Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam was a busy man. There was a reason he built Sam Nook, instead of overseeing the construction of Tommy’s hotel himself. The fact that Tommy got so attached to the robot was just a bonus. 

And after days turned into weeks of overseeing the prison, Sam was starting to share the sentiment. It was nice, after hours spent within oppressive blackstone, to come home to Fran and hear Sam Nook’s chittering debrief of what progress had been made on the hotel. 

And Tommy, on the rare occasions he could see him, seemed to slowly be reclaiming the glow he had lost. 

(And Sam had hardly known Tommy, before this, but seeing him standing before the trapped Dream, angry and twitchy and so obviously scared despite the threat being neutralized, stuttering over a story he was unwilling to tell-. Sam didn’t need full context to know that the picture was wrong, on a fundamental level. 

Sam would get bits and pieces of the context later, over prison comms. He didn’t need it, he didn’t want to hear about it. All it did was make him feel helpless. No amount of obsidian would undo what had already been done.)

Checking on Tommy helped. More than helped, honestly. He had initially only built the prison on Dream’s commission, but it had quickly become much more than that. The prison was big. Bigger than anyone and everyone on the server. And the responsibility of it fell to him and him alone. 

But in Tommy’s smile, in his slowly returning mischief, Sam got to see all he was protecting, what all the missing sleep and sweat and stress was for. 

Sam probably needed it more than he would admit, honestly. 

---

“Ayyyy Sam-I-Am! Builder ex-tro-de-nare, my friend, my employee, some could say.”

“Hello Tommy.”

Sam had his goggles off, letting the cool breeze hit the fur on his face. He only wore his goggles in the prison, nowadays. Tommy was bouncing on his heels. The kid was always in motion, it seemed. “The hotel’s going well, I assume?”

Tommy straightened at that, a glint coming into his eyes.  

“Well, you see, it is going well, of course, at least on my end- But I have to say, my employee, Mr.Sam Nook, hasn’t exactly been pulling his weight.”

“Well, he needs proper materials to be able to work efficiently- I hope you can at least be patient with him?” Sam chucked.

Tommy stood up straighter at that, losing some of his pout. “Of course I can be patient , you know what they call me? They call me the patience man- well, actually that sounds a little dumb- Maybe the patience lord- well, either way, I’ll show Sam Nook patience! And the hotel is coming along really well all told-”

Sam let Tommy’s ramblings wash over him, nodding along and laughing as he recounted the errands he had gone on for the android. Seeing Tommy show such fondness for his creation made his chest swell with pride. A pride that was lighter than the heavy responsibility he associated with the prison, one that felt breezy in his lungs. 

It only increased after Tommy had pushed him to check out the unfinished hotel himself- it really was coming along- still chattering about anything and everything his brain would catch on. 

“So, I was thinking maybe you could get some sort of discount when the hotel’s finished- not too big a discount of course, but you have been helping, and keeping Dream locked up and everything, and well-” Tommy stutters a moment, his eyes roaming nervously, “you’ve been a good friend to me recently.” 

Tommy stops moving completely at this point, save for his red claws running nervously over each other, looking determinedly at the ground as if expecting Sam to correct him. 

The rush of protectiveness and paternal affection that hits Sam is almost enough to bowl him over, and the urge to reach up and ruffle Tommy’s hair is near unbearable, so, seeing no reason to stop himself as the sun’s rays soaks into his fur, he does just that.

Tommy squawks, before leaning heavily into the touch, small horns clicking against Sam’s blunt nails.

“You’ve been a good friend to me too, Tommy.” 

And a look comes into Tommy’s eyes, for just a moment, that is filled with so many overlapping emotions that Sam couldn’t hope to catalogue them all. Still, he can see admiration and an unsteady, hopeful thread of trust swimming in his blue eyes, and Sam wants to grab onto it, wants to keep it close to his chest, wants to see what shape it grows into. 

“Course I’ve been a good friend.” Tommy grumbles as Sam puts his hand down. “Good friend Tommyinnit, that’s what they call me.” 

Sam laughs again, and they spend some more time admiring the hotel before they both decide to head back to their respective homes. As Sam nears the familiar trees, however, he can’t keep his mind off the way Tommy had looked at him. 

He’s aware that what he’s feeling is beginning to border on paternal, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. Outside of some rumors connecting Tommy with Phil, there was nothing to suggest that Tommy had any kind of adult figure in his life who was still living. 

(And Sam hadn’t seen Phil on the day they put Dream in jail, so as far as he was concerned, even if the rumors were true, they were no good to Tommy now.)

Sam… probably didn’t have the time to be a father. And he didn’t know the first thing about it, anyways, not to mention the fact that he hadn’t had any sort of conversation with Tommy himself about this.

But Sam was good at multitasking. He was good at taking responsibility, and really, he couldn’t do worse than who Tommy had got before.

And he just wanted to. He wanted to try. He wanted to be the one to ease Tommy’s anxiety, to step up where no one else had, or could. Tommy deserved it, at least, and Sam...

Sam had lost so many friends, to the damn egg, or just to exhaustion or miscommunication, and with the servers biggest threat finally dealt with, he wants to start letting connections form once more, thinks warmly of the mischief in Tommy’s eyes or the sound of Ponk’s laughter as he makes his way back into his home. Fran’s ears flick in acknowledgement of his presence, and he sits next to her as he scratches her neck. 

He’ll have to think on it, definitely. More than he already has. And he’ll have to get Tommy’s opinion before anything else. But that breezy feeling of pride, the fullness that came with seeing just who he was protecting, what his efforts really meant… it was worth pursuing, at the very least. 

Sam lets himself sink fully into Fran’s side, running his hands in her soft fur. There were still a million things unresolved, but maybe he could start looking forward to the future.    

Chapter Text

Sam thrived on projects.

Things to build, things to protect, things to tinker with.

It was part of the reason he had so readily agreed to build the prison in the first place, diamonds notwithstanding. The appeal of such a large, experimental project… the chance to explore different redstone mechanisms and security functions… it was appealing, to say the least. 

But now that the prison was actually finished…

It wasn’t that it was less fulfilling as a project, far from it, Sam’s duty as Warden felt more important than anything he had done prior, but it was… different. It was no longer and experiment, no longer something he was building, rather something he was watching, something he was responsible for. 

Not to mention, it wasn’t a hypothetical anymore. There was a very real, very dangerous person held inside. 

(Someone who had once been a friend. Someone who had hurt a child in ways Sam was too cowardly to truly learn about. Someone who was Sam’s responsibility and only Sam’s responsibility.)

It wasn’t exactly the destressor it was when it was still in construction. 

So, Tommy’s hotel project actually came at a very good time. Not just the project itself, but the opportunities it provided for further experimentation. 

He had vague memories of Tommy chattering about a Nook character, a long time ago, so he spent a night modifying his communicator to make chirping beeps. After seeing how Tommy lit up like the sun when he played it, he spent many more nights making an android. 

Some would say he was going overboard, but he liked to tinker. Needed to, really. Especially now. 

It was a good investment in the end. As much as he would like to, Sam couldn’t spend all that much time at the hotel, and someone needed to be there to oversee it.

