, but it was Philza, hair escaping the hold of his hat, and Techno following behind with an unconscious Punz tossed over one shoulder.

"Oh good, you found a bed!" Philza shooed them out of the way. Techno dropped Punz next to the bed, headless of the loud thud his head made against the stone. He crouched over him, and used his sword to make a long slice along Punz's arm. Slicking his palms with the blood, he offered one hand up for Philza to grab, offering up the Blood God's power for Philza's use. Next to Tommy, Ranboo shivered.

The very fabric of reality stretched at the seams. Tommy braced himself. Cold, that of the familiar endless void of the afterlife, seeped into his bones. Oxygen was sucked from the entire ravine. The lights followed, until there was only the faint, ethereal glow highlighting Philza and reflecting off Techno's gold.

White seared across his retinas.

With it came a massive crash, like that of a totem. His ears rang.

He blinked the spots from his vision.

Wilbur.

He threw himself to his knees, hands falling to Wilbur's chest, which rose and fell. He lay in peaceful slumber on the bed, pale but alive.

Tommy took in great, heaving breaths. Technoblade's hand settled on his back. For once, Tommy didn't throw him off.

"It worked," Philza said, relieved and disbelieving.

"You fucking didn't think it would work?" Tommy spluttered. He rested his head on Wilbur's arm. His hand twitched. He moaned, weakly, but didn't wake.

"We need to get movin'," Techno said. "Tommy, you and Wilbur will go on Carl. Here." He scooped Wilbur up from the bed. Tommy kept a tight hold on his dangling arm even as they ran up the narrow staircase. Carl was right outside the entrance. Tommy swung up, and held his arms open for Wilbur, who Techno carefully pushed up.

"You have him?" he checked. Tommy nodded. Wilbur's head lolled on his shoulder. His eyes were half-open, but unseeing.

Philza and Ranboo stepped out. Techno turned to them.

"Ranboo and I will hold off anyone comin' for Punz," he said. Philza swung into the saddle of his own horse. He nodded.

"See you soon, mate." Philza motioned for Tommy to take the lead, and together they cantered for the portal.

The nether was hell in the most literal sense. Wilbur became restless, but the paths were too narrow for Philza to ride alongside and help stabilize him, so Tommy had to lock his arms along Wilbur's waist and shoulder and trust in Carl to navigate them.

They made it, though.

Tommy laid Wilbur down in his bed. Philza smoothed his hair away from his forehead.

"I wonder if I was all fucked like this when I came back," Tommy said, watching the pale strip of visible eye roll as Wilbur mumbled something.

Philza sighed.

"I don't know. We're going to hold off on potions, for now, until we're sure the magic has stabilized." Phil didn't look any less put together than usual, but his face was drawn stiff as if Ghostbur was there, an awful reminder of what they had lost. He pulled a chair up to Wilbur's bedside. Tommy hovered.

Over a quarter of an hour, Wilbur slowly woke up. He rolled to his side and groaned.

Philza braced him with a hand on his shoulder. Tommy crouched down and got right in his face.

"Tommy?" Wilbur slurred.

"Who else?"

"You died again so soon?"

"Shut up. We brought you back."

"What?" Wilbur forced himself up on an elbow. He was deathly pale, almost green. Tommy looked around for a bucket, remembering how nauseous he had felt waking up in the prison.

"We revived you, mate," Philza said, helping him sit up with exceeding care. "Welcome back."

"You're shitting me," Wilbur said, before promptly vomiting into the bucket Tommy held under his face. Tommy cringed. Spit still hanging from his lips, Wilbur snarled, "We talked about this, Tommy."

His stomach dropped right down to his shoes.

"Fuck off," he snapped. "Corpses don't get opinions."

"Then why is your mouth moving?"

"Okay," Philza interrupted. "Have some water, Wil." Even though Philza had been the one to stab Wilbur, he turned to him with something like a smile. Tommy went to empty the bucket, and in the cool night air, paused for a moment and forced himself to take several deep breaths.

He had Wilbur back and that was all he'd ever wanted; he would not spoil it by expecting Wilbur to actually be happy to see him.

Tommy returned to Philza sitting next to Wilbur and supporting him while he struggled to drink from a water bottle. Together, they plied him with fluids and simple mushroom stew until he looked a little less fresh from death. Eventually, he sank down into sleep, body twisted oddly because Phil was still sitting next to him.

"I wasn't this weak when I came back," Tommy whispered, sick with anxiety and trying not to show it. Phil combed through his son's hair, pushing the sweat-slicked edges back into order, brow furrowed.

"You weren't dead as long. It's gonna be different, mate."

Right.

Wilbur had been dead for months--and who knew how long that was in the afterlife, where time stretched like taffy. Tommy helped arrange him correctly on the bed, but did not leave after, even though Phil gave him an odd look as if he did not understand why he hung around.

Technoblade and Philza were so convinced they had more of a claim on Wilbur than Tommy did. Where were they for the first revolution? For the years before and the long, boring days in-between? Tommy was a self-raised man but that didn't mean Wilbur hadn't been there, helping and guiding him, for a lot of it. He loved Wilbur like a brother and he knew Wilbur loved him the same even if he'd stopped saying it back.

Tommy had about drifted to sleep on the floor next to Wilbur's bed by the time Technoblade and Ranboo returned. Technoblade crept in as quietly as he could on his hooves and whispered,

"Who threw up on my front steps? That's really bad for property value."

He didn't seem to care about the reproachful "Tommy, there, really?" that Philza sent in Tommy's direction, eyes only for the pale form of Wilbur. He checked him over with clinical care. Tommy watched him closely, and did not miss the way his shoulders sank, tension unspooling.

Wilbur was alright, then.

Technoblade joined their vigil, while Ranboo tidied things in the main room, only popping in to politely check on them once before going to bed.

Eventually, Tommy fell asleep propped up against the side of Wilbur's bed.

Chapter Text

He woke up cushioned on Technoblade's lap, back aching and one leg numb. Philza's chair was empty; his voice was a quiet rumble out in the living room, mixing with Ranboo's. Tommy forced himself up.

Technoblade was still asleep, head tilted back on the bed. Wilbur, too, was out cold.

Wilbur was still breathing, and though his forehead was clammy, his cheeks had color. Tommy allowed himself to linger for only a moment, soaking in the sight of his brother and friend alive once again. Ghostbur was a poor replacement. He didn't care if Wilbur thought they were both better off dead. He would be damned if he lost him a fourth time.

"Morning, Tommy," Philza said, eyes crinkling with his smile. Tommy grunted back. Ranboo nodded at him.

Breakfast was leftovers from the day before, which Tommy picked at before pulling out a golden apple and slowly working it down to just the core. The faint tension headache he hadn't even noticed vanished.

"What's the plan, Mr. Minecraft?" he asked.

Philza shrugged.

"Staying with Wilbur. Making sure he settles in, and all that."

Tommy curled his lip.

"Yeah? How long are you gonna be able to pull that off? You're not the most reliable dad out there, you know."

Philza sighed.

"Aren't you some sort of orphan?" asked Techno, shutting Wilbur's door quietly behind him. "What do you know about bein' a good father?"

Tommy puffed up.

"I'll have you know," he whisper-shouted, "that I am a self-raised man, which makes me my own dad, and I did a damn good job!"

Techno made a noise of disagreement.

"Oi, come here, you fucker!"

Technoblade sidestepped the golden carrot Tommy lobbed at his head. Ranboo stared sadly after it, as Tommy had swiped it from his plate.

"Okay," Philza said, blocking Ranboo's plate with an outstretched hand before Tommy could grab another projectile. "Take it outside or save it for later, mates."

Technoblade sighed and went for the fourth chair. Tommy crossed his arm.

"Techno, you are a bitch," he said.

Technoblade ignored him.

"I'm going to make a bigger table today," he told Phil.

"I can help," Ranboo offered, leaning forward.

Techno inclined his head in silent acceptance.

Ugh. No wonder Ranboo was their favorite. He had ceaseless optimism for every situation, and like Tubbo, he was always helping everyone he could. It was why he was such a great friend.

Unfortunately, it also meant Tommy hated him, just a little, right then.

"I'm not helping," he announced, loudly.

"Not with the table," Phil agreed. "Wilbur was a little touch and go through the night. I'm gonna need you to help me see to him, today."

"What do you mean, he was 'a little touch and go'?" Tommy shrieked.

"Whoa!" Phil said. "It's fine. The resurrection was just a bit unstable. I took care of it."

Tommy jumped to his feet.

"I was fine after my resurrection. You did it wrong."

He didn't stick around for a rebuttal; he hurried back to Wilbur's room and took the chair, keeping a close eye on his even breathing and the movement of his eyes behind his lids. They shouldn't have left him alone. Phil had taken the night shift, as a god that never slept, but clearly he was willing to slack on his duties when the sun came up. That was alright. Tommy was here, and he was Wilbur's right hand man.

A right hand man who had to wait several long, boring hours for Wilbur to wake up.

Wilbur groaned and peeled his eyes open.

Tommy leaned into his space.

"Took you long enough. Still feel like a corpse?"

Wilbur rolled his eyes.

"Shut up," he mumbled. "Where's everyone else?"

"Doing stupid shit. I can go get Phil if you want me to."

"Nah." Wilbur forced himself into a sitting position. "I've been laying around for years. Help me up."

Tommy looped his arm around his shoulders and levered him to his feet.

"Let's go see everyone else," he suggested, trying to swallow down the worry. He hadn't been this weak when he came back; no matter what Phil said, surely there was something he could do. "Apple?" With his free hand, he pulled one from his pocket and offered it up. Wilbur shrugged and took it, sinking his teeth into it while Tommy opened the front door and led them both through.

Techno and Ranboo were making the table right there in the snow; Philza appeared to be mid tug-of-war with Steve.

"Wil!" he called, beaming--until he saw the golden apple. "You shouldn't be eating that."

"Calm down, old man," Wilbur said, rolling his eyes and taking another bite.

"At least it's not sand," Techno offered, helpfully, and everyone but Ranboo, who looked faintly confused, laughed.

Wilbur's eyes, that dark, near-black brown, scanned over the homestead and its occupants. He inspected Ranboo for a long time, lips thin and holding no trace of the recent mirth, before seeming to discard whatever he had been thinking.

"Someone make me a place to sit. And a fire. It's cold as shit out here."

"Ghostbur was much more convenient," Technoblade said, even as he rolled a log against the side of the house and quickly dug a hole in the snow for a campfire. Tommy helped Wilbur sit down and Philza settled beside him. He draped his own cloak, which he didn't really need, over Wilbur's shoulders before hooking an arm around his son.

"Hi, Dadza," Wilbur said, with a smile.

Tommy stomped away.

"Give me some wood," he demanded. "I'll start on another chair." Ranboo started digging through his inventory.

Technoblade fussed over Wilbur while pretending not to, clearly unwilling to sit down on the log but unwilling to return to making the table, too. Tommy wasn't about to complain. Whatever Philza thought the apple was going to do to Wil, Techno would be the one who fixed it. He was an asshole, but he was an asshole with abundant resources and experience with magic.

"Wilbur's cool," Ranboo said, handing him a stack of spruce planks.

Tommy scoffed.

"Cool? You haven't seen the real Wilbur. He's all sick and shit, right now. You'll like him when he's better. He's a real idiot but he's not bad company."

Ranboo smiled. It was hesitant; small, especially because Tommy knew how far his jaw could unhinge.

"Yeah?" he said, like he didn't believe him.

"What?" Tommy snapped.

"I just--I heard a lot of stories about Wilbur. About the first crater," Ranboo said, voice low, though the trio around the fire had no attention to spare for them. "Doesn't seem like he's someone you'd still want around."

The beginnings of the chair leg in Tommy's hand snapped beneath the pressure of his grip. He groaned and tossed it away. Steve lunged after it.

"That was then. This is now. He doesn't have a L'manberg to go all weird over now, alright? That's my fucking brother you're talking about."

Ranboo held his hands up in surrender.

"Sorry," he said, and the most infuriating thing was, he meant it. Tommy angrily started in on another chair leg.

"It's whatever," he muttered. "I'm not sticking around for long, so I won't be responsible if he does get his hands on TNT again."

Ranboo wilted.

"When are you leaving?" he asked.

Tommy shrugged and didn't answer.

When Wilbur was better, if he ever did improve; when Tubbo remembered he existed; when Techno and Philza destroyed something else he held dear.

He'd leave when he needed to, and that was that.

"Oi, Tommy," Wilbur called, and he didn't look so good, face wan and sun reflecting off beads of sweat on his temples, but his posture was straight and he had that sly smile on that said he was going to start trouble.

"What, dickhead?" Tommy yelled back. He abandoned the half-done chair and snagged Ranboo along the way. Together, they sat down on the extra log Technoblade provided.

Wilbur waited until he was seated to ask, "Why don't we all play competitive solitaire?"

Tommy shrieked and lobbed a fistful of snow at him.

Wilbur laughed and wiped snow from his face.

"Do you have any cards, Phil? We should play something."

Technoblade went to look, and came back with worn novelty cards from Hypixel. Ranboo exclaimed over them, shuffling through the deck, but unfortunately his excitement over the depictions on the cards did not translate into actual knowledge about card games. He didn't remember how to play any.

They ended up playing Go Fish, as it was the only game they could all agree on the rules of.

Not that anyone followed the rules.

"Stop colluding!" Tommy yelled, when Philza leaned over to show Wilbur his hand for the third time.

"Do you have any twos of spades?" asked Technoblade. Tommy yanked the card he had just drawn from his hand and tossed it at him.

"I know you're cheating too," he snapped. He hadn't figured out how, but Techno always knew who had which cards. Technoblade gave him a lazy, self-satisfied smile and didn't answer.

On his other side, Ranboo muffled a chuckle.

Phil tried to surreptitiously slip Wilbur a card.

"Hey!" Tommy shouted. It didn't matter if he was losing; he was so far behind it was more important for him to make sure Wilbur didn't win. Phil played innocent while Wilbur bent double, laughing his ass off. "This isn't a team game!"

"Sore loser," Wilbur said.

"When it's my turn, I'm taking your queen."

"Hey," Phil said. "Do you, by chance, have a queen of hearts?"

"Goddammit!" He forked over the card.

Ranboo patted him on the back.

"We're a little outclassed," he mused. "What do you say, we team up too?"

Tommy crossed his arms.

"Stoop to their level?" He pretended to consider it. "Let's do it." Ranboo and Tommy combined their hands, leaning shoulder to shoulder. Techno, still, picked them clean of any cards he needed every round, but it wasn't about him. It was about Wilbur.

Wilbur, who was smiling, all bright and shiny like he hadn't been a corpse in the ground.

Tommy grumbled and bitched everytime he lost a card, and everytime Wilbur's face screwed up in a laugh. By the end, he turned on Ranboo too, who gave as good as he got, while the rest looked on and laughed and egged them on.

Tommy made it out of the game with exactly one pair of cards to his name, but something warm curled in his chest: relief, joy, whatever sappy shit. Didn't matter, because it toasted him from the inside out like sitting by the fire wrapped in Techno's fluffy cloak.

"How did you get so many fucking cards?" he demanded, helping gather the cards he had thrown. Phil was helping a flagging Wilbur back into the house while Ranboo hovered awkwardly nearby, ready to help.

Techno chuckled.

He tapped his temple.

"Omniscient god in my brain, remember?"

Tommy shoved him.

"Fuck off! That's the laziest cheating ever. You're so lame."

Techno didn't push him back, but he did lay a big hand over his face to shut him up. Tommy licked his palm. Techno grumbled and wiped it off on his hair. He flailed his arms around and pushed Techno again. He didn't want to be covered in his own spit!

Techno dumped a fistful of snow over his head.

Tommy shrieked and ran inside to the warmth, screaming profanity over his shoulder.

Obviously the card game had been more than a freshly-resurrected Wilbur could handle. He hadn't even made it to his room; he was stretched out in front of the fire, fast asleep, Phil's cloak cushioning his head. Tommy sat by him and laid a hand on his shoulder, just so he could feel the regular expansion of his chest as he breathed. He did something similar in the early hours of the morning after nightmares; held a hand to his own neck or wrist, just to feel the physical proof of a pulse.

Ranboo helped Phil with lunch, and Techno eventually popped in for help bringing in the new table. Tommy helped him set it up, along with the chairs Techno had finished with a greater degree of craftsmanship.

He crouched down by Wilbur and poked his cheek. He didn't stir.

Tommy shook him.

"Lunchtime, dipshit."

Wilbur's eyes opened a crack, a thin white strip appearing only briefly before they drifted shut.

"Not hungry," he said, and his voice was strong even if a flush sat high on his cheeks. Tommy checked him for a fever, but his skin was only slightly warm and a little tacky with sweat.

"I don't care. I'll bring you soup, if you're going to insist on being so lazy."

Technoblade was a step ahead of him. He handed him a bowl of mushroom soup, magicless and easy on the stomach. Tommy propped Wilbur up and forced him to drink. He didn't have the skill that Phil did, the intuitive knowledge of when he tilted too much into his mouth; but he certainly didn't have the patience for Techno's way, either, which involved a slow dribble and no sitting up at all.

Wilbur didn't have much more life to him after the soup, so Tommy forced several bites of golden apple into him before leaving him to doze by the warmth of the fire.

He pulled a chair up to the table.

Philza was hunched over his notes, bowl forgotten at his elbow. Tommy bit down on his worry and tried to see what they said, but they were written in letters he didn't understand.

"You should eat some real food," Techno said, cranky, when Tommy brought out Wilbur's partially eaten apple to finish. "Do you have somethin' against my potato soup?"

Tommy rolled his eyes.

"What is it with you and the potatoes, man?"

"They're good. Which you would know if you ever ate anythin' other than my golden apples."

"I like your soup," Ranboo supplied.

Tommy spluttered.

"Wh-what the hell, man? Shut up! You're going to give him a big head!"

"Thank you, Ranboo. You are so much more bearable than Tommy," said Techno.

"Fuck you, Technoblade," Tommy grumbled, taking a vicious bite from his apple just to prove a point. Ranboo was so stupid. He was so fucking earnest and it was stupid. Tommy almost thought I hate him, but he forced those thoughts to a stop. Ranboo was his friend; was a damn good friend, too, even if he was new to Tommy's life and had his own shit going on. It wasn't Ranboo's fault if everyone liked him better.

The only person Tommy really hated was Dream; but Dream had always said it was his fault that the people around him always abandoned him, and he was right.

Not that it mattered. Tommy was only here for Wilbur. As soon as he was better, Tommy would leave Techno and Ranboo and Phil to their new, happy little family.

The rest of the day passed in a haze.

Tommy tried to distract himself with chopping wood, or taking care of the dogs, or visiting the bees. Each was pointless: when he was away in the forest, he was choked with the worry that he would return to a dead Wilbur; the dogs didn't like him near as much as they liked Ranboo; the bees reminded him of Tubbo.

He was getting bitchier the longer the day went, even he could admit it. He picked so many fights with Technoblade the piglin eventually vanished into the Nether for resources. Philza had left for a nearby stronghold in search of more books. Ranboo, uncertain how to help, retreated to the dogs. He felt only a modicum of calm when he was by Wilbur.

"Damn, I know you're an asshole, but you need to tone it down," Wilbur said; his smile was amused even if his words were too cutting. Tommy pretended not to notice the lack of a teasing undertone.

"Is the great Wilbur Soot telling me to tone down being an asshole? Pot meet kettle, bitch."

Wilbur laughed.

"Silly of me to think you could change, you're right," he said.

Tommy felt like he was looking over a lip of netherrack, at the bubbling pool of lava far below. Sick, hopeful, uncertain.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Wilbur simply chuckled, and it didn't sound near as happy this time.

"There was nothing good about L'manberg, and it was because of us, Tommy. You know it."

"Stop--stop with that weird afterlife shit. L'manberg was home, even if it had its flaws."

"I don't remember a single good thing about the place," Wilbur said. "I had time to think, you know? When I was dead. I realized it was all us. All of it. None of those wars would have happened if it weren't for me and you."

Tommy clenched his teeth. So much for calm. He would take anything for an interruption, right now.

"Niki had her bakery," he spat. "Fundy and Tubbo had all their little redstone creations. L'manberg was them as much as it was us and it was home. If you hadn't pushed everyone away and blown the whole place up, it would have been fine. We would have been happy."

Wilbur scoffed, throwing his hands up. Tommy recoiled.

"Fine? My own son was a fucking traitor. Niki wasn't willing to risk anything for us until she had all the armor in the world."

"None of that's true!"

"If you're so certain they're loyal, why did Tubbo exile you?"

"He didn't do that to hurt me! It was my own fault!"

"What does it matter? He did hurt you."

Tommy was real and proper sick, now. His stomach churned. Wilbur, as angry at Tommy as he was at himself for L'manberg's failures, happy to leave him at the podium above piles of TNT. Tubbo, looking him right in the eye and choosing everyone else over him. Dream.

Dream blowing up his shit. Dream letting him use his trident. Dream being his only friend and his greatest enemy.

He forgave Tubbo for that. Of course he did. It was Tubbo, and Tubbo was his best friend, and would never hurt him. At least, he didn't think so.

But Dream had been his friend, hadn't he? And he hurt him.

Tommy didn't know who was right and who was wrong anymore.

He didn't know that, but he did know one thing. He was always the common denominator.

"Is everything okay?" asked Ranboo, from the doorway. "I heard yelling." Tommy sprang to his feet.

"I'm going mining," he said. He grabbed a random pickaxe from beside the door; before he pushed past Ranboo, he turned.

"I hate you," he spat at Wilbur. He hoped it hurt to hear.

The sun was low, and the wind was biting. Tommy hadn't grabbed a cloak, or even a coat. He turned toward the portal, pickaxe gripped in trembling hands, and sucked in great breaths to keep the tears at bay.

The nether was stifling in its warmth. He made immediately for the cliff's edge and threw himself down, feet dangling. Warm drafts of air swirled around his legs. This was familiar. This was routine.

He sat for what felt like hours, tracing the churning yellow-orange-red of the lava with burning but dry eyes, before someone found him.

"What're you doing here?" Techno rumbled, from the direction of the portal. He was laden down with bags of loot, and covered in soot from wither skeletons and blazes. Visited a fortress, then.

"Farming potatoes," Tommy snapped. "What does it look like?"

Techno huffed.

He dropped his bags by the portal and settled by Tommy.

Tommy braced himself, he didn't know for what. A lecture? For Techno to ask if he was okay, like he had in the forest? He almost wanted Techno to ask, so he could tell him how mad Wilbur had made him, how much it fucking hurt to have his brother say those things to his face.

Except he would never admit that, and predictably, Techno didn't ask. He didn't say anything at all, seeming just as enthralled with watching Ghasts floating over the lava as Tommy was with the lava lake itself.

Eventually, it got old.

"I'm going back," Tommy announced, pushing to his feet and brushing netherrack dust off his clothes. Technoblade grunted and followed him. Together, they carried the loot across the moonlit snowfield and into the house, where Ranboo and Philza were both still up and waiting.

"You good?" asked Ranboo, immediate and anxious.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Tommy said, pretending to help sort loot. "You find anything useful, Philza? Finally want to admit the resurrection went wrong?"

"It didn't go wrong, mate, or he wouldn't be here at all. I'm researching something else."

"What, then?"

Philza didn't answer. No, he exclaimed, "More blaze powder! Excellent!" and completely changed the topic.

Chapter Text

"I just need some answers," Philza said, pulling his sword free from Sam and leaving his corpse lying right there in the entrance to the prison. Tommy stared down at him, swallowing back bile desperately.

"Philza, I don't--" Why was his voice so quiet? There wasn't enough oxygen in his lungs.

"Hurry up, Tommy," Technoblade, already ahead of him, grunted.

He hurried.

Stupid, endless maze of a prison.

Sweat slicked his palms and he couldn't help the way his breathing shook, but just like last time, Philza and Techno were more focused on their path than him. He wished Ranboo or Tubbo was here.

Wait, no.

No, he didn't. He didn't want Ranboo or Tubbo to see Dream again anymore than he wanted to face him again.

The platform lurched forward and it felt like his sword kept slipping free of his grip.

Dream oozed across the barrier before it even dropped.

"I knew you'd be back," he purred.

Philza smiled like they were old friends.

"We're here to get you out. Come on, then."

"You're what?" Tommy screamed.

He couldn't get enough air. He couldn't breathe.

He braced himself, sword up, but he had no chance against the three most powerful people on the entire server. He had to try, though. He had to stop them. Dream lifted his own, shining axe, and laughed at him.

Technoblade stepped forward.

"I don't know what you expected," he said. "We were never going to team up with you. You're not useful enough."

Tommy snarled and lunged.

His sword sank into Technoblade's unarmored stomach.

Technoblade caught his hands, pressing them into the hilt, holding him close even as he tried to jerk away.

"Why would you do that?" Philza cried, and he was trying to staunch the flow, but Techno's cloak was staining its original red and the snow around them was melting, becoming a red slush that pulled at Tommy's ankles and made him slip when he tried to get away.

Wilbur spat a mouthful of blood in Tommy's face.

"You're the one who really killed me," he said, forcing Tommy's sword deeper with his vice grip. "I'll never forgive you, Tommy."

"Tommy. Tommy."

Tommy fell back into his body with a jolt.

He kicked his blankets away and swung all the way to standing, hands up, before he registered where he was. The great shadow looming over him was Technoblade, already withdrawing to give him space.

He shot out a hand and caught Techno's wrist, holding it tight enough to bruise, tight enough to feel the strong and steady pulse beneath the skin. His other hand pressed to his own neck, trembling, to check. His own pulse fluttered like a moth against glass.

Technoblade waited him out, furrowed brow outlined by the light of the lantern Tommy always kept lit at his bedside to keep the void away.

Tommy let him go and sank back onto the bed.

"Why the fuck are you awake?" he whispered.