Nook was outfitted with sensors and cameras, an AI capable of keeping up with Tommy’s sometimes incoherent ramblings, and defensive capabilities since Sam had picked up on how some of Tommy’s peers would glare at him. Most importantly, it had the face of a cartoon raccoon, and could make those beeps Tommy seemed so fond of. 

Tommy absolutely loved the thing, probably more than he liked Sam himself, if he was being honest with himself, something he would be more upset about if he didn’t also love the android to pieces. What can he say, Sam took pride in his creations, and this particular creation wasn’t also housing a monster. 

He still didn’t have much time to spare for himself, for Tommy. As much as he ached to prove himself as a father-figure, or even just a friend, the prison had to take priority. He hoped that Tommy could feel his care through Nook’s electronic eyes. 

At the least, he felt Tommy’s mirth through the recordings Nook saved. For now, that would have to be enough.   

---

Moments of happiness weren’t the only things Sam found in Nook’s recordings. There were also some… patterns he was noticing. Never anything super noticeable, just little things. 

Little things that added up.

The first thing was that Tommy always seemed to notice Nook’s messages on his communicator before hearing him, rather than the other way around. A few days in, acting on a hunch, Sam programmed Nook’s speech to be louder. Suddenly the tendency was gone. 

What didn’t change, however, was how Tommy wouldn’t always notice the mobs that weren’t in his line of sight. Wouldn’t always notice the people that weren’t in his line of sight. How, on the days Sam could see him in person, he would subtly lean closer whenever Sam spoke.

(He never seemed to have any issues with Jack, who only seemed to want to yell at him.)

Needless to say, it was causing Sam to put some puzzle pieces together.

And, well. With Nook done, he could use another non-prison project. 

But first, he needed to find a day to get away from said prison. If he was going to do this, he would need to run it by Tommy first. 

---

Tommy seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with Nook as Sam spotted him. He was poking the robot squarely in the chest, his red claws making a satisfying clunking noise against the metal. His whole body was animated, red imp’s tail swaying lazily behind him.

 (Sam was dimly aware that half-imps like Tommy were considered cursed children in some areas. He was glad, for all it’s faults, that the Dream SMP was generally safe for hybrids of all types.)

Sam makes sure he crosses into Tommy’s line of sight as he crests the hill, waving his hand at him.

“Oh! Hey, look at that mister Nook, it seems your boss has arrived! Not as big a boss as me of course, but I guess he gets points for making you.” Tommy has an arm slung around Sam Nook’s metal shoulders, and his eyes widen as he seems to realize something. “Wait, does that make Sam Nook like, your son or something??” He turns to Nook. “Is he your dad??”

Sam doesn’t bother holding back his laughter, as Nook’s response chirped through their communicators.

--[Tommyinnit, as an android I am not sure if I can have a father, but Awesamdude is a good friend and creator.]--

“Hey, why can’t androids have fathers? I’ll tell you what, I can be your father. And you can come to me with any troubles you may have, which I guess you already do, with how demanding you are with this hotel-”

--[Tommyinnit is my friend, but I do not think we have a father-son relationship.]--

“Hey! I get you cats, I get you flowers and shit, is that not paternal-”

Sam cut into conversation before it could get too out of hand. “Tommy, I have something I wanted to ask you.”

Tommy’s eyes flipped back to him, paternity discussion forgotten (for now). “Ay?”

“Well, if you’re not too busy, there’s something I’ve been working on that I’d like you to beta test for me. You’d be compensated, of course.” 

Tommy grinned at that. “Compensated you say?” His eyes gained a mischievous glint. “Well, if I’m to tear myself away from my responsibilities at the Big Innit Hotel, I’d need a preeetty big offer, big man.”

Sam rested one of his hands on the base of his gas mask, acting as if he was in deep contemplation. 

“How about… ten diamonds and you can share some pumpkin pie with me and Fran.” 

“Make it fifteen.”

“...twelve.”

Tommy’s face scrunched up, contemplating. 

“Deal!” He took his arm off Nook’s shoulder. “Lead the way big man!”

---

Sam knew if he just flat out offered Tommy hearing aids, he’d likely get defensive. Tommy was still suspicious towards any kind of gift, and approached straight forward offers of help like traps. It was why he programmed Nook how he did, why Tommy was always the one doing him a favor, why he was always in control.

So, when he started putting together the aids, he knew he couldn’t just march up to Tommy, push them into his arms and say “Hey! So I noticed that all the explosions the wars have put you through have eroded your hearing a bit, so I thought I’d offer you something to help, without asking anything in return, because I genuinely care about you and have no ulterior motive! I know everything you’ve been through has taught you to distrust such gestures, but this time is different, I swear!”

Yeah, no. Beta testing it was.   

Though honestly, Sam thought as his home came into view, he was kind of glad it wasn’t so simple. This way, he would be able to fit the aids for Tommy’s hearing better, and spend some much needed quality time with the boy. 

Tommy jogged ahead of Sam, waiting impatiently by the doorway. He turned back to Sam and crossed his arms in front of him. “So, what are we testing big man?”

“I’ve been experimenting with things on a smaller scale.” Sam said as he opened the door, watching Tommy scurry inside and immediately run to greet Fran. “I’ve been putting together some prototype hearing aids.” 

Tommy looked up from where he was buried in Fran’s fur at that. “Hearing aids?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty complex machines, and working with redstone on such a small scale has been an interesting experiment.” Sam said, watching Tommy’s reaction for any sign of defensiveness. “Plus, they’d be useful in a server with as many explosions as this one.” 

Tommy’s shoulders tensed, just slightly. “Are you sure I’d be a good beta tester then? Last I checked my hearing is fine, big man.”

Sam sat next to Fran, joining Tommy in showering her with attention. “I doubt there’s anyone on this server who has perfect hearing. It’s not about good or bad hearing, really, just.” Sam took a moment to figure out how to put what he wanted to say “enhancing whatever you want or need to be enhanced.” 

Tommy seemed to relax at that, puffing up his chest a bit. “Well, I always like being enhanced.” 

Sam chuckled, reaching up to unclasp his gas mask. He had put specialized air filtration systems in his base when he had first built it, making it one of the few places he could take his mask off with complete confidence of his safety. He rubbed at the fur on his neck and chin, glad to have his entire face free. 

“Well then, let me show what I have so far.”

---

Sam waved Tommy over to a small workbench scattered with wires and redstone dust. Tommy poked at some of the smooth coverings strewn about, yet to be attached to any finished project.

“This is messy as shit, big man. And here I thought you were all serious and organized.” Tommy said, amused. 

“It is organized.” Sam protested. And it was. Sure, Sam was probably the only person who could understand the highly complex system of organization he had implemented, but he was the only that would need to, anyway. He totally didn’t just get used to the arbitrary places he had put everything. Definitely not. 

“Sure.” Tommy said, for some reason not seeming completely convinced. He had begun to fidget with a covering from one of the prototypes, seemingly unknowingly. Sam left him to it, wondering if he could make him some sort of fidget toy next, as he took the most recent prototypes from their (very organized and very purposeful) spot.

He nudged Tommy gently to get his attention again, holding the prototypes up in front of his face and grinning. 

“Here’s the most successful pair so far.” Sam said, holding them out for Tommy to take. “I’ll probably have to adjust them a bit after figuring out exactly where your hearing’s at, but they came out pretty well, if I do say so myself.”

Tommy put down the covering to look closer at the prototypes, running his claws over the smooth surface. The expression on his face was complicated.

“You sure I won’t break these big man? They look pretty delicate…”

Sam shrugged, leaning on the desk. “I mean, ideally they’d be in your ears most of the time. And even if you do break them, I’d just make you another pair.”

Tommy looked up at that, clutching the prototypes in a fist. “What, for free?” he scoffed, tilting his head towards the bench, “These things look complicated as shit, I mean- I don’t want you to waste your time fuckin… mass producing these things just because I’m clumsy as shit.” He scratched the back of his neck and laughed, but Sam could see his tail tense around one of his legs. This wouldn’t do.

“Tommy.” Sam said, keeping his tone gentle. He took a risk and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, and Tommy flinched before pushing into the contact. “Most of the work went into designing them, you know. It wouldn’t actually take much time to make more once you help me finalize the design. And besides, I made these because I wanted to. I like making redstone gadgets, remember?” 

“You are the redstone guy…”

“Yup! So even if you do break them, you’d kinda be doing me a favor by giving me something to do outside of the prison.”

Sam watched Tommy’s tail uncurl around his leg, going back to waving calmly behind him. “Is that so…?”

“That doesn’t mean you should break them on purpose.”

“But you said I’d be doing you a favor- ”

“Tommy.”

“I will not break them on purpose.”

“Thank you.” Sam said, giving Tommy’s shoulder a final squeeze before turning towards his chests. “Now, let’s get some data on your hearing.”

---

Fran perked up as he and Tommy moved back towards the center of the room, Sam taking out a modified note block and setting it down. Tommy sat cross-legged in front of it, rubbing behind Fran’s ears. 

Sam sat across from both of them as Tommy titled to peer at the redstone wiring on the back of the block. 

“You redstoners can’t even leave the humble noteblock alone…”

Sam laughed. “Noteblocks are actually pretty common in redstone builds, you know.”

Tommy had tilted so far he was almost parallel to the ground at this point. “Really?”

“Yeah. People make like, giant instruments and stuff. I heard about a guy who just made a giant machine that played ‘Wonderwall’ over and over.”

Tommy suddenly sprung back upright. “Really!?”

Sam laughed again. He seemed to do it a lot in Tommy’s presence. “Yes, really. Maybe that can be the next project. But let’s focus on the task at hand, yeah?”

Tommy scoffed. “I don’t know, the task at hand isn’t a Wonderwall machine…”

“If only all tasks could be Wonderwall machines.” Sam said wistfully. Tommy barked a laugh in response.

“If only big man, if only.”

Sam took the noteblock in his hands, steering them back to their (unfortunately non-Wonderwall related) goal.

“So, the block is modified to play sounds at different volumes. I’d like you to tell me what notes you can and can’t hear, and how well…”

---

The noteblock tests were, all told, successful. Sure, Tommy got… a bit distracted playing with the block and mimicking the sounds instead of actually focusing, but Sam had the data he needed, and that was the important thing. 

(And, Tommy had fun, which was a nice bonus.) 

Armed with all the data he needed to finish up the prototypes, and wanting to send Tommy home before the mobs started to come out, Sam stood up and started saying his goodbyes for the day. 

“So, let’s meet up again, say… next week? That should be enough time for me to adjust the prototypes again, and you can test out how they feel.” Sam reached for the prototypes in his inventory only to realize that he had never taken them back after Tommy had started fidgeting with them. “Oh! And I’ll need them back for now, heh.”

Tommy had also forgotten that he still had them, judging by his expression, and quickly got them out of his inventory, handing them back to Sam, somewhat reluctantly. Seeing his hesitance, Sam couldn’t resist reaching out his hand to rest in Tommy’s hair. 

“I’ll get ‘em back to you, not to worry. And I’ll make good on my promise of diamonds and pie.”

Tommy leaned into the touch, looking flustered. Sam felt like the affection he held for this boy was going to burst out of his chest. “You better, after all the hard labor I did for you today.”

Sam grinned, stepping back inside as Tommy started the journey back to his house under the setting sun. He watched his outline disappear into the distance, before closing the door in front of him.

The prototypes wouldn't program themselves. 

---

Sam made the familiar journey towards Tommy’s hotel with a deep sense of satisfaction coursing through him. The prototypes were finished, and Sam was excited to see how they fit the boy they were made for.

Tommy was sitting against the fence, not quite asleep, but dozing comfortably. He jerked up when he spotted Sam coming, tensing reflexively before relaxing. He stood up quickly, brushing loose grass off his pants. 

“Here to update me, Sam-I-Am?”

“Yup.” Sam replied. “They’re all ready for you.”

Tommy beamed, sunlight reflecting off his sharp teeth. “Well let's break ‘em out then, big S.” 

Sam took the prototypes out of his inventory, happy to be able to return them to their rightful owner. Tommy took them, rolling them between his claws. His smile gained a nervous edge. 

Sam didn’t know whether to ask Tommy what was wrong or give him space, suddenly feeling out of his depth, when Tommy interrupted his thoughts. “Well, no use waitin’ around! Let’s take these babies for a spin!” Tommy said, moving to…

“Wait! You can’t just jam them in your ears!” 

--- 

After Sam was able to show Tommy how to properly insert the aids, Tommy had taken one of his arms and dragged him on a walk down the prime path. 

“This is… weird!” Tommy giggled. “Everything sounds closer and shit. More detailed. It’s like…” He suddenly stopped, and Sam was just barely able to avoid crashing into his back. He stood stock still for a moment, before suddenly turning around and running full speed in the opposite direction, still dragging Sam with him.  

“Wait! Tommy, where are we going?” 

“I have an idea!” 

“Oh? What’s your idea?”

“I’m not spoiling my own idea big S! Just wait!” 

Tommy screeched to a halt in front of his dirt home, letting go of Sam’s arm and scurrying inside. Sam followed him inside, watching Tommy pull out a jukebox from one of his chests. He glanced back at Sam before moving to his enderchest, hesitating for a moment before quickly grabbing a disc and shoving it into the jukebox. It was Cat . 

Tommy sat down next to the jukebox, leaning into it and hovering over it protectively. Sam moved towards him slowly, sitting beside him and keeping his hands in his view. It wasn’t surprising in the least that Tommy would be wary of anyone coming in stealing distance from one of the discs, but it still warmed Sam’s heart that Tommy trusted him enough to even let him this close.  

Tommy himself didn’t spare much time to eye him warily, quickly becoming distracted by the music. He leaned his head against the jukebox’s top, closing his eyes and feeling the vibrations. For a long moment, they just sat and enjoyed the soft music. 

“It doesn’t sound different, really.” 

“Hm?”

Tommy jolted slightly, apparently having forgotten that Sam was even there. “I-I just mean that… I could hear it fine before, but now I can just… hear it more I guess? It sounds…” Tommy paused, blinking rapidly “It sounds like it did before the war.”

Oh. Oh. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah it just,” the next breath Tommy took was shaky. “Fuck.” 