Techno frowned at him.

"I came to check on you."

"Creepy," Tommy said. He wiped his hands on his bedspread, but that did nothing for the visible tremble. "You shouldn't be breaking into other people's rooms."

"I figured you'd want me to wake you up. They're not usually this bad, are they?"

"How the fuck would you know? You 'check on me' every night, or something?" He scored the air quotes through the air, expecting Technoblade to respond with similar ire. Instead, he shifted from hoof to hoof, and took particular interest in the door.

"You're kidding me," Tommy said. "Techno, that is so weird."

"I check on everyone!" Techno hissed.

"How does that make it better?"

His door creaked open.

He jolted for the sword he always kept within easy reach, but it was Ranboo's two-toned face that peaked through.

"Oh," he said, and shuffled awkwardly, making as if to close the door.

"Nuh-uh," Tommy said, halting him in his tracks. "What?"

"...It just sounded like someone was upset. Having a nightmare or something. I came to check."

"Great." So not only did he have a stupid nightmare, because apparently he wasn't over Wilbur or Techno's death, or anything to do with Dream, but everyone had heard him too. At least he hadn't woken up near tears this time. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "The both of you are huge creeps. The weirdest fuckers I've ever met. Let's go check on Wilbur."

Ranboo snorted, but the three of them still crowded in the doorway to look in on Wilbur, who slept sprawled on his back with his mouth wide open. Tommy counted through his breaths, which were deep and even, before closing the door again. According to the clock on the wall, the sun would be rising in several hours; there was no point in going to sleep.

Tommy dug out a golden apple and began to nibble at it. Ranboo settled next to him, close, supportive.

Technoblade started rifling through the kitchen.

"You've both been spending too much time around Philza," Tommy whispered. "You're starting to forget what humans do, which is not barge into other people's bedrooms."

"Technically," Ranboo said, "I'm not human."

"Me neither," said Techno.

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

Ranboo grinned at him. Tommy stuck his tongue out.

Silence reigned, except for Techno getting out a massive bowl and beginning to dump ingredients into it.

"What the fuck do you need so much shit for?" Tommy asked.

"Cookies."

Ranboo perked up.

"I'd never had cookies before coming here," he told Tommy, who was a little busy trying to process the Blade baking cookies for them. "But I think these are the best in the world."

Techno gave a self-satisfied huff.

"They're alright," Tommy said, just to elicit the glare Technoblade predictably threw over his shoulder. He stuck his tongue out at him, too.

The smell of the cookies in the furnace filled the whole house; and dammit, when Tommy finally bit into one, he had to admit that Technoblade's recipe had improved. It was warm, and gooey, and the perfect balance of chocolate.

Wilbur's door swung open.

"That smells heavenly," Wilbur sighed, crossing the floor with care, as his body was still weak. Ranboo vacated his chair, as it was the closest, and Wilbur sank into it. "And I should know. I was in the neighbourhood."

"You were in the void with the rest of us," Tommy muttered, but quiet enough that Wilbur could ignore it, because he didn't want to start a fight just then. Technoblade nudged the plate of cookies closer to Wilbur.

"Why is everyone up so early?" he asked, before stuffing a whole cookie into his mouth. Ranboo glanced at Tommy.

"Because we're not lazy like you. We have big man shit to do."

Wilbur rolled his eyes at him.

"Sure," he said, spraying crumbs everywhere. Tommy squawked and shoved his shoulder.

Wilbur flipped him off and helped himself to another cookie.

"These are good, Technoblade!"

"I know," Techno said, pointedly in Tommy's direction.

"I think these are the worst cookies I've ever had, actually," Tommy replied.

"Then why have you eaten six of them?" asked Ranboo.

"Hey!"

Ranboo and Techno really needed to stop ganging up on him, the assholes.

Philza slid down the ladder from the attic, even though Tommy was certain he hadn't been in the house before sunrise--who knew why a god decided to come in through a window instead of the front door. He paused to blink at them all.

"Whoa. Everyone's up early."

"Cookies," Ranboo explained, holding them up.

Philza hummed. He went first to Wilbur, wrapping him in a quick hug, before tousling Ranboo's hair. Tommy was ready for his approach, but Philza doled out only a small shoulder squeeze that was over before he could shove it off.

Somehow, he was disappointed.

With everyone there, it was time for actual breakfast. Tommy had already plowed through a stomach-ache-inducing number of cookies, what was some shitty potato dish? He picked at it, finding it at once more and less appetizing than his usual apples.

Wilbur didn't eat much; instead, he retrieved his old guitar and began plucking at the strings, nonsense riffs and tunes as he adjusted the tuning. Tommy propped his chin on one fist and listened to the music of someone he never thought he would see again.

Technoblade went to his bell and Ranboo went to the kennel, but Philza? He stayed with Tommy, humming along, only half concentrating on the notes in his hands.

Wilbur got his guitar in good working order, and immediately went for a nap after. Tommy decided big men could also nap and curled up in front of the fire to doze, grumbling whenever someone passed through too loudly.

Tommy kept an ear out for Wilbur; when he began to stir and eventually opened the door, Tommy was already up and alert.

"What do you say we put those brewing stands to good use?" Wilbur said, with a massive, shit eating grin.

Tommy grinned back.

"I know where all the ingredients are," he said, jumping to his feet.

Together, they brewed bubbly potions. Tommy forced Wilbur to make them weak, because Philza got twitchy about the golden apples, even though he wouldn't be honest with Tommy about why. He'd stopped asking several days ago, just like he'd stopped asking about the research. If Philza was going to lie to his face, insisting Wilbur's resurrection had gone perfectly, then he wasn't going to give him the time of day.

Except, maybe things had gone alright; Wilbur's face was flushed with excitement. He was much more energetic than he had been the past week.

They tapped their bottles together before throwing them back. The magic fizzed down his throat and warmed every inch of him.

About six bottles later, the potions had really hit, and the two of them were giggly and loose limbed.

"Playing guitar doesn't feel like it used to," Wilbur confided, the smile sliding off his face. Tommy leaned forward. Concern edged in around the euphoria. "I remember it made me happy but… it doesn't have the same appeal. It's just strings on wood."

"Don't say that," Tommy said. "It's your guitar."

"I died. I died with L'manberg. It's someone else's guitar."

Tommy scrambled for something to say.

He didn't get the chance.

Technoblade swung the door open.

He stopped.

"What are you doin'?" His voice was low and dangerous. Tommy reached for a golden apple.

"Having fun. You should join us!" Wilbur said, and all his perkiness was back, smile firmly affixed.

"I never said you could use my brewin' stands for that," he said. His eyes flickered between them. His scowl was massive, tusks half-bared.

"It's just drugs, man, calm down."

"Wilbur," Techno said, and it was sharp, cutting.

Tommy took a bite out of his golden apple.

The magic crashed into the magic already in his system, strengthening some of the effects and canceling others. A full-body shudder worked through him.

Techno's full focus was on him now, and Tommy could only assume he was pissed. He held his hands up.

"Hey, listen, we'll make our own brewing stands, okay?" he said.

"Not the problem, here," Techno said.

"It's not a problem," Wilbur said. "This is my resurrection celebration."

"Right," Techno said. "Celebration's over."

Tommy stood up.

His legs could barely hold him, and the whole world tilted and swirled. He couldn't help the giggle that broke out of his mouth as he grasped at the table to keep upright. Wilbur laughed with him.

"Alright," Techno said, and he was coming toward him, but Tommy was too fucked up to put his hands up and besides, Techno probably wouldn't want to get blood on his floors. That would ruin his property value.

Techno swept past and dug through one of the chests in the kitchen. He shoved milk into Tommy's hands.

"Drink this," he ordered. Tommy clutched it close to his chest.

"My absorption," he whined.

"Drink," Techno repeated.

He muttered profanities under his breath but drank the milk anyway.

The world stabilized.

"C'mon man," Tommy complained, the second his coherence solidified. "You're so fucking boring."

Technoblade didn't even bother answering him. He turned on Wilbur.

"You can't dump this much magic into your system," he snapped, and oh, this was a proper fight. A shade of the same frustration that had Technoblade screaming at Tommy between wither explosions was present here.

He rose immediately to Wilbur's defense.

"Just because you only use potions for battle doesn't mean we can't use them when we're messing around!"

"Tommy," Techno said. "You are livin' off of golden apples, and you think it's a good idea to drown yourself in weakness potions?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, not everyone can plan everything perfectly," Wilbur said.

"Any plannin' at all would be good, actually."

"Well, I planned to stay dead."

"Stop it!" Tommy snapped. "You're back now, and you can't fuck off again."

"What, you think I want to stay here with you? Nothing and no one matters. Being alive is worse than being dead."

Tommy shoved his chair under the table with a screech.

"Shut up!" he yelled. His voice cracked. "I hate you! I hate both of you!"

He didn't care if Techno was mad at Wilbur; he was mad at Wilbur now. He turned on his heel and slammed into his--into the guest room, wedging a chair under the door so no one could interrupt him when he curled up on his bed and for the first time in years, cried his stupid fucking eyes out.

Wilbur was supposed to be happy to come back. Wilbur was the one person he could count on. Everyone else had abandoned him in some way or another, but Wilbur had left him because he had died. Phil had said Wilbur wanted to die and he'd never believed him.

Wilbur and Techno devolved into a shouting match outside his door; at least, Wilbur shouted, and Techno's frustrated rumble met him at every turn.

Tommy shoved a pillow over his head to muffle them until they were gone, Wilbur slamming into his room and Techno out the front door.

Silence fell.

A headache crept in behind Tommy's eyes.

He sat up and ate a golden apple until the pain was gone. Everyone was out except Wilbur; Ranboo had probably heard the shouting from outside and retreated. Tommy would check on him later, since he probably wasn't used to their bullshit, but the thought of talking to anyone just then made him feel faintly sick.

Techno and Phil never fought with each other; it was only when Wilbur or Tommy were introduced to the equation that things broke down. Tommy grit his teeth. Wilbur was family. Phil would take every life he could get his hands on to bring Wilbur back; he never even checked on Tommy after Dream was imprisoned (or before that).

Quietly, he eased his door open and went downstairs. He pulled out gold and apples and sat at the crafting bench to make himself some more apples.

Almost a full stack later, having depleted Techno's resources, Tommy figured the redness around his eyes had mostly faded and went to see if Ranboo was still around.

He was with the dogs, anxiously chewing on the end of his quill while he stared down at a crammed-full page of his memory book. Tommy made a point not to read it.

"Hey, big man. And Steve." He patted the massive white dog.

"Oh! Hi, Tommy." Ranboo snapped the book shut.

Tommy snorted.

"Technoblade didn't take you with him when he took off into the woods, then?"

Ranboo clicked his claws together anxiously.

"Uh, no. I thought it was better if I stay."

Oh, no. This was exile all over again, that ugly pity that made him feel pathetic.

Tommy bristled.

Ranboo, rather than letting him explode, rambled on, "He asked. Said he was going to see Phil and that I could come see the stronghold if I wanted."

Of course Techno ran to Philza. They were best friends; an unbreakable duo like Tubbo and Tommy.

Except Tubbo had Snowchester, where Jack Manifold had made it clear Tommy was not welcome. Techno and Philza shared a home.

Shared a home with Ranboo, and now Wilbur.

Tommy grit his teeth.

"You should've gone," he said. "I've heard strongholds are cool."

Ranboo shrugged.

"Do you want to see the drawings I've done of the dogs?"

"You mean of Steve?" Tommy asked, already settling on the hay bale next to Ranboo. Ranboo leafed through pages filled with shaky lines of handwriting so tightly packed he was surprised the paper wasn't dripping with ink. When he settled on the illustrations, Tommy nodded. "Yep. You've got a clear favourite."

Tiny renditions of Steve littered the pages, amateur but recognizable: curled up snoozing in the snow; gnawing on a bone; sitting and staring up from the page with round eyes.

"Cute," Tommy said.

"Thanks." Ranboo flipped further toward the front of the book. He showcased much more awkward sketches. "I'm getting better, I think."

Tommy hummed.

"Wilbur is, too," he said. Ranboo glanced sharply up at him. "I know it doesn't seem like it but he--he went through it, during Pogtopia. I promise he's a good guy."

"I believe you," Ranboo said.

"I know he can be an asshole sometimes, but you live with Technoblade. You're used to assholes."

"Techno really isn't that bad."

Tommy scoffed.

"Whatever."

After an uncomfortable pause, Ranboo ventured, "I think I met Ghostbur. Wilbur's really different."

"Ghostbur wasn't Wilbur. He was some stupid ghost getting Blue all over everything and generally being a nuisance." A bad reminder, more like. Trailing after Tommy during exile, calling it a vacation, wearing his dead brother's face and leaking translucent blood from a fatal wound dealt by Philza. Even now he made it hard to look at Wilbur; there were all these different versions battling for dominance in Tommy's head.