Tommy rubbed at his eyes. Sam put a tentative hand on his shoulder, seeing tearful blue eyes for only a second before Tommy buried his face into his neck, hooking claws into the back of his armor. 

Sam wrapped four arms around Tommy’s back, rubbing circles into his shoulders. The jukebox played on cheerfully as Sam held his friend, his son (maybe, hopefully) , as close as he could. 

Chapter Text

Sam kept his promise, and the next time he could get away from the prison, Tommy came over to eat some pie and monopolize Fran’s attention. 

It was going well, Tommy was still wearing the aids, and was talking loudly to Fran while ruffling the fur on her head. Things were peaceful and comfortable, for once.

That was, until a loud crack of thunder cut off Tommy’s conversation.

Tommy’s sharp gasp seemed louder than the thunder, as he slapped his hands over his now more sensitive ears. Sam rushed over to him, but the boy had already recovered by the time Sam reached him, standing up and looking around bewildered. 

“What the fuck? It was fine like three seconds ago…” 

Sam sighed, shrugging. “The weather’s a bitch sometimes. You can stay here until it passes if you want.” 

“Pfft. I’m a big man. I can survive a little rain.” 

“I never said you couldn’t. But the offer is there.” 

“Well, thanks I guess big S…”

Sam ghosted a hand over Tommy’s shoulder. “Of course.” 

Their moment was, once again, interrupted by a loud crack. Tommy was able to control his reaction much more this time, but Sam could still feel him tense under his hand. 

“It really did come on suddenly though…” Sam muttered. He wondered if it was one of those storms that left as soon as it came. One could hope at least. His thoughts were once again interrupted, this time by Fran nosing at his leg. The dog did give him an idea though… 

“Fran seems a little nervous too. She’d probably get scared if you left so suddenly.”

Tommy glanced back at him, and he got the sense that he saw through the out Sam was giving him, but he played along anyway.

“Psh. Imagine being scared of thunder. I am simply too much of a big man to ever be scared, except for the times I am, but since Fran is more of a delicate sort, I suppose I can be mag-nan-o-mous and stay for her sake.” Tommy punctuated his point by dropping to the ground and burying his face in Frans fur, the dog happily licking his face.  

It only took a moment for Sam to decide to drop beside them and join their pile, hoping that the storm would pass quickly.

(But maybe not too quickly. His home was very quiet when it was just him and Fran.)

---

The storm did not pass quickly. 

It had been around four hours, and neither the thunder nor the heavy rain showed any signs of letting up anytime soon. 

Sam was getting bored. More importantly, Tommy was getting bored. 

“This is bullshit. I’m just going to leave, who gives a shit if I get struck by lightning again-”

“You got struck by lightning?”

“Not important right now big man- the point is, your house is fucking boring.”

“My house isn’t boring, and we are coming back to the lightning thing-”

“Mimimimimi, if it isn’t boring, then why am I bored ? Hm? Ever thought of that one big S?”

“To be fair, I think anywhere would be boring if you couldn’t leave it.”

“Well- yeah, I guess that’s true. It doesn’t solve the underlying issue though does it?” 

Sam sighed. “You have a point there.” 

Sam had an idea then. An idea that was, objectively, bad. An idea he wouldn’t have considered had it been even an hour earlier. But Sam was bored, and the storm showed no sign of stopping. 

“There is one thing we could do. Only if you’re okay with it though.” 

“Oh? Lay it on me big S.” 

“Do you want to burn a forest down?” 

There was a long, long silence, and Sam was about to cut in and retract the offer when Tommy spoke. 

“ Absolutely I do.” 

---

Most people knew how thunderstorms and creepers interacted. 

Sam had inherited the charged trait, and he could feel the storm buzzing through his veins like it was a physical thing. He felt energized, he felt alive, he felt, well, charged.  

Tommy was running behind him, laughing loudly, completely soaked through. It was hard to set trees on fire in the rain, but they managed. 

“Sam this is fucking awesome! Why did you never tell me you got all charged up in the rain? Why weren’t we doing this hours ago?!” 

“I’m not usually one for arson, but-” Sam huffed, and his breath crackled through his gas mask. “I thought I’d make an exception!” Sam had to raise his voice to be heard above the storm, letting another blast go off to obliterate a nearby tree. 

“You should make more exceptions then! This is fucking amazing!” Tommy laughed, the sound sharp and joyful. Sam would probably burn down a hundred forests just to hear that laugh more often, environmental concerns be damned. 

(He was glad Tommy seemed to be getting better around explosions. The first few times he had seen tnt used around the boy, his shoulders had tensed to his ears. But he didn’t seem uncomfortable at all now, simply enjoying the colorful blasts and harmless destruction.) 

“Sam! Sam! Woah, you’re all sparky and shit!” Tommy had barreled into him, latching onto his back. Sam couldn’t help but laugh, loud and unrestrained, the skin contact amping him up even more. “Oh shit-”

Tommy gasped as Sam lifted him onto his back by his legs, despite the kid being taller than him, he was lanky enough for Sam to be able to hold him easily. 

And then he took off running.

“Guh- Ahahaha! Sam! You’re fuckin’ popping off man!” 

“I’m fucking charged baby!”

“Hell yeah! Sam’s fucking charged!” 

They were both soaked. The forest was burning around them, and Sam was sure someone would be pissed about that come morning. There was static irritating his fur, some of it jumping over Tommy’s clothes. The kid’s ( his kid, his son’s-) arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders, laughing directly into his ear. 

---

Hours later, after the storm had finally subsided, Sam carried a sleeping Tommy back to his dirt house, his weight comfortable on his back. The stars shone through thin clouds, the moon glowing far above. His body ached pleasantly from all the running around they had done that day. 

He needed to talk to Tommy soon. He wanted to give an official name to the relationship that was growing between them. At least, he needed to see how Tommy felt about the idea, if his paternal feelings were accepted or not.

He put Tommy to bed and made his way home alone. Of course, he would accept whatever Tommy wanted, whether that be a friend or a father. 

He was just glad he got to know the boy.  

Chapter Text

All told, the day started normally.

Tommy had woken up, organized his chests a bit, and made his way to the hotel, hard hat on. 

And Sam Nook was missing. 

Tommy checked the entire build site, trying to catch any hint of the android, to no avail.

Where is he? He’s an NPC, he should be here! Did something happen? Did he get sick of me? No, he signed a contract, he has to be my friend- god, that sounds depressing when I put it like that-

Tommy took a breath. He was fine. It was fine! Sam Nook was fine. Tommy just had to find him. Maybe if he took the hard hat off? Disobeying the build site regulations always seemed to summon the android...

He hesitantly took the hat off, spinning it a little in his hands. Still, no beeping reached his ears. Even after another lap around the build site, there was no sign of the robot. 

“C’mon Sam Nook, where are you? If something happened to you I’ll- I’ll be very upset, I’ll tell you that, no one’s allowed to hurt my friend, my employee -”

His muttering is interrupted by a ping from his communicator, and he scrambles to bring up the screen, disappointed to see that it was just a message from Puffy. 

[ Are you looking for Sam?]

Tommy’s eyes widened, his disappointment quickly turning into trepidation as he mashed his claws into the keyboard. 

[ I cantt fnd nook did u do somthing????]