Sometimes when he smiled, it was the Wilbur that helped build a nation, that mixed random ingredients in their caravan and laughed at the resulting sludge before trying to get Tommy to try it. Sometimes when he lost himself in thought, it was a confused Ghostbur that showed through, learning of some misdeed and unable to comprehend it. Sometimes those same smiles took on an edge, and it wasn't a happy Wilbur Tommy saw, but a Wilbur leaning close and saying "Let's be the bad guys."

Wilbur mixed up his emotions the way Dream did, but it was different.

"He's back now, though," Ranboo said, with an encouraging nudge in Tommy's ribs.

Tommy rubbed his knuckles in his eyes and sighed.

"That he is!" he said. "We've got Wilbur back."

Chapter Text

The cabin's atmosphere was frigid after that day. Technoblade had obviously spilled everything to Philza; he heard Phil try to stage an intervention and trigger another shouting match with Wilbur. The brewing stands mysteriously disappeared. Even though Tommy had already made himself more golden apples, he snuck into the basement to see if they'd hidden those ingredients too, hands shaking as he opened the chest lid.

"I'm restocking it tonight," Techno said, from the ladder. Tommy jumped and the lid banged shut.

"Jesus fuck, man! How do you sneak around on those damn hooves of yours?"

"I don't stomp everywhere like you," Technoblade said. "I'm not takin' the golden apples away, as much as I would love for you to stop eatin' my wealth out from under me. I know they make you feel safe."

"I-wha-don't say it like that! I'm fucking battle-ready, is what I am."

Technoblade crossed his arms. Why did he have to be so massive? Tommy hated having him blocking the exit, with those wicked tusks and hands that didn't need a strength potion to cave his skull in. His hands inched toward a golden apple.

"The point I was tryin' to make before you rudely interrupted, Tommy, is that I'm goin' to restock tonight. Do you get that?"

Tommy mimicked his stance.

"I can get them myself, asshole!"

Technoblade blew a long breath out through his snout and appeared to take a moment to get a handle on his temper, which was an odd look on Mr. Blood-for-the-Blood-God himself.

"Not the point. Philza said-"

"I don't care what Philza has to say!"

"Philza said-" Techno continued, over him, "-that I couldn't expect you to change overnight."

Ouch.

Tommyinnit was embarrassed to say that stung almost as bad as the barbs Wilbur sent his way. He lurched closer, hand up to poke Techno in the chest, and yelled,

"Damn right! I don't care if you hate me, I'm not gonna fucking change. You're just gonna have to deal-"

Techno caught his hand, holding it away from him.

"Could you listen, ever? I am tryin' to work with you."

Tommy yanked himself free; really, Technoblade let him go, but it still felt like a victory.

"I'm never working with you again! Last time, you fucking betrayed me and sided with Dream!"

Technoblade bristled.

"Way I remember it," he growled, "you chose Tubbo over me."

"As if it mattered! You were always going to blow up L'manberg!"

"I told you that from the beginnin'!"

"You want me to change but you'll never get over your stupid anarchy bullshit, will you?"

"You're sayin' the government didn't cause problems? You're sayin' it didn't hurt Wilbur? Tubbo? "

"What was I supposed to do? If I didn't side with you, then you would've killed me. I wasn't going to help you destroy my home!"

"I said you didn't have to help!"

"I remember what you said to Dream at the portal. The only reason you didn't hand me over was because you wanted my help ruining L'manberg."

"You were no help, Tommy! I told you what I was goin' to do but I never said it was do it with me or get out."

"It was implied. I'm not fucking stupid. Yeah, I chose Tubbo over you. How does it feel to be second place?"

"I don't understand why! He exiled you."

"Big deal! The people you love hurt you! That's just how it is!"

"You see? That. That's the problem, Tommy. I've been readin' a lot of books on this-"

"Seriously? Books?"

"-and they all agree that after what you've been through it's important to make a distinction between healthy and unhealthy relat-"

"What?" Tommy screeched. "What the fuck have you been reading?"

Techno, with an expression reminiscent of the one he'd had the night of Tommy's nightmare, started to mumble something about additional research, but Tommy clapped his hands over his ears.

"I don't want to hear it! You're so weird! I'm leaving! I can't hear you! I'm leaving!" He shoulder checked the basement doors and stumbled out into the snow. He was going to take a page out of Ranboo's book (metaphorically) and hide in the kennel for a while.

The door swung open again behind him.

"The books said we have to communicate!" Techno shouted after him.

Tommy screamed to block him out and dove for the kennel.

Inside, Steve heaved himself up and came to say hello, tail wagging. Tommy ran his fingers through his course white fur.

"Who does he think he is?" he asked the dog. "Reading books on--on what? How to deal with stupid kids? Not that I'm a kid. I'm a big man."

He plopped down in the hay. Two more dogs gathered around, curiously nosing around for treats. He wrapped his arms around one's neck, burying his face in its fur and letting out a long groan.

He didn't get Techno. Techno had been so mad at him, and that had been their business partnership ruined with no hope for repair; Tommy came to borrow potions for the great showdown but he'd run off before Techno could lay a finger on him. The only reason he'd braved coming back alone had been for Wilbur.

Except now Wilbur was back, and Tommy was still around, in a room everyone pointedly referred to as a guest bedroom despite Techno never welcoming guests into his home.

Except for Tommy, and Ranboo.

"Everything's so confusing all the time," Tommy told the dogs. "Everyone's telling me something different and I-" He stopped to take a shuddering breath. His hotel was on hold in favor of Wilbur, but he still believed in what it represented. "-I just want everyone to get along. I want the fighting to be over." Except the hotel, by being built, also acknowledged that it would never be over. The best Tommy could hope was to keep himself out of it.

If there was no refuge for him, he would build his own.

Tommy sat around with the dogs until he heard Techno's heavy footsteps head for the turtle farm.

He snuck back into the house and up the ladder to Techno's bedroom, if it could even be called that; it was more of a library, bookshelves to the ceiling and an enchantment table the humming centerpiece. He searched the shelves for books he could read, foremost; so many of them had cracked, aging spines with titles in long-forgotten languages. No doubt, Phil's haul from the stronghold. The shelf-full of mythology, though, that had to be Techno's.

He started sorting through the books.

The first incriminating one he found was fucking Parenting for Dummies. A sheet of paper fell out when he wrenched it free of the shelf. He bent to pick it up, and he didn't know if he was relieved or concerned to recognize Phil's handwriting.

"I'll give you all the advice you need," he muttered. "Rule 1: Don't stab them."

The second book he found was Rehabilitating Rescue Dogs, with a bookmark. He flipped it open. The chapter title was "Fear Aggression." He stared at it for a while.

That was probably for Steve and the other sled dogs.

It better be for the sled dogs.

He tossed it on the pile and searched for more.

A book on memory loss that he weighed in his hand for a long moment before placing back on the shelf. Another book on endermen that met the same fate.

On the topmost shelf, which Tommy had to balance on his tiptoes to brush with his fingers, he found several books clearly from the same author, all a dark blue.

He glared down at Healing from Trauma, Dealing with Grief, and The Crossbow Trigger of PTSD. What business did Techno have reading these books? He was the reason Tubbo flinched at fireworks.

"Hey," Ranboo said, from the ladder. Tommy shrieked and lobbed one of the books at his head. He ducked it. "Sorry. Do you want to go to the village with me and Techno?"

"Absolutely not. Don't read that!" He snatched the book from Ranboo before he had a proper look at the title. What if Ranboo thought he was the one reading these? That would be so embarrassing. Tommyinnit was a big man and he didn't need stupid books with even stupider advice.

"Okay... I'll see you later," Ranboo slid back down the ladder with a final, concerned look. Tommy stood in front of the pile until he was sure they were gone. He glared at the books.

This was probably a good chunk of Technoblade's 'research.' Tommy lugged the books downstairs and began the process of burning them. The parenting book went first, because it was thinnest, pages curling and blackening as he watched.

He thumbed over the dark blue book he'd thrown at Ranboo's head. Tubbo had given him a long lecture on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after the first festival. Tommy thought it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, but he'd still tried to make less banging noises when he visited, tried to be understanding when Tubbo explained his under-eye bags away with "Nightmare" or "Surprise firework show."

The only thing he had refused to be understanding about was Tubbo insisting it was alright if he was afraid of TNT, or being hit. It was different. Tubbo was locked in a box and killed by someone he thought was a friend; Tubbo had decorated his own funeral, had been in the line of fire all because of Tommy. Everything bad that had happened to Tommy was his fault and sometimes, when he thought about it, he had to admit everything bad that had happened to his best friend was his fault too.

"What're you doing, gremlin child?" Wilbur asked, settling down at his side. His movements were still slow. He'd been alive for weeks already but he still moved as if his body ached. "I thought everyone went to the village."

Tommy dragged the books closer to him, tried to keep Wilbur from seeing them, but he caught a glimpse and laughed.

"What are you reading?"

"I'm--I'm not! I'm burning them!" To make his point, he tossed the Crossbow Trigger book he had been dangerously close to opening into the fire right on top of Parenting for Dummies, which was still only half destroyed. "It's damn Techno who's been reading them! Like some sort of freak."

Wilbur raised his hands up in surrender, but the teasing smirk didn't go away.

"Little Tommy need some help with his trauma?"

"Shut up. You're so mean. You know that? You've been an asshole ever since Pogtopia."

Wilbur rolled his eyes.

"Alright, I'm sorry," he said, but he didn't mean it. Tommy crossed his arms and concentrated on the fire eating away at the books.

He burned the rest, slowly, methodically, and mixed the ashes around with the poker until he could barely tell there had been books at all, save the stubborn back cover of one. He speared it on the end of the poker.

A light, pitter-patter knock came at the door.

Tommy froze, knuckles white around the poker.

Dream was in prison, but he still found himself thrown back in time, Techno shoving an invisibility potion into his hands in what he would have called a panic if he didn't know any better. But Techno wasn't here. The box was long dismantled.

Wilbur forced himself to his feet.

"Hello?" he called.

Tommy blocked his path to the door with the poker.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed, praying whoever was at the door hadn't heard them.

Wilbur pushed the poker, still hot, away with a bare hand.

"Relax," he said.

Tommy dropped the poker with a clatter and ran for his sword, irresponsibly discarded in his room. He heard the squeal of the door hinges.

"Oh," echoed Wilbur's voice, soft and breathy with shock.

He skidded back into the living room, sword ready.

Wilbur stood, holding the door wide open, and like a twisted reflection in a rippling pond, Ghostbur stood across from him, snow pooling on his shoulders before melting through.

Tommy raised his sword on instinct, even though he would never attack Wilbur or Ghostbur.

"I don't--I don't--what the fuck? What the fuck is happening? How are you--Ghostbur?"

They both turned to look at him. Ghostbur beamed at him.

"Tommy!" he said, voice wispy without proper lungs. "I didn't know you still lived here." His hands twisted a chunk of Blue, so dark and saturated it was nearly black, dripping all over the front steps.

Ghostbur smiled and Wilbur scowled. Their expressions combined was the Wilbur Tommy knew, who would always try to hide his upset behind a happy facade, until one day his efforts proved worthless and Tommy was forced to wonder if Wilbur had ever really been happy.

"Get inside before you melt, d-dipshit," he managed.

Wilbur limped away, turning his back on his ghost, even though there shouldn't be a ghost, sitting back down by the fire. Ghostbur stepped in and dusted himself off, even as it melted his fingers into incorporeal slag.

Lines from the leather grip had indented his palm, but Tommy simply reaffirmed his hold on his sword and looked between the two Wilburs in front of him.

"Are either of you really Wilbur?" he growled.

Ghostbur let the used up Blue drop to the floor in a puddle and pulled more from his inventory.

"No, no, I'm Ghostbur. Not Alivebur."

Wilbur sneered.

It was an awful, cruel, twisted expression, especially contrasted against Ghostbur.

"Of course I am. The very one that blew up a nation, and should have stayed dead," he said.

Tommy struggled to breathe properly.

"I knew--I knew the resurrection went wrong. That motherfucker lied to me. He probably knew, didn't he? Did it on purpose."

How could Philza have done this? How could he have done this to Tommy, but more importantly, how could he have done this to his own son?

What was he saying? Philza was the reason Wilbur died in the first place.

Philza probably prefered this angry, hurting half of Wilbur over the real Wilbur, because no doubt this Wilbur would never move against him and Techno if they wanted to raze another nation.

Tommy dropped his sword and scrambled for the notes Philza left behind on the kitchen table. None of them were readable. He shoved them to the floor in a fit of frustration and climbed the ladder to check the bookshelves. Ghostbur drifted after him.

"Tommy," he said, with that little crease between his brows, "Have some Blue."

His hands, outstretched, dripped blue all over the books Tommy haphazardly pulled out. Tommy tried to shove him away, and when his hand passed right through, smeared away the dye so it wouldn't soil anything.

"I don't want your stupid Blue."

Nothing. Notes on a better greenhouse design by Technoblade, what appeared to be a failed game of Fox and Chickens, and the notes from before they confronted Dream in the prison. Philza had tried a ritual, involving a totem--he'd heard about that failure. They'd temporarily pulled Schlatt from the other side, of all people.

Tommy ghosted his hand over the small scrawl.

Technoblade had extra totems.

He slid back down the ladder. He didn't have much time; Philza and the others could be right outside, for all he knew. He couldn't let them know he knew. They would stop him.

Wielding his pickaxe, he destroyed the decorative mantle above the fireplace, revealing a small barrel wreathed in smoke. Technoblade must have never realized he found this particular stash during exile, or he would have moved it. He pried the lid open.

Nestled among an emergency set of potions was a small idol, big nose and flared wings the best thing Tommy had ever seen. He scooped the Totem of Undying into his inventory, and pocketed the potions for good measure.

Cloak, tools, Totem.

He didn't need anything else.

Tommy slammed out the doors.

Carl was gone; the kennel stood empty. Philza's horse, caught wild by Technoblade and given as a gift, was left behind. Tommy saddled up.

"Where are you going?" Wilbur--Alivebur?--asked, leaning against the doorway. He made it look like a lounge, but Tommy could see the fine tremble in his legs.

"To make this right," Tommy said. Ghostbur drifted through the door and over to Tommy. He stroked the horse, oblivious to the tension in the air, heedless of the blue streaks he left in its fur as his hands passed uselessly through.

"There's nothing to make right. Nothing I have is fixable."

Tommy swung up onto the horse.

"I don't care. I'm going to bring back the real you, Wilbur. I promise."

He urged the horse through the stable gate and made for the portal. Ghostbur followed. Wilbur didn't linger to watch him go; the door slammed.

He rode almost blind all the way to the prison, unshed tears of fear and anger blurring his vision. Before the final hill, he swung free of the saddle and splashed himself with regeneration; he just needed to stay alive long enough to bargain. He left the horse loose and ran for the prison.

There was no Awesamedude waiting, this time. He walked into the entrance and stood in front of the visitor button. He'd pressed it, last time, been the reason Philza was able to get inside the prison and kill Sam right after. Tommy had taken two of Awesamedude's lives, and for what?

"You can do this," he whispered. "You have to do this."

Ghostbur hovered at his shoulder.

"What's this place?" he asked.

Tommy ignored him, and pressed the button.

He stepped back and unsheathed his sword.

The second Sam dropped in front of him, fresh from a pearl teleportation, he tossed the sword at his feet. He held his empty hands up, anticipating the Warden's Will swinging down on him, but Sam took an aborted step forward and rasped,

"Tommy?"

"H-hey, Sam." He shuffled awkwardly in place. "I know that you're probably contractually obligated to kill me, but we really didn't let Dream out and that has to count for something, right, pal?"

Sam's expression, like Techno's, could be difficult to read at times. His mouth was constantly turned down in an unhappy creeper frown.

"I--Tommy, what are you doing here? And with--with Ghostbur?"

Tommy was mortified to feel tears squeeze free from the corners of his eyes. He dashed them away.

"Turns out, Philza and Techno only wanted to bring back the parts of Wilbur they agreed with." His voice cracked and grew weak. "Look, I know--I know the prison is probably still on lockdown, but I-I need to see Dream. I need to try and get information out of him, a way to bring my brother back, properly this time."

Sam was already shaking his head.

"Quackity is working on it. It's not safe for you. I can't, in good conscience, let you back in there."

At least he wasn't angry.

Tommy dug through his inventory and held out the Totem for Sam to see.

"I have this. I'm not letting him kill me this time." The words tasted like ash in his mouth, and not regular ash, either, but the debris from wither explosions, acrid and unnatural. "Please, Sam. Please."

Sam hesitated.

"Tommy, I don't…"

"I'm begging you. Let me into the prison."

Sam looked down on him, and it wasn't the Warden he locked eyes with, but the man who helped him build his hotel, who built a whole, stupid little robot to make the menial tasks fun.

"Okay. I'll stay close by, okay? I promise."

Tommy closed his eyes and nodded.

That wouldn't help, that wouldn't matter, but it filled him with bittersweet warmth all the same.

Chapter Text

Tommy stood, hands fisted together so they wouldn't shake, while the lava parted. He had only his totem. Everything else he left in the locker, which remained unlocked.

"Last chance to back out," Awesamedude said. Tommy sucked in a breath and stepped onto the platform. Ghostbur floated along at his shoulder, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Send me in, big man."

Dream had reformed his fake, lime green body. He leaned against the netherite blockade and twiddled his fingers in a wave. Tommy resisted the urge to beg for Sam to recall the platform, resisted the desperate desire to shout and scream and struggle until he was free of Dream. He'd been here once already since dying. He could do it again.

"Funny," Dream said, "Two visits ago you said it was your last time. Miss me so much?"

"Shut up," Tommy snapped, before he could think about it. "You know why I'm here."

Dream's mouth split in an empty smile.

"Yeah… hello, Wilbur," he said.

"I'm Ghostbur," Ghostbur whispered, producing and saturating fistful after fistful of Blue. Tommy bowed his head and stepped onto the obsidian; he watched rivulets of the dye trace through the divots in the stone, sizzling in the heat.

"Philza fucked up big time, hmm?" Dream laughed. Lava fell in a curtain at Tommy's back. This was it.

"He did," Tommy said. He lifted his chin as the netherite sank. "I want you to bring Wilbur back. Bring him back properly. I won't let you out, but I have this." He produced the Totem. "And I'll trade my life for his."

Dream sidled forward.

Tommy jerked back and held the Totem out toward the lava.

"Stop," he ordered.

Dream just chuckled, and kept approaching.

Tommy forced himself to the very edge, hand so close to the lava blisters rose and cracked on his knuckles.

"I'll fucking drop it."

Dream eased off, hands up, that infuriating smile still on his face. Ghostbur vanished, leaving behind only a puddle of Blue, and Tommy wished for once Wilbur would just stay with him when the going got tough.

"What use do I have for that in here?"

"You're always going on about how smart you are. Figure it out."

"So you're willing to risk me getting free just for Wilbur's sake? How cute."

Tommy ground his teeth together. Blood congealed on the back of his hand and dripped down his wrist. He was willing to bet on Awesamedude, and everyone Dream had wronged, on putting him back where he belonged if he ever escaped.

"Please, Dream," he said, stomach turning over. It had hurt so much less to beg when Dream was his friend--not that Dream was ever his friend.

Dream circled closer, a predator whose prey wasn't even hiding its weakness.

"You're going to put the whole server on the line for one person? I thought you were some sort of hero."

Tommy thought of Technoblade, a wither skull in hand, thought of a L'manberg still whole and new and matching Wilbur's vision, but soon to crumble.

"I'm not a hero," he said. "I just want my brother, and I'll give you this totem and my life for him."

Dream's eyes sparkled.

"You're so selfish, Tommy. This is what Tubbo sent you into exile for. You only ever think of yourself, and never the consequences."

"I know," Tommy said, and he wished it was a powerful, defiant shout; but it was wobbly, and weak, just like his grip on the Totem.

Dream carried on as if he hadn't spoken.

"I don't know why I kept you around for so long. You've only ever caused problems. You were fun for a while, but once you brought Philza and Techno into it? It stopped being fun." His green form shuddered, and for a moment it was just the white, shapeless skeleton, with that void of a smile. "I think I'll take you up on that offer just to kill you a fourth time. That will be fun. The Totem will be useful too, I guess."

Tommy banished it from his grip and stepped toward Dream.

"You get it when you bring Wilbur back, then, bitch."

Dream smiled at him.

"Mm, but I'd rather you give it to me now, and you jump into the lava. You've wanted to for so long, haven't you?"

Tommy blanched.

"Shut up. Wilbur comes as I go. You won't bring him back if I just give you the Totem. I'm not stupid."

Dream sighed.

"You're stupid, trust me." He caught Tommy by the collar and bent him backwards, straight for the lava. Tommy scrabbled at his forearm; instinct demanded he fight back.

"Dream! You can't--you can't toss me in the lava! You'll lose the Totem."

Lava singed at his hair. He gasped at the burn.

Dream laughed.

"I guess you're right."

He tossed Tommy across the cell. Well practiced, Tommy rolled with the momentum, crashing against the far wall with minimal damage. He didn't have time to get to his feet before Dream pounced.

A fist caught his hair and slammed his head into the obsidian.

Dream leaned down so all he could see was green.

"Enjoy the afterlife. No one will bring you back, this time."

And between one blink, clouded with blood, and the next, Tommy found himself in the void.

Endless, black nothingness.

"Wilbur?" he called, voice small, and was relieved when there was no answer. He sat down right where he was. His head hurt terribly, and his core felt hollow. Even his fucking hand hurt, the blisters risen and weeping. Tommy supposed the afterlife wasn't the escape he'd always fancied it as.

He buried his face in his hands.

Wilbur was back, now, the real Wilbur, whole and hopefully well again. Tommy would never get to see it.

At least in the void he didn't have to worry about being overheard while he cried for what could have been hours or days.

Blood didn't pump through his veins. When he checked his wrist out of habit, all he found was the gut-wrenching stillness of death.

He decided he would get up and walk for a while.

He wandered through the endless dark; he even ran into the slumped form of Schlatt, snoring away surrounded by a scattered deck of cards, who he left undisturbed with only a distasteful look.

Seeing Wilbur here the first time had been awful, but being alone was terrible too. He wrapped his arms around himself and forced himself to keep walking. Why was the afterlife so empty when so many people died?

He was so lonely.

He stopped to take stock of himself.

Blistered hand. Blood dripping ceaselessly down his temple. At least he didn't have to worry about blood loss killing him. He was already dead.

"That's the bright side, innit? Nothing more can happen to me. I'm just here. For… eternity…"

And he'd made himself feel worse.

He started off again.

His legs never got tired; he never ran out of breath. There were no dips or inclines. It was just the same thing in every direction.

He tried humming his favorite tunes, Cat and Mellohi and Chirp, but they'd lost the shine of all the good memories and instead made him think of Dream and a lonely bench.

He tried to count his steps next, and lost count somewhere around "four thousand and ninety six--or, fuck, was it ninety seven?"

He kicked out at nothing, as if there was some void pebble he could send skittering down the nonexistent path.

Might as well start over. There was nothing else to do.

"One," he said aloud, just to beat back the ceaseless silence.

"Two.”

“Three.”

“Four."

Chapter Text

Tommy blinked his eyes open to the painfully familiar ceiling of Dream's cell. Technoblade leaned over him. Blood dripped from his snout. Strong arms looped beneath Tommy's back and legs, lifting him into the air. He struggled, confused, but Techno pressed his face into his cape gently with one massive hand.

Tommy wormed one arm free, pressing his palm against his neck.

A pulse. He had a pulse. Again.

How?

"Techno?" Tommy asked.

Techno hummed, and squeezed him.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Techno rumbled.

Dream's awful laugh made Tommy thrash, but Techno held him so close it was crushing.

"Technoblade never dies, huh?" Dream mocked.

Technoblade didn't answer. He carried Tommy across the cell, bundled in his arms like a child, hiding his face from Dream and the too-bright lava, and stepped on the platform just as it was recalled.

A wispy something brushed across his arm.

"Tommy! You're back!" Ghostbur exclaimed. It was his hand, a mockery of a comforting touch offered while he floated alongside the platform.

Tommy stared at him in horror.

"No," he yelled. "No, no, no!"

He kicked out at Ghostbur, at Techno, voice cracking into a scream. Techno grappled with him, keeping him from pitching himself directly into the lava. More hands grabbed him; Awesamedude, helping Techno manhandle him away from the edge. Tommy threw punches that did nothing.

"Tommy," Ghostbur repeated, face falling. "You seem upset." He offered him Blue from behind Technoblade.

"You're supposed to be alive! You motherfucker! Get away from me! Go away!"

Ghostbur vanished as if he had never been there at all.

Tommy sagged in Techno and Sam's hold.

With a curt nod from Sam, Techno took all of his weight, settled on his knees. Tommy fisted a hand in his cape, but turned his face away.

"Why does he always do this to me? I'm so fucking stupid!" Techno's arm banded across his chest kept him from beating his fist against the floor like he so badly wanted to. He turned on Technoblade instead, using that hand in his cape as leverage to throw a punch directly at his stupid pig face. "You and Philza lied to me! You never wanted to resurrect Wilbur!"

"Tommy," Technoblade started, shaking off the blow.

"No! Shut up! I can't believe you! You said Wilbur was your friend!"

"He was--is. Tommy, just breathe, alright?"

His lungs hurt from how shallow and rapid his inhales were. He choked over what he wanted to say next, dissolving into near-incoherency.

"I hate you. I hate you so much!" he managed.

"I know. It's alright. You're safe now."

Tommy tried to get free.

"I'm never safe! I just wanted Wilbur back! Why did you bring me back? Why did you have to bring me back? I don't understand!"

Techno caught his arms and trapped him against his chest in some poor replacement for a hug.

Tommyinnit tilted into him and dissolved into sobs.

"Why did you have to bring me back instead of Wilbur?" he wailed.

He wondered if Techno even understood him, because all he did was rumble, "It's okay."

There was a great clatter from the hallway. Philza fell into the room; his hat was torn, and he bled primordial ooze from several deep cuts on his forearm. He stopped short, boggling at the scene.