Did Puffy do something to Nook? Was she holding him hostage or something? Why? Wasn’t she with the Egg thing Bad had threatened him over before? Was that what this was about? 

Did Nook get involved with something serious? Was he going to have to involve himself in another conflict?  

“Tommy!” 

Puffy’s voice broke him out of his spiral. He needed to calm down. If Nook or Sam were in trouble, he had to do his best to try to help. He took the stairs down two at a time, running up to the woman. She was in full netherite, of course. 

“Puffy! Did something happen to Sam Nook? He’s not here! Did you do something? What-”

“It’s the Egg Tommy, Bad’s gone crazy!” 

“The Egg? Wh- weren’t you with the egg? If you did something to Nook or Sam, I swear-”

“I didn’t do anything, I tried to stop them, but-!” Puffy shook her head, exhaling harshly. “Look, I was with the Egg for a time, but Bad took it way too far! He trapped Sam, and I think he’s still down there.” Puffy’s eyes scanned the empty build site. “It’s probably why Nook’s missing. You were looking for him right?” 

Tommy scanned her face. This could all be a trap, but Puffy looked genuinely upset. And she had helped him in the past hadn’t she? “Yeah. He’s usually right here…” 

Puffy nodded. “It probably has something to do with what happened with Sam. I know where he is, if you want we can go help him together. Just as long as you protect yourself from the egg.” She said, motioning to Tommy’s construction outfit. 

“Oh! I’m immune. Check it!” Tommy jumped up onto one of the vines, waving off Puffy’s distressed shout. “See? Just doesn’t do ‘nothin to me.”

“Really?” Puffy still looked worried, but nodded after a beat. “Okay. Still be careful, though. I don’t know if anyone’s gonna be guarding him or something.”

Tommy swallowed his worry. Guarding? Just what did Sam get involved in? “I will. Careful’s my middle name you know. Well, one of them.” 

Puffy nodded again, looking stressed. “Follow me then.”

---

Tommy had been in the big egg room before. If had Techno or Wilbur’s dramatic streak, he might describe the room as more imposing with the knowledge of what happened to Sam. He could almost hear Wilbur beside him, “ this room has drawn blood, Tommy. How fitting it should be crimson” or something equally pretentious. But honestly, it was the same room. It was really red and there were a lot of trip hazards. 

Well, there was one obvious difference. There was an obsidian box on top of the egg. Tommy shivered. 

“Sam’s in there?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” Puffy’s voice shook. “Shit, he’s right on top of it! Okay, we gotta hurry, he’s been in there like, 14 hours.”

Christ. “Hope he’s not claustrophobic.” 

The attempt to lighten the mood hits stale air as they both rush to the egg, the obsidian trap casting a shadow over them. If Puffy is bothered by having to crawl directly on the egg, Tommy doesn’t notice, too busy scrambling to get his pick out. This close, he can hear Sam’s muffled voice. He sounds bad. 

“Shit, shit, okay Sam, you’re fine. Big man Tommyinnit has come to your rescue, just wait a little longer.”

“Tommy?”

The obsidian crumbles away, and Tommy looks at Sam. He’s curled up in the corner of the room, armorless and without his gas mask, large gashes in his arms weeping blood. Tommy feels a surge of protective anger rush through him before focusing on making his voice soothing and unconcerned.

“Heyyyy, Sam-I-Am! Looking a little out of sorts are we? See, this is why I don’t waste my time with all this egg nonsense-”

“Sam!” Puffy’s voice cut in, “Shit, let’s get you out of here, we have to get you to a doctor.”

“Doctor?” Sam slurred, was he drunk or something? Did the egg drug him? Could the egg even do that? “Ponky’s a doctor…”

“Yup, they sure are.” Puffy said, reaching to lift Sam out of the room. “You want to see Ponk?” 

“Ponk’s nice…” Puffy shifted as Sam put all his weight on her, and Tommy scrambled to support his other side. “I wanna go home…” 

“Okay, why don’t we get you home and then call Ponk? Sound good?” 

Sam gave what Tommy was pretty sure was supposed to be a nod, the movement jerky. “I wanna go home and see Fran…”

“We’re getting you home big man, it’s kinda a long walk. Why’d you build your house so fucking far away?” Tommy asked. At least they were out of the egg room by now. Tommy hoped Sam would be okay without his gas mask.

“The Egg was so mean…” Sam said, completely ignoring Tommy’s question, which, rude. “It made me give it all my stuff…” 

Tommy swallowed, tightening his hold on Sam. What was it with dickheads and taking people’s stuff? Tommy was beginning to sense a pattern, and he did not like it. 

“It took your stuff?” Puffy asked, alarmed. 

“Mh hm… it just kept saying mean stuff to me, and I had to give it all my stuff so I started starving because I didn’t have food so I just started eating myself…”  

Ah. That explained the wounds then.

“You… what? You had to eat yourself? Shit, do you need food? Here, I have some I think…” Puffy said, grabbing an apple from her inventory and offering it to Sam. Sam’s eyes just passed over it as he continued rambling. 

“Mm…. I need to go home and see Fran…” 

“Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time big man. We’re gettin’ there. You have to eat when we get there though, it’d be kinda stupid if you starved to death after we went through all the trouble of saving you and shit.” 

“Okay Tommy…” Then Sam starts to giggle, which is deeply strange, in Tommy’s opinion, “Tommy Tommy Tommy….”

“Something funny about my name bitch?” Tommy can’t help but smile despite the situation. Sam really was out of it.

“You’re my boyyyy… My boy Tommy…” 

Tommy sputtered. “Oi! I am nobody's boy! I’m not even a ‘boy’ I’m a big man, possibly the biggest man.” 

Sam clumsily bumped his head on Tommy’s shoulder. “That’s so sad though… you should get to be a boy you’re just a baby…” 

Tommy actually squawked at that, hyper aware of the way Puffy’s staring at them in amusement. “I am not a baby! I’ll fuckin’ clart you for saying that, I don’t care if you’re on egg-drugs bitch!”

Sam giggled again, before dissolving into wet coughs. “I wanna go home…”  

Puffy patted his back. “Yeah yeah, we’re getting there big guy.”

Tommy huffed, trying not to think about the implications of Sam’s words. He was probably just babbling nonsense, anyway. 

---

After a long trip of carrying Sam through the SMP, listening to him slur through his words, (mostly whining about wanting to go home) they arrived at the familiar entrance to Sam’s house. As soon as he stumbled inside, Fran ran up to greet them, nosing concernedly at Sam’s arms.

“Hey Fran…”

“Sup Fran.”

Puffy and Tommy slowly extracted themselves from Sam, letting him lean on the wall. He took about two steps before sliding to the floor, letting Fran lie on him and patting her ears. 

“Hm. I’m good now… I’m back with Fran…”

Puffy’s ears flattened against her head. “Are you sure? It’ll take a while before Ponk gets here, and you don’t look… great. Are you sure you don't want someone to wait here with you?”

“Ponkys coming?” Sam said blearily. Apparently he had forgotten that they had already told him that. “That’s good, Ponk’s ‘snice. You don’t need to stay though, I’m good…” Sam’s head listed to the side, and for a second Tommy thought he was going to fall asleep, until he suddenly jerked up “Oh! Unless Tommy wants to stay and play with Fran… since he likes Fran so much…” Sam finished his sentence with a giggle. Tommy’s face felt hot.

“Oh? You want to stay and play with Fran?” Puffy said, nudging Tommy gently. Tommy bristled, not appreciating being talked down to, until seeing Puffy’s somewhat desperate expression. Best to play along, then. 

He sighed heavily. “Yeah, sure big man. Fran’s the coolest one here, anyway.”

Puffy tried a bit more to convince Sam to let her keep an eye on him, but was eventually shooed away. (Though only after leaving both of them with a large amount of cookies.) Then it was just him and Sam. 

With nothing to do.

Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to this. Sam did say he would be fine, and just sitting here waiting for Ponk was going to get boring quick. It’s not like Sam would be a good conversation partner in this state. But there’s really nothing else to do so…

 “So, what’s been goin’ on with you Big S? Other than getting kidnapped by an egg cult.” Tommy said, sliding down the wall until he was laying down. 

“Hmm? Oh… Been in the prison…” 

“Oh yeah.” Tommy laughed a little, staring at the ceiling. “Your ‘serious’ job.” 

“Yeah… gotta be serious…” 

“That’s pretty depressing big man. You doing anything actually, you know, not depressing?”

“Was gonna make a… what’s it called… something for you to fidget with… haven’t had time though… Oh, Fran’s so cute, look at her little ears…”

Tommy scoffed. “Why the hell are you making me, what, toys big man?”

“Cus I think you should get nice things… wanna build nice things… the prison’s not nice but I gotta be there… it’s ‘mportent…”

Tommy’s chest felt tight, for multiple reasons he didn’t care to examine. He decided to address the marginally safer half of Sam’s statement. “Can’t you get like, other prison guards to look after it? people to help you? I still think I’d make an amazing prison guard, by the way.” Tommy was, possibly, still a little bitter about that. He had been in wars for fucks sake! He could totally be serious!

“Hmm… No, I don’t thinks so…” Tommy could hear Sam sliding down the wall to lie down, Fran huffing over him. 

“Psh. Rude.” 

“The prison’s no good for you… just dark and cramped… not a good place for you... “ 

Tommy privately agreed. One visit to that place was already a lot, the building seemed to be tailor made for all of Tommy’s nightmares. Probably because it was. Dream was gonna put him in there, wasn’t he? Okay, putting the breaks on this train of thought--

“Maybe it’s for the best. The prison simply couldn’t handle a Big Man such as myself, the walls would instantly crumble, and then where would we be? It would be a disaster, Big S, I’m telling you.”

“Crumble… The walls crumbled? Bad and the others… They stuck me in a box… Why did they stick me in a box?” Tommy heard Sam slide down the wall to lie next to him, Fran making distressed noises. “I was so hungry. So hungry. I had to eat myself…” 

Tommy cleared his throat, a wave of awkwardness crashing through him. God, please don’t tell him he had to comfort someone. He put a hand on Sam’s arm. God he was awful at this. “Ay, that sucks big man. But now you’re just vibin with Fran, yeah? And you have actual food to eat. So it’s probably fine.”  

“Hmm… I do have Fran… and you’re okay…” Sam sluggishly turned to look at Tommy, looking woozy as hell. He reached a hand up and just kind of… rubbed Tommy’s face? Was he trying to ruffle his hair or something? Tommy allowed it mostly because he was so caught off guard, and also because it was honestly kind of funny. “Not gonna let ‘nything happen to you or Fran…”

Something heavy and sweet settled into Tommy’s throat as he shoved Sam’s hand away. “Psh. You don’t have to worry about me big man. Just make sure you don’t get got by any more cults.”

“Gotta worry about you. You’re my kid.”

Tommy felt his entire body lock up. What? What? What the hell did that mean? “What?”

“Oh fuck… Don’t think I was supposed to say that yet.” Sam giggled. “Sorry… was gonna talk to you about it… figure out how to say it… good… you’re a really special kid, Tommy, wanna take care of you… only if you want though…” Sam went back to batting at Tommy’s face again, but he had no patience for it this time, pushing him away and sitting up. 

“No, seriously, what? What are you talking about?” 

“Hmmm…. ‘Doption.” 

“Sam that doesn’t help. You need to actually explain.” Tommy maybe sounded a bit frantic, but it was warranted, thank you very much, what the fuck. “Sam! You- Don’t fall asleep!” Fran was also not helping, having fallen asleep herself sprawled out over her owner.

“Hmmm…. No. Gonna sleep now. Can’t talk good like this. Plus, I’m really tired…” 

“You-!” Sam had already closed his eyes. “Whu-” Tommy exhaled out of his nose. “Whatever. Whatever! You better explain when you wake up though, prick, can’t just fuckin- say that shit n’ move on, asshole, I’ll have you know-”

Tommy’s communicator buzzed. Ponk was here. 

Chapter Text

Tommy hurried to his feet, glad to have an excuse to get some of his nervous energy out. The door opened in front of Ponk, who was already rustling through a bag of eclectic medical supplies. 

“Hey Tommy! How’s- woah, what’s up with you? You’re like, vibrating in place!” 

Tommy was aware that his leg was bouncing on the stone floor, that his tail was probably tense and twitching. “I’m fine! Fuckin’ peachy Big P! Sam’s just being a vague dickhead! Speaking of- you should check on Sam! That’s what you’re here for after all! Don’t want to distract from that! It’s more important than my bullshit, I’ll tell you that, not that my bullshit isn’t of the utmost importance, as you know, but well, you know how it is- I’m- I’m going to stop talking now.” Tommy wanted to die. His foot was still bouncing, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. 

Ponk just tilted his head, before smiling (and how did he even smile so obviously with that mask? Weird.) and patting Tommy’s shoulder. “Hey, no problem Tommy! Talk as much as you want. I do have to check on Sam though, where- oh, there he is!” 

Ponk jogged over to Sam, knelt over him and touched his shoulder lightly, shooing Fran off of him. “Well, good news, he’s still alive!” 

Tommy couldn’t help but laugh at that, some of the tension draining out of him. “I knew that already. If that’s all you can tell us, I’m going to have to ask for a refund.”

“What?? But I have a family to feed!” 

“Tough!” They weren’t actually paying Ponk, she was just here as a favor, but Tommy was grateful for the distraction the banter provided. “If you can’t do the job you can’t get the…” Tommy attempted to find a rhyme “the… cob. Yes. Since we are paying you in corn as you know.” 

“Dang, and I love corn!” Ponk returned their focus to Sam, dropping the bit in favor of taking out some disinfectant to clean Sam’s wounds with. Tommy was able to stand still for around a minute before he began pacing restlessly, sure he was about to grind a hole in Sam’s floor. 

What the fuck was he talking about earlier? ‘I’m his kid?’ What does that mean? Surely he doesn’t- but he said ‘adoption’ right? Well, maybe not, it mostly sounded like gurgling at that point- he was delirious right? It probably didn’t mean anything anyway. 

Tommy couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved. He didn’t know what to make of any of it, and really-

“Woah, Tommy, is Sam gonna be your dad?”

Ah fuck. He had definitely said some of that out loud. Maybe all of it. 