Ranboo was a step behind him, similarly disheveled, bleeding from a split cheek.

Tommy turned his face into Technoblade's shoulder. He didn't want Ranboo to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, but at least Philza and Techno couldn't loathe him any more than they already did. His sobs continued to come in unpreventable waves, painfully audible.

"Mate, tell me you didn't…" Philza said.

Techno shifted uneasily, adjusting Tommy in his lap.

"See," Tommy spat, trying to inject venom into his voice to cover up the quivering he couldn't contain. "Philza didn't want me coming back."

Techno jostled him.

"Yes, he does," he admonished. "He just wanted us to wait."

Philza scoffed.

"Yeah, so we could use someone else's life, like fucking Punz."

"Tommy?" Ranboo asked, and one slender, clawed hand settled comfortingly on Tommy's shoulder. He bit down on the crying that only worsened at the care and curled away.

"Why didn't you use the Totem, Tommy?" Awesamedude asked, with a mix of gentle concern and disappointment.

Tommy refused to answer either of them.

"Let's get out of here," Technoblade interrupted. "I don't want heatstroke."

Technoblade got to his feet with a grunt, taking Tommy with him curled in an awkwardly-balanced ball. Maybe it wasn't so bad, letting Technoblade cradle him like a fucking baby, because at least he didn't have to walk under his own power or look anyone else in the eye.

The journey out of the prison was so much shorter than the one in, which had been an extended walk to the gallows. Despite being short, it provided more than enough time to cry himself to exhaustion. His nose stuffed up and his head began to ache. He wiped the snot and tackiness on his cheeks away using Technoblade's cloak.

Outside, the sky was fading into night, the sun's final rays outlining the mountains and sharp lines of the prison. Tommy felt the distinct urge to vomit. He did not know what day it was. How long had his corpse been left to rot this time?

Technoblade let him down into the grass, but stuck suffocatingly close. Ranboo, too, hovered. Only Philza had any decency, lagging behind and pausing to pull Awesamedude aside.

"There's something important I need to tell you, mate," he said. "You know how you should have two lives?"

Technoblade, apparently, did not feel the need to wait for him. He led Tommy and Ranboo to a stand of trees, where Carl was tethered to a fence post that was barely more than a stick in the ground for how hastily it had been crafted.

"Up," he said, and Tommy did not get a chance to protest, as Technoblade immediately boosted him into the saddle. He slumped over Carl's neck.

"I want to go back to my house," he muttered, trying to imagine facing the hollow husk passing for Wilbur after this, and only managing to cause fresh tears to well up in his eyes. He would take his drafty dirt hut over that any day.

"No. We're goin' home," Techno said, looping Carl's reins around his hand.

Halfway between the prison and the portal, they skirted the edge of a small, fresh battlefield.

"Punz jumped us," Ranboo explained, following his gaze.

Philza, who had caught up with them several minutes ago, added, "Yeah, him and a bunch of his friends, the fucker. Wouldn't be down to one life now if it weren't for his poor decision making."

Ranboo flicked an ear toward him in acknowledgement, but continued, "It's what took us so long. Techno went ahead, but…"

Technoblade let out an irritated snort.

"Took us a while to pry what happened out of Wilbur. That's what really slowed us down," he said.

"Not Wilbur," Tommy murmured, and that put that conversation to an uncomfortable end.

Back at the house, Tommy hunched over Carl, wrapping his arms around his neck.

"I don't want to see that motherfucker," he snapped, but his voice was raw and weak. Still, Technoblade paused, and sighed, and went inside without him. Ranboo awkwardly fiddled with Carl's mane.

"I guess you could sleep in the kennel. I did a couple of times, but Phil and Techno didn't really like it when I did." Tommy snorted. Those two were so soft on Ranboo, and he couldn't even blame them. "It's a lot warmer now, though. I think they added more insulation."

Before he had a chance to decide if he did want to sleep with the dogs, Technoblade returned.

"Alright, he's in his room. Let's go," he said, and Tommy didn't have a chance of staying in the saddle, because Technoblade lifted him straight out of it like a sack of potatoes.

He flailed.

"Wh-what the fuck, man?"

"Inside," Techno grunted, unbothered. Tommy shoved him and stomped inside, all the way up to his room. The mess he had left was still there, mantle cracked open; as if they'd seen he was gone, and left in a hurry. He shored himself up against the thought, traitorous as it was, and slammed his bedroom door closed.

Not that he got to enjoy the solitude for long. Technoblade knocked on his door maybe fifteen minutes later.

"What?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow and wiping his eyes.

"Soup," Techno grunted, pushing the door open. He shoved the wooden bowl into Tommy's hands the second he sat up properly.

Tommy expected that to be the end of it. Technoblade was always someone concerned with the essentials. In Pogtopia, he made a farm and he built railings and then he vanished. But he sat down on the end of Tommy's bed instead, watching him with keen eyes until he deigned to eat. The stew was magicless, but good, not that Tommy would ever say that.

"This the same shit we fed the asshole after he came back? Why are you feeding me this? I'm not him."

Techno shrugged.

"He was pretty sick after comin' back. Figured you'd be the same."

The soup soured in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow, and settled the half-full bowl in his lap.

"The only reason," he started, voice low and barely held together on the edges, "he's so weak is because Phil only brought back half of him. Half a soul piloting a whole body? No--no wonder he wants to go back to being dead."

Techno cringed.

"We're fixing that soon," he said.

Tommy scrubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Then why'd you do it in the first place?" he said.

"Philza told you, he's never done it before. He pulled Wil from the afterlife but he didn't think to check the overworld. That's why we kept Dream alive, for if we did it wrong."

Tommy never wanted to hear that name again.

"That why you came to the prison?"

For a moment, Technoblade looked confused, before a shadow passed over his face.

"We came for you," he growled.

Tommy scoffed. They didn't come the first time. What made this time different? He scrubbed at his eyes again, as the silence drew out.

Finally, Techno let out a massive breath, and said,

"I'm sorry we were too late."

Tommy laughed, wetly.

"You never should have come at all. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you all."

"Lots of things," Technoblade said, mildly. "But we're trying to be better."

"I saw your stupid books. Parenting for Dummies, really?"

Technoblade smothered a smile.

"I had to start him somewhere," he said. "He's a god, he doesn't always understand things the way we do."

Yeah. Common excuse; even Wilbur had let Phil get away with shit just because he was an all-powerful, immortal being.

"I don't care if he's a god. He's still an asshole. I don't believe that he's going to bring Wilbur back."

"Then sleep today off, and you'll see the proof tomorrow," Technoblade said. He took the bowl, and before he left, squeezed Tommy's shoulder with one massive hand. "I'm glad to have you back."

"Yeah, whatever." Tommy shoved his hand off and huddled under the covers, fragile upwards quirk at the edges of his mouth betraying the warmth creeping through his core.

He wasn't about to get too complacent, but maybe it was alright to sleep, for a while...

Chapter Text

Tommy was awoken by what sounded like everyone whisper-yelling over each other. He bolted upright, sword unsheathed before he'd consciously thought of it.

"Guys, please," Ranboo was saying, "Tommy's asleep."

"I don't care! I'm waking him up! I want to see him!"

Wilbur?

Tommy leapt for the door.

It was thrown open before he reached it; on the other side, back-lit by the dying fire, was Wilbur. Tommy paused, wary.

"C'mere, you gremlin child," Wilbur said. He opened his arms wide. Tommy dropped his sword and crashed into his embrace.

"Thank fuck," he said, choking on the toxic mix of resentment and relief rising in his throat. He buried his nose in Wilbur's coat, which mercifully smelled of horses and snow, rather than gunpowder. "Took you long enough."

Wilbur hugged him tight.

"Yeah, well… I was a little tied up in being dead."

"Never do that again," Tommy demanded, fisting the back of Wilbur's jacket in his hands. Wilbur huffed, and didn't answer.

Eventually, he got embarrassed enough to pull away. Ranboo and Techno had busied themselves in the kitchen, but Philza hadn't even stepped away, instead staring at them with soft, misty eyes.

"Don't start, old man," Tommy warned, looking away.

Philza sniffed.

"Feels right, this time, huh?" he said.

Wilbur looped an arm around Tommy and led the way to the fire.

"I'm back," he promised them both. "For better, or worse."

"For better," Techno said, with finality, passing out mugs of tea with the help of Ranboo. They all settled close to the warmth of the fire, freshly stoked to life. Tommy kept a tight grip on Wilbur's wrist, happy to feel the pulse thrumming beneath his skin, and happier still that Wilbur did not pull away like Alivebur, and was much more solid than Ghostbur. His other hand concerned itself with his own pulse in the curve of his neck, which fluttered with nerves, but existed.

No matter how much he wanted to stay awake and savor every moment of the real, whole Wilbur being back, he found himself fading. Again and again, he rallied himself with the reminder that this could be a dream, or an elaborate trick by Philza. The only reason he knew he fell fully asleep at all was because he was jolted back to wakefulness by being lifted into the air.

"Easy," Wilbur said, hand darting in to ruffle his hair. "No being a brat. We're just putting you to bed." Damn Technoblade, carrying him again. Tommy grumbled, shifted, tested his grip. It held steady, so he subsided. Techno hadn't lied. Philza had brought the real Wilbur back. Tommy could relax for now. After all, he would have to be leaving soon.

"Goodnight," he mumbled, rolling beneath his covers.

"Night, kid," Wilbur said, with an echoing grunt from Technoblade.

The house fell swiftly into silence; the day had been long, the night too, and now as dawn approached everyone cradled their individual hurts and let sleep begin to heal them. Tommy fell asleep with one hand guarding against blood that no longer dripped from a fractured skull, the other cupped against his pulse point.

***

The next morning, Tommy eased Wilbur's door open to find him asleep, notedly peaceful. He looked as he had every other time: messy spill of curls, touch of drool at the corner of his mouth. Tommy rested his forehead against the door jamb and exhaled. Only time would tell if this was his Wilbur. Maybe he would try to summon Ghostbur, just to be sure.

He shut the door with a soft click.

He put on tea for when Philza and Ranboo stumbled in, and nibbled away at a golden apple for his own breakfast.

"Tommy!" He wasn't sure he'd ever heard Ranboo so perky.

"Morning, big man," he said, inclining his apple core.

Ranboo sat in the closest chair, stretching his long legs out. Enderchest leapt into her customary breakfast spot on his lap. Tommy leaned over to scratch her behind the ears. He glanced up.

"Why're you looking at me like that?" he asked. Ranboo looked away, awkwardly pulling his claws through his hair.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I just--I had nightmares about you all last night. It's just good to see you. Here, alive."

Tommy understood. That was why the first thing he did was check on Wil. To know that Ranboo cared enough about him to worry, just like Tubbo, made fuzzy feelings well up.

"That's weirdchamp," he said, anyway.

Ranboo groaned.

Technoblade slid down the ladder.

"Techno, tell Tommy he's being a hypocrite," Ranboo whined.

"Tommy, you're being a hypocrite," Techno told him, dutifully.

"Hey! I don't even know what that means! I am not!" He lobbed his apple core at Techno.

Ranboo laughed at him. Techno, too, made one of his distinctively amused chuffs. He tossed Tommy's core away in the bin and started on breakfast. Like always, Tommy got his own plate. He popped several cubes of watermelon into his mouth, but ignored the oatmeal.

Philza was next, yawning as if he had actually been asleep. He ruffled Ranboo's hair, and Tommy waited, hand clenched around his spoon, for that customary shoulder squeeze. When it came, he realized it was identical to the one Techno had offered just last night; smaller hand, same everything else.

Jesus, was Technoblade taking social cues from a god?

Tommy shoveled oatmeal into his mouth to avoid mocking him about it. If he did that, he'd have to admit he thought too long and hard about the gentle affection that came so easily to Philza, and who knew what book Technoblade had on that. Even Tubbo spooked Tommy these days, if he hugged him without warning.

Wilbur was the last up.

A hush fell over the table. Ranboo awkwardly pretended to be invested in his memory book; Techno and Philza were too engrossed in their quickly cooling breakfasts to be anything approaching normal. Tommy didn't look away. He stared Wilbur down, searching for cracks, for some evidence that last night was a trick.

Wilbur shrugged at him.

"Morning, everyone." His walk was easy, that chest-out, chin-up stride that exuded a confidence which drew trust from Tommy and an entire nation. He tugged a chair out and dropped into it, humming his thanks when Technoblade served him his own breakfast. "It's a wonder I got any sleep last night," he said, dumping sugar into his oatmeal. "It was a revolving door."

Technoblade cleared his throat and seemed to decide the dishes could wait no longer; he whisked away Philza's bowl while he was still mid-bite, scrubbing with an intensity best reserved for war.

Philza scratched at his scruff.

"Yeah, well… we were all worried. First time didn't go so well, did it?"

"That's an understatement," Tommy growled.

Wilbur tossed him a sympathetic look.

"It's all good now, Toms," he said. Tommy grimaced and ate more oatmeal just for something to do. Things being better now didn't really erase the things being bad then.