“Well that’s- No! No, that’s heh, how would that even work? I was just getting confused I think, and you know how people are when they’ve been on the drugs am I right? The egg drugs? Sam was just- He just said some things, or I thought he said some things, and I just-” Tommy flapped his hands around in what he hoped was an explanatory gesture. “You know? You know.” 

“So, wait, did you turn him down, or what?” 

Tommy froze, a feeling of- something forming in his stomach and climbing to his throat. When he spoke, he was surprised at how evenly his voice came out. “Turn him- What? What are you talking about?”

Now it was Ponk’s turn to freeze. Tommy was privately grateful he wasn’t the only one freaking out anymore. “Uh. Oops! Don’t think I was supposed to say that. Anyway, let’s just forget-”

“No!” Tommy yelled. “What? What’s going on? You have no excuse to be all cryptic and shit, you haven’t just been egged, or whatever, tell me what’s going on!”  

Ponk looked conflicted, before finally sighing. “Look, I really do have to make sure Sam’s okay right now. But, right after!” They exclaimed, cutting off Tommy’s indignant squawk, “I’ll explain, okay?” 

Tommy nodded with a huff, crossing his arms. “Yeah, you better.” 

Ponk shook her head and turned back to Sam, poking him in his chest. “You better not be mad at me for this.” They said to his unresponsive form. 

As soon as Ponk got back to work, Tommy went back to pacing. The promise of an explanation, rather than alleviating any of his anxiety, had only made him more restless. He kept glancing back at Ponk, who thankfully didn’t notice him staring, or at least was polite enough to pretend not to. And really, Tommy understood that healing someone and making sure they weren’t egg-infected (eggfected?) was important, and took time but did it have to take so much time?

Finally, finally, Ponk looked satisfied that Sam wasn’t going to keel over in his sleep, and moved him into a more comfortable position. When he finally turned back towards Tommy, he was sure he was about to explode from excess energy. 

“So?” Tommy asked, or rather demanded. “What was all that shit about?” 

Ponk stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, the thing is… Sam’s been talking recently about some plans he had. Involving you. And adoption. He was gonna ask if you wanted him to adopt you, pretty much.” 

This did not help explain much. “Eh?”

“And the only reason I asked is because I thought he had already told you! He had this whole thing planned out, but now I’ve gone and told you, so…” Ponk made a frustrated noise. “Sorry Sam…”

Tommy couldn’t stop incredulous laughter from bubbling out of him. “Well, if it makes you feel better, he ended up telling me when he was all delirious and shit, so I think whatever fuckin’ speech he wanted to do isn’t happening anymore anyway.” Tommy felt like he was going crazy. But still, there was something fragile and achingly, painfully hopeful crawling up his throat. He tried in vain to push it down. He still didn’t understand. 

“Well, do you… did he tell you why? Why he would want to do that?” 

Ponk shrugged, something soft and incomprehensible in his eyes. “The usual reasons someone wants to adopt someone I guess. He cares about you. Wants to make sure you can grow up safe and all that. I dunno, I don’t think I’m ready for parenthood myself. But he’s genuine, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

That wasn’t what he was worried about. Or maybe it was? This wasn’t- He never thought he’d have to make this kind of decision again. 

(He still remembered the lid being lifted off of a trash can he was using as a hiding place. Still remembered light glinting off round glasses, floppy hair over a surprised mouth.) 

He wasn’t a child anymore though. He wasn’t a gremlin full of energy and life and whatever else he had that made Wilbur want to take him in. He was just tired, and lanky and awkward and traumatized. If Sam was genuine, (which he wanted to believe, so so much) then he still couldn’t understand why. What was the appeal? What was Sam’s angle? 

Tommy tugged at his hair, his tail shifting nervously behind him. “I don’t get it. I’m not even a kid.” 

The softness in Ponk’s eyes shifted into confusion. “What are you talking about? You’re sixteen right? You’re definitely still a kid.” 

Tommy opened and shut his mouth quickly. “Well that’s-” his eyes felt hot. Goddammit. Everything was so overwhelming. Why was everything always so overwhelming? He couldn’t think about this anymore, the pounding of his head was drowning out everything else. “Anyway! Sam’s good right? You’re looking after him, so you don’t need me loiterin’ around here anymore, distracting you and shit. How about I just- I’m just gonna go home, and Sam can talk to me about this whole thing later, or never bring it up again, both would be good to be honest, up to him you know, can’t be helped and all that, wow I’m just saying words at this point huh? Whatever. Fuck this. Bye Ponk!”

Ponk looked like they were going to say something, but Tommy didn’t get to hear it, since he took the opportunity to run full speed towards the exit. He didn’t breathe until Sam’s stupid complicated door was open and he was outside and sure that Ponk wasn’t following him. He tried his damndest not to think about anything until he finally stumbled back through his own doorway. 

---

When Sam woke up, he felt like he had been run over by a steamroller. There was a blurry red shape in the edge of his vision and he almost panicked before the shape started speaking. 

“Sam! Welcome back to the waking world!” It was Ponk. Sam let out a sigh of relief, Ponk’s presence lifting a weight he hadn’t known was there. 

“Ponk…” Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, noticing new bandages wrapped around his arms. “How long was I out? What happened?”

“Puffy called me. Said you ran into some trouble with the Egg. Ponk huffed, putting her hands on her hips. Why didn’t you tell me you were fighting with them? You know how worried I was when Puffy messaged me?”

“Sorry… I didn’t think it would get so… I didn’t think it would end up like this.” 

Ponk bumped her head into Sam’s, and Sam leaned into them. “It’s okay. You’re okay, so I’m okay. You’re welcome for that, by the way.” 

Sam chuckled, leaning into Ponk’s body heat. “Thanks Ponky. Where would I be without my doctor?” 

“Your arms would be way more fucked up, that’s for sure. What even happened there?”

Tearing, the taste of blood in his mouth. He was so hungry. He could barely feel the pain of his teeth tearing into his skin, the yawning hunger overpowering every other sensation.

Sam shivered. “I don’t really remember…” He didn’t need to worry Ponk with that. 

Ponk gave him a look, like he knew that Sam was avoiding the topic, but thankfully let it go. He swung his legs over Sam’s lap, before abruptly starting. 

“Oh uh… speaking of not remembering, you don’t happen to remember what you said to Tommy do you?” 

Sam racked his brain, nervousness pooling in his stomach. Everything was a fog of hunger and fear and disorientation. He didn’t even remember seeing Tommy, much less talking to him. 

“Tommy was here?” 

Ponk cringed. “Yeah, he was here with Puffy to make sure you were alright. You really don’t remember anything?” 

Sam could vaguely recall a blurry blond head peeking in through obsidian, but that was about it. “No. What happened?” 

“Well… you know that thing you were planning?”

“I plan a lot of things.” 

“The thing with Tommy.” 

The thing with? Oh no. “Wait, you don’t mean-”

“You might have spoiled the surprise.”

“I-” Sam groaned, burying his face into Ponk. “Really? I don’t even remember! Seriously? Well,” Sam made a hopeless noise, “How’d he take it?” 