"I figure you can just rest, mate, take it easy. There's not much you need to do," Philza continued.

Wilbur yawned.

"Sounds boring. I'll find something to do." That mischievous, wicked glee that had Tommy and Wilbur getting shitfaced on potions passed over his face.

Tommy set his spoon down.

He was no longer hungry.

"I'm going to my room," Tommy said. "Don't try and drag me into doing chores."

To their credit, they didn't, content to leave him to wallow on his bed, at least for a while. Eventually, someone did knock.

"Fuck off!" he shouted.

"C'mon," Wilbur cajoled through the wood, "Can't stand to look at my face for even a couple minutes? I need an audience to clap for me. I haven't played since I--in a while. I need the ego boost."

Tommy groaned and dragged the door open.

Wilbur stood on the other side, guitar gripped in one hand.

He grinned at Tommy.

"Any requests?"

Tommy shrugged, following him to the fireplace and begrudgingly sitting down. Wilbur began to tune the guitar; clearly, Alivebur had different tastes in what did and didn't sound right.

Tommy flopped onto his back and hummed along once Wilbur actually settled on a song. It was like listening to his favourite discs; the sting of betrayal and loss soothed with nostalgia for the times that were good.

"I was thinking," Wilbur said, still plucking away, "That this place could use a little personal touch from us. Some cobblestone, some nice paths…"

Tommy laughed.

"Techno and Philza would hate that."

Wilbur smiled down at his guitar.

"Exactly. Can't let 'em get complacent."

Tommy snorted.

"I don't even know if we have any cobble. Philza's all fancy, with his smooth stone."

Together, they dug through the storeroom. Wilbur found pink granite, which he insisted would add a much-needed pop of color, while Tommy contented himself with a discarded heap of diorite.

"Looks like bird poop, doesn't it?" he said, holding it up. Wilbur snorted.

"C'mon, I found some old fences. Let's mess with Carl's stable." They stitched the fence together in a mishmash of light and dark oak, and watched from the attic window when Techno ambled by. He paused.

"Has your fence… always looked like that?" he asked the horse, who blew out air and nosed at his cloak for a carrot. He slipped him one, then one more, all while staring at the fence.

He shook his head, muttered something to the voices in his mind, and continued to the turtle farm. Tommy groaned in disappointment.

Wilbur patted him lightly on the back.

"Don't worry. When Phil notices, he's going to lose his fucking mind."

"Aesthetic this, aesthetic that," Tommy grumbled. "Cobblestone is the best block, and that's that."

"Your tastes are atrocious," Wilbur said, lining the bookshelves with granite. Tommy lobbed a book at his head and bolted outside to add a couple free-form sculptures to the yard.

Techno and Philza both noticed those, especially when Wilbur joined in and started copying him.

"My property value," Techno wailed, collapsing to his knees. Ranboo peeked outside, saw what they had done, and ducked back inside with a squawk.

"Really?" Philza said, hands on his hips. "Dicks?"

"They're just like you," Tommy said, pointing to the biggest of the bunch. "A huge dick!"

"Oh my god, Tommy!" Philza yelled, but he was laughing, so Tommy laughed with him. Wilbur swung an arm around his shoulders and laughed too, even when Tommy disentangled himself and danced away.

Like Atlas lifting the world on his shoulders, except his weight to bear was the terrible sight of stone and wooden dicks all over his lawn, Technoblade heaved himself to his feet and drew his pickaxe. He broke the nearest stone penis.

"No!" Tommy yelled, reforming it. Techno broke it again.

"I'm not lettin' you and Wil erect a bunch of--statues on my lawn, Tommy!" Techno said.

He did not.

Technoblade's eyes widened when he realized what he'd said.

"That was an accident, no, put the planks down, no."

Tommy howled with glee and took off to build more. Phil gave chase to Wilbur, and together the four of them started a mad game of tag. It only ended when Tommy, winded from staying ahead of Technoblade, paused to eat a golden apple and Technoblade decided it was time for lunch.

"Real lunch," he told Tommy, pointedly. Tommy rolled his eyes. The apple had done its job, reinvigorating his lungs.

"Tag is just low stakes war, big man. Don't you like all that preparing shit?"

"Not when it involves you eatin' golden apples like they're free candy."

"They are free," Tommy said, dropping the door at just the right time so that it clipped Techno's shoulder.

Wilbur laughed from behind him.

"He's got you there. He's never had to do an ounce of work for them."

Techno sighed.

"No one appreciates all the minin' I do."

"Aw, I do, Tech," Philza said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Me too," Ranboo piped up. He was dusted in a fine layer of flour.

"Suck up," Tommy grumbled. Why did Ranboo have to be the favorite without even trying?

"What happened to you?" Wilbur asked. Ranboo seemed imbalanced at being addressed by Wilbur; it made sense. Alivebur had barely addressed him at all. Probably because that particular version of Wilbur didn't even know who Ranboo was, and was too absorbed in his misery to care about getting to know him.

Fuck, Tommy was so blind. It was so obvious, in hindsight.

"I was trying out a new recipe," said Ranboo, rallying free of his discomfort. "But my claws caused some problems. I promise I'll clean it up, I'm sorry it's not clean yet-"

"Don't worry about it, mate," Philza said.

Technoblade hummed in agreement and went for the broom.

Tommy didn't help; he sat with Wilbur instead.

After lunch, Tommy expected Wilbur to nap, but he sprang up as energized as ever. Tommy and Philza squished into the doorway of his room as he ripped through it in the name of 'redecorating.'

"We should do your room next," he said.

"The guest room? Fuck off."

"We should add some red, at the very least."

Tommy decided he did not want to watch him redecorate after all. Even if some ancient ache in him was soothed by seeing Wilbur alive and well again, he did not want to contend with his fragile place in this stupid household.

Outside, Technoblade had cleaned up all traces of their statues, leaving room for Ranboo and several of the sled dogs to frolic through the snow. Ranboo always wore his armor outside; the hum of protective enchantments had become something of a familiar sound. Tommy plopped right into the snow, even though he had left his cloak and other snow gear inside. He'd probably slept the most out of everyone, but he felt like a wrung-out dish towel.

Something he had worked toward tirelessly; something, someone, he had been willing to sacrifice everything for, and here he sat, with that very thing dropped right into his lap.

He wasn't going to be foolish enough to reach out to take it. That would only get it snatched away.

He packed snowballs and lobbed them at the back of Ranboo's head.

Ranboo yelped and whirled.

"What was that for?" he asked, brushing snow off the back of his helmet.

Tommy, rather than answering, nailed him directly in the face with another snowball. Ranboo tripped backwards and sprawled in the snow with all the grace of a gangly enderman hybrid. Tommy laughed at his expense; the dogs, too, seemed supremely amused, climbing all over him.

They devolved into a proper snowball fight after that, one Tommy was not willing to lose even as his fingers stiffened with the cold and his teeth began to chatter. He ducked behind his wall of snow, narrowly avoiding a snowball that was mostly ice.

"I think you should give up!" he yelled. "You're no match for my power."

"No, I think I am a match, actually," Ranboo yelled back. He launched another snowball.

Another snowball that went too far and too high, and caught a returning Technoblade squarely in the chest.

He blinked down at the splash of snow.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry, Techno. I did not mean-" Ranboo started, straightening from behind his shelter.

"You know what this means?" Techno asked, voice a low, thunderous rumble. Tommy grinned.

"Um," Ranboo said, twisting his hands together.

"This means war!"

Techno scooped up his own handful of snow and nailed Ranboo right where he had been hit, in the center of his chest. Ranboo laughed and ducked back behind his own snow wall.

Tommy cheered.

"You're outnumbered, dipshit!"

"This feels a little unfair!"

"Well then-" Tommy started, but he was startled into silence by the warm drape of Techno's cloak around his shoulders. He clutched it closer on reflex, looking to Techno with confusion, but Techno was peering across the battlefield and finishing for him,

"You should call for backup."

"Phil!" Ranboo wailed, drawing out the syllables.

Like a faithful dog, Philza appeared, followed closely by Wilbur.

"Is everything o-oh." Philza tossed his head back and laughed.

Wilbur took Ranboo's side. Philza insisted he was a neutral party, which was code for lobbing snowballs at all of them whenever their guard dropped too low.

If anyone had been keeping score, Philza probably won, but by the end everyone was covered in snow and smiling. Ranboo vanished to change into dry clothes and drink a healing potion for the mild burns his armor hadn't prevented. Tommy curled up by the fire, using Techno's cape as a blanket, and let his extremities thaw. Wilbur stretched out next to him.

Tommy tried to hide his lingering smile in the fluff of the cape's collar. His cheeks ached, unaccustomed to the work; but he'd blame it on the cold if anyone asked.

Chapter Text

Tommy hung around; his doubts did not.

Wilbur was back, properly this time, with his wit and his love of music and his bouts of melancholy. Over the next week, Tommy trailed after him like a wolf hoping for a bone, and tried to pretend he didn't; which, judging by the fond looks Philza threw their way, he failed miserably at. Wilbur didn't mind, at least. He was even man enough to play at not noticing.

Tommy could feel his welcome thinning, but everytime he packed his things, everytime he drafted a message to Awesamdude about the hotel, he found some excuse to stay.

Wilbur didn't have any tools; Tommyinnit might as well help kit him out (Ranboo and Technoblade did most of that).

Wilbur needed an audience for his songs; Tommy was the only one who knew the original melodies (Philza listened raptly and always hummed along perfectly in tune).

Wilbur cried over L'manberg; Tommy was the only one who knew what he actually went through (everyone else was so much better at comforting him).

Wilbur was perfectly settled, and Tommy was just grasping at flimsy reasons to stay.

It came to a head in the bee farm, of all places. Ranboo crept in, and disturbed bees, and messily collected honey.

"Something you wanna say, big man?" Tommy said, because he was never one for patience.

"Um, well-" Ranboo hit his head on the low roof. Clutching it, he continued, "I just wanted to ask… ask when you were leaving?"

Right.

Tommy's sour words dried up and clogged his throat.

He shrugged.

"Soon," he said, and he prayed to Prime that Ranboo would take that vague answer and accept it. Fuck, he would ring Techno's stupid brass bell, would smear an offering of his blood all over it, if only it meant he got a little miracle out of it.

"When?" Ranboo pressed. "It's, uh, spring is coming soon. There's going to be lots of planting we've got to be doing… Philza mentioned adding a storage shed, too." Tommy tried to parse out why Ranboo was telling him this. Was he implying he was going to get in the way? Tommy, as a rule, did not help build things unless they were giant cobblestone towers.

He didn't have the talent for it. Not like Phil. Not like Tubbo, with his quaint Snowchester homes. He stared at the bee perched on his finger.

He didn't think that was what Ranboo meant--he was too nice--but maybe Techno and Phil had thought they would send him in first. Take Tommy down with the help of someone who could more easily get at his soft and tender spots.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," he snapped. "You can tell Philza and Techno that, too."

"What? Wait, tomorrow?"

If Tommy didn't know better, he'd say Ranboo's ears were drooping. His expression was very similar to the doleful, pleading expression Steve wore when Tommy didn't share his beef jerky.

Tommy knew better.

He crossed his arms and glared.

"Fuck off, Ranboo. What do you think we're having for lunch?"

Ranboo did not fuck off. He followed close on Tommy's heels out of the bee house.

"Tomorrow?" he repeated. "But, you--Techno and Phil are different with you around, they're-"

"I know," Tommy said. He slammed the basement door in Ranboo's face and escaped to his bedroom. He could hear the echoes of Techno and Wilbur's fight through the walls; the phantom rumbles of Techno and Phil hiding in the basement to have their secret conversations. Tommy's presence was a stain. Dream had tried to scrub it out; even Tubbo had tried to remove him. And Tommy had never had the sense to let it lie. Sam and Techno had lost lives for him, and for what?

Vision blurry with tears he refused to let fall, Tommy haphazardly gathered up what he would need to go. He'd said tomorrow, so he'd be long gone by tonight.

Philza and Wilbur had left on a hike early in the morning, probably to have a father-and-son heart to heart. Technoblade was somewhere nearby hunting big game. The only person Tommy had to worry about was Ranboo, but he heard the crunch of his netherite boots in the snow, fading.

Tommy felt a pang.

Since he was leaving, it didn't matter if he chased Ranboo away, but he could still feel bad about being an asshole. Not so bad he'd waste time to apologize before going but… bad enough.

He didn't take much; he left the tools Technoblade had made him, aware of how angry Techno had been over the Axe of Peace, along with the dumb, adorable knick-knacks Philza and Ranboo kept bringing back from the village for him. Mostly, he took food. Every golden apple he could find, and long strips of jerky, and water.

He wouldn't be able to take Phil's horse, or Technoblade would hunt him down, so the last thing he took was his cloak, pulled close around his shoulders.

Snowchester was at the very edge of this ice-locked tundra. Maybe Tommy could visit Tubbo, just for a day or two, before going back to his half-finished hotel. He pulled his compass out and oriented himself to where Tubbo was.

He bypassed the portal and set off through the snow.

***

The shadows were long by the time the sound of hoofbeats reached his ears. His sword was already drawn, thanks to the mobs that lurked in the shadows of the spruce trees, but he readied it and placed his back to a tree, just to be safe. Technoblade crashed through the trees astride an armored Carl, who huffed and puffed clouds of condensation lit red by the setting sun.

"What the fuck are you doing here? I didn't even take anything important!" Tommy whined, letting his sword droop when he realized Technoblade approached empty-handed.

Technoblade snorted like an angry bull--well, like an angry piglin brute, really, ready to swing its golden axe down on Tommy's head.

"You overshot the portal," Techno said, "by four miles."

Did Technoblade know where Tubbo was? Would Tubbo ever want him to know?

"I was taking the scenic route," Tommy said, turning and walking on. The rattle of stirrups and armor preceded Carl falling into step at his side.

"Scenic route," Techno echoed, rumbly and angry, under his breath.

"Fuck off, dickhead," Tommy muttered back, and to his credit, Techno rode next to him in silence for a good three minutes before letting out another snort and saying,

"Ranboo came to get me right after you two talked."

He let this sit in the air, as if he expected Tommy to have an opinion on this. Tommy was way too embarrassed by the thought that, like Philza and Technoblade talked about him, Technoblade and Ranboo discussed what to do with him.

"He said it didn't go well. And then we came back and you were gone."

"Doesn't that count as a success? I got the message, loud and clear," Tommy said.

Technoblade went quiet again.

"What," he finally said, with an expression like he was sucking on a lemon, "do you think the message was?"

Tommy side-eyed him.

"Is this something from one of your books?"

At length, Technoblade admitted, "Yes."

"You're kidding me. Why are you even reading those? They're useless."

"I don't know if you noticed," Techno snapped back, motioning to the netherite sword at his hip, "but I don't have much experience talkin' things out." Tommy huffed. Couldn't argue that. Glaring at him, Techno stressed, "I'm tryin' my best."

"Try it somewhere else. I'm in the middle of something, here."

"I noticed. With your old sword. When night is comin'."

Tommy looked down at his dented iron blade. It had several nicks threatening the integrity, and didn't have a shred of magic woven into the metal.

"It gets the job done, dickhead!" He waved it around. Carl shied away, and he immediately returned it to his side, unsheathed but hanging limp in his grip.

"Why didn't you take the one I made you?" Was Technoblade offended?

"That didn't work out too well with the Axe of Peace, now did it? I'm not stupid, Techno. You can keep your misplaced charity shit."

"I don't--the Axe was…" Technoblade did not stumble over his words quite the way Ranboo always did, thanks to a slower drawl, but it was a near thing.

"Don't hurt yourself," Tommy grumbled.

A muscle in Technoblade's jaw ticked, visible even through his thick fur.

"Those were your tools. I made them for you, to keep."

"Yep," Tommy said, popping the 'p'. Just like Dream would blow up all his shit only to offer him stale bread and a ride with a Riptide trident like he was doing him a favor. The only things Tommy could trust he could keep were the things no one else would ever want; or the things no one else knew about, like his Tubbo Compass.

Technoblade seemed to deem this a battle best worth abandoning.

"You never told me what you thought you and Ranboo were talking about," he said.

"I didn't think it, I knew it--but I'm not engaging in some weird communication thing some stupid book told you to try. I burned them for a reason."

"I already read the ones you burned. I keep the important ones in my enderchest."

Tommy groaned.

"Ranboo said," Technoblade continued, "he wanted to make sure you'd decided to stay, but that you got mad and stormed off."

"I didn't get mad, I was just-" What? Just what? He had been mad. Mad that Ranboo would come to him, earnest and apologetic, unaware of how much he dangled in front of Tommy which he could never have. It was dumb to rage against something as inevitable as being kicked out, and Tommy was a big, smart man. "-in a hurry. He reminded me of my timetable. I've got a hotel to get back to, you know."

"And that's why you slogged out into the middle of the woods, with an iron sword? For your hotel?"

"Shut up about the sword, man!"

"You have a netherite one at home!"

"Your home, not mine!"

"Why not?"

Tommy whirled on him, catching Carl's bridle.

"Why not? Are you kidding me? Philza killed Wilbur. You fucking killed Tubbo. You both blew up L'manberg. I don't know why everyone thinks they have to teach me the same lesson over and over again. I learned it."

In a thousand ways, some big and some small, Tommy had been forced to reckon with the hardest lesson of all: no matter what, no matter who, he would not be wanted forever. At some point, he would fumble or fuck up or simply be a little too him in all his obnoxious glory, and he would be abandoned.

"Look, I'm not apologizin' for L'manberg, but I told you--I never would've killed him if I thought there was another way out of that," Technoblade said.

Tommy scoffed.

"Wilbur said I should--"

"Who cares what Wil said!" Tommy shouted. "He was fucking out of his mind by then! Aren't you supposed to be older? Why would you listen to him? Why would Phil listen to him when he asked--fuck."

Tommy released Carl to press the heels of his hands to his eyes, the burn becoming unbearable. He refused to cry in front of Technoblade again.

"We brought him back, Tommy. Wilbur is back," Technoblade said, gently.

"I fucking know that. That doesn't mean I didn't--he was dead for so long." And now here Tommy was, saying goodbye all over again by releasing Wilbur into the care of Technoblade and Philza, with no plans to visit ever again. How could he explain he was still grieving for his dead brother even as he sat at the kitchen table next to him? His breath hitched, but he wrestled it back under control and turned on his heel to march blindly on. Carl and Techno shuffled after.

"I know Tubbo forgave me. Why can't you?"

"Because I'm not Tubbo. Someone has to look out for him."

"Then who looks out for you?"

"I look out for myself, asshole."

"That's worked out great for you."

"Oh, fuck off!"

"Why are you so loyal to Tubbo? He exiled you."

"He did not!" Tommy caught a branch with one outstretched hand and pulled it back, snapping Technoblade across the chest with it. "Dream did that. Tubbo was just trying to do what's right, like he always does. It was my fault, anyway."

Technoblade huffed, brushing pine needles out of his lap.

"None of this explains why you're leavin'," Technoblade said. "You know it's not really a guest room, right?"

Tommy glared at him over his shoulder, hoping it was fearsome, but Technoblade just scrunched his stupid pig snout up at him.

"What? You want me to stick around? Steal your gapples? Build dicks in the front yard?"

"Well, I could do without the stealin' bit--"

"Exactly."

Tommy had only a few, blissful moments of thinking he had won the argument before Technoblade said,

"One of the books said mild disagreements are--"

"Do not start! I am not going to listen to you spout off weird therapy shit like Puffy."

"--healthy and an expected part of any relationship. I fight with Wilbur. I definitely don't always understand Ranboo."

"Bullshit. Ranboo is perfect, all kind and helpful and shit. Bastard."

"There's no such thing as perfect unless you're talkin' about my win streak."

Tommy rolled his eyes. Even if Technoblade couldn't see it, he could definitely hear the vitriol when Tommy said:

"He fits in pretty perfectly with you, and Phil, and Wil."

"Because he's willin' to try. For someone so set on hatin' me, you sure do hang around a lot," Technoblade challenged.

They broke through the treeline and onto a windswept plain full of snowdrifts with perfect, curling peaks. Tommy kicked explosively through the closest one.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. Wilbur is back. My business with you is finished. I never want to talk to you again."

A brief silence. When Tommy looked back, Technoblade was glaring down at Carl's mane, as if he'd find whatever he was looking for in this conversation among the flaxen strands.

"What about Wilbur?" Technoblade finally asked.

"What about him?"

"He's like your brother, isn't he? You're just gonna leave?"

"Why are you asking me all these stupid questions? I'm leaving. You can go back to your quiet 'retirement,' dickhead." His air quotes didn't have quite the same effect when done from within thick mittens.

Technoblade spurred Carl forward and pulled him sharply around, blocking Tommy's way.

"Hey!" Tommy yelled, brandishing his sword.

"It's not a guest room. It's your room. You're gonna make me waste resources like that?"

"I never asked you to build me a room! You made it pretty clear when you teamed up with Dream, when you fucking took Ranboo in and fought Dream for him, that I was just a nuisance."

Technoblade looked confused.

"I traded a life for you."

"Yeah, and I still don't understand why! Get out of the way, would you?"

Technoblade guided Carl in front of him again. Tommy finally stopped, huffing and puffing.

"You know what I thought when I first saw Ranboo?"

"'Wow, how freakishly tall'?" Tommy guessed.

"I thought, at least he has both shoes. I found a starvin', burned, bloodied kid hidin' on my property for the second time, and just like last time, he's babblin' about Dream and too confused to realize I'm tryin' to help."

Tommy looked away, embarrassed to be reminded of when Technoblade had discovered him underneath his house, half-delirious with fever but, pathetically, still trying to put up a fight.

"It was you all over again. And then he goes and tells me you're dead, perma-dead." Technoblade looked faintly sick, but he forged on. "I made you an empty grave out next to Wilbur's. I was so angry at you for betrayin' me, but now we--can't we just put it behind us?"

Tommyinnit shook his head at him.

"Why would you want to? You just said yourself all I do is take from you. I took one of your fucking lives. I took one from Sam, too!"

"You didn't take it from me, I gave it to you."

Tommy opened and closed his mouth, winded by the sentiment. It took him a moment to collect himself.

"But why? I don't understand a thing you do."

Carl's leather reins creaked under the force of Technoblade's grip as he shifted uneasily in the saddle.

"Look. You're alright. Not the worst company I've ever had. And you fit in, in the little anarchist commune we've got goin' on."

"I'm not an anarchist."

"In the retirement village, then."

"It's one cabin."

"Tommy."

Tommy wrapped his arms around himself, unwilling to look Technoblade in the eye.

"This is really feeling like some elaborate joke, Techno. I'm not stupid, you know."

"Debatable."

"Dickhead."

Technoblade sighed.

"I just--you have a room. In my house. If you want it."

Tommy scrubbed his hands over his face; it wouldn't do to let the tears linger too long in the cold evening air.

"Let's say I do want it--which I don't! How long does that invitation stand? A day? A month? I need to find somewhere permanent eventually, Techno, and my hotel is a lot more dependable than whatever the hell you've got going on."

"Your hotel is ugly. Too modern."

"Oi, fuckface! Sam and I worked really hard on that!"

Technoblade pulled a face.

The three of them stood in silence, save the whistling of the wind. Tommy watched the sun sink below the horizon, much preferring that over meeting the intense gaze of Technoblade. Carl pawed at the snow with one gigantic hoof.

"The offer," Technoblade said, eventually, "is permanent. Even when you… left me for Tubbo, if you'd come back, I would have made you a room."

"You were pretty pissed, big man."

Technoblade twisted the slack reins into infinity loops between his hands.

"I… was. I'm tryin' out a second retirement."

"You do know it's the third time that's the charm, right?"

Technoblade grimaced.

"Even if the Butcher Army comes after me again, I won't drag you into it."

"They won't."

Tubbo had Snowchester; Fundy, last he'd heard, was in the midst of some grand psychotic break; Quackity was still around, but according to Sam, his sights were set on Dream. He wouldn't have left Wilbur where he would be caught in the crossfire; same for Ranboo.

"Then there's nothing stoppin' me from retirin', properly."

Just like Dream, Technoblade had offered and taken away in equal measure. The Pet War, L'manberg, exile… Tommy was always stuck in the middle, often through his own stupid decisions, being twisted one way or another and ending up confused and sick to his stomach everytime he saw more proof that he wasn't a good person who deserved good things.

Maybe he did want to take over the guest room, set up his own Prime bell again, and finally have a good answer for Tubbo when he asked where he was living in that cautious, worried tone of his.

"You're just like Dream," Tommy said aloud. "You get me all fucked in the head." He sniffled and scrubbed more tears off.

Technoblade slid from Carl's back.

Hulking, but so awkward it was undermined, he settled a hand on Tommy's shoulder.

"I don't want to be. He's a false god with too much confidence," he said, voice dripping with disdain.

Tommy let himself lean into the bracing touch.

"Remind you of someone?"

"I'm no false god," Techno growled. He squeezed Tommy's shoulder, a touch too hard, and withdrew. Tommy tried to swipe the snot and tears away with his mittens, and hidden behind the thick fabric was when he asked,

"If I wanted a hug, would you give me one?"

"Sure," Technoblade said.

He hadn't said yes last time Tommy had asked, all that time ago, with the first turtle helmet gift.

"You get books on how to hug, or are you going to be shit at it?"

Technoblade cleared his throat. Through the gaps between his fingers, Tommy could see he already had his arms open, waiting.

"Couldn't find any. Philza said I should trust my instincts but…"

"Your instincts say stab?" Tommy guessed, stepping forward into his embrace. It was awkward, alright, nothing like hugging Wilbur or Tubbo; Technoblade was stiff, too cautious.

Tommy still buried his face against his cloak and clutched him close.

"I want to go home," he muttered.

"Then let's go home, kid," Technoblade said, hugging him back.