Ponk pulled him closer. “He was overwhelmed, mostly. Ran off pretty quick. Think he’ll need some time to fully come to terms with the idea before he can make any kind of decision. I couldn’t exactly… ease him into it. Sorry.” 

Sam sighed. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one that ran my mouth.” 

“Well, whoever’s fault it is, you’ll have to explain it properly to him in a few days.” 

Sam cringed, but maybe it was for the best. He knew he had been putting this conversation off, making excuses for himself. At least now the bandaid had been ripped off. And it had caused Tommy to run away. Which probably wasn’t a good sign. 

But Ponk was right. He owed Tommy an explanation, at least. 

Chapter Text

Tommy’s mind was in chaos. 

Which wasn’t actually all that out of the ordinary, to be honest. Even on his good days, his thoughts flew around in a disorganized flurry. But right now, he needed them to get organized, and start making sense. This was all Sam’s fault. Sam and the stupid egg, and stupid Ponk, and stupid him for even thinking about it at all. 

Sam was delirious. He was drugged for fucks sake! And Ponk- Ponk was probably just confused, or maybe he was just fucking with Tommy. 

(Ponk was not above pranks, but they weren’t the type of person to joke about something so important. Tommy chose to ignore that fact.) 

He should go to sleep, sleep on it, that was what they said right? It was late as hell and it had been a long day, and Tommy was exhausted and confused. Maybe all this would make more sense in the morning, or maybe it would all turn out to be some weird dream or something. 

With a frustrated noise, Tommy threw himself onto his bed. He clenched his eyes shut, willing himself just to go to sleep. The attempt lasted 10 seconds tops before Tommy rolled onto his back and began determinedly staring at the ceiling. It was a good ceiling. The ceiling never asked him confusing questions or made him make hard decisions.

Ponk’s voice echoed in his head. You’re sixteen right? You’re definitely still a kid. 

Tommy covered his face, rubbing his eyes. Ponk was wrong, he had to be. It was too late for Tommy to have a father, he was too old, too different, too ruined. Sam wouldn’t…

But he does, doesn’t he? He said so himself, and Ponk agreed. They wouldn’t both be lying right? They would have no reason to…

Tommy ran his fingers over his hearing aids, slowly removing them in the way Sam had showed him so he didn’t hurt his ears. The world faded back into the slightly muted normal he had gotten used to before Sam approached him. The aids were small and white and smooth, and Sam had said that he would make him more if Tommy accidentally broke them. 

Part of Tommy wanted to crush them. To make Sam prove it, prove that he wasn’t just saying that. Most of Tommy was terrified that if he did that Sam would just be annoyed with him, would realize how difficult Tommy was and not want to hang out with him anymore. As long as Tommy never tested it, he would never have to find out if Sam was lying to him or not.  

But this was putting everything to the test. 

This was the fucking ultimate test. The test to end all tests. It was hard enough for Tommy to figure out how to maintain friendships, but family? That was another level entirely. 

(It wasn’t always difficult. Tommy remembered a time where he could form connections as easy as breathing, but now it was different. He was different.) 

But he was getting better right? He was making a hotel, Dream was in prison, he had his discs- things were good again. He could have good things again, couldn’t he?

Until you ruin them. A voice- Dream’s voice- said in the back of his head. How have you still not learned to quit while you’re ahead? You’ve fucked up so much already and you still want more?

Tommy made a frustrated noise and shoved his aids on top of a nearby chest before he accidentally crushed them. He didn’t want to think like that, didn’t want to think how Dream wanted him to, Dream was a liar and a bitch and Sam wanted him, Sam cared about him-

Tommy tried to exhale but the breath came out shaky, and then he was crying, letting out all the tears he had held back during his confrontation with Ponk. He rubbed his eyes like he was trying to shove the tears back in his face, before just giving up and wrapping his arms around himself, sobbing into his knees. Why not? He was alone, no one was here to judge him, and he was still a mess even though he was getting better, and he was a kid fuck- he was so young- he wanted to hear Wilbur play the guitar again, or do some stupid courtroom bit with Tubbo, or set another damn forest on fire with Sam- 

And only one of those was still possible, Tommy knew. Somehow ‘Big Law’ was less funny after actually working in government. And Tubbo was wonderful, and Tommy would legitamably die for him, but Tubbo was a kid like him. And there was so much hurt between them now, hastily patched up, that there wasn’t back when they were younger. Tubbo couldn’t be a big brother like Wilbur was, or a father like Sam was offering to be.

Fuck, Sam was offering to be his father. What the fuck? Who just does that? And what was Tommy meant to do about it? Did Tommy even want a father? 

He did, at one point. He remembered when Phil used to visit him and Wil at their old home, and the slurry of emotions he brought with him. Admiration, awe, excitement. And something else, something buried. Jealousy. Because Phil was always perfectly kind to him, but he was only ever a father to Wilbur. 

But Tommy wasn’t in that house anymore. He wasn’t that bold, simple child who could just shout or fight until he got what he wanted. He- he was different. Everything was different. He couldn’t get things like this anymore, he had missed his chance, had ruined every chance for happiness and he should just be grateful for what he had now-

Tommy shot up from his bed with a frustrated shout, wanting to throw something. He was just thinking in circles, it felt like his brain was eating itself. He turned again to his hearing aids. It would be so easy to break them. Then he wouldn’t have to make the choice. Sam would get mad at him, take back his offer, and Tommy would have ruined yet another relationship, but at least this time it would be on purpose. 

He wrenched his hands away from the aids and threw open a nearby chest. It was full of various blocks and tools, completely disorganized.  He grabbed a handful of sticks and threw them against the wall, the crack of wood muted but still satisfying. He buried his arms in the chest, seeking out anything he didn’t need, anything breakable. His home was filled with the sounds of cracking stone and ripping fabric. 

By the time he was done, he couldn’t even remember what he had broken. Pieces of his items laid strewn around his room, which was now a complete mess. Why had he done that? What was he doing? He had stopped crying, at least. He felt… not calmer, not really, but he wasn’t on the verge of falling apart anymore. Heh, how’s that for therapy? Turns out all he needed to do was completely wreck his room. 

He sighed, curling up in a ball and resting his head on his knees. He was so tired. He didn’t understand any of this, and thinking about it wasn’t helping. He needed Sam to explain it to him, to make it make sense. The idea of talking with Sam was so terrifying it felt like his blood was freezing in his veins, but he knew it was the only thing he could do. He would talk to Sam, and he would explain, and it would be fine. Or it wouldn’t be fine, but at least it would be done. 

All his anger and confusion and fear had drained out, leaving only exhaustion. It was late. There was nothing more he could do today, not on his own. He crawled back into his bed, burrowing under his blankets. He waited until his thoughts quieted to a dull roar, and then finally grew silent. 

---

After a full night’s sleep, Sam felt much better. His head still felt a little… cotton-y, but he could stand up straight without wobbling, and his eyes could focus without blurring. When he dragged himself out of bed, (someone must have put him there, since he was pretty sure he had just fallen asleep on the floor last night) Ponk was puttering around the kitchen. They looked up when they heard Sam enter, face brightening. 

“Hey, how’re you feeling Sammie? I made breakfast.” 

Only then did the smell of eggs hit Sam’s nose, and he felt a swell of affection for his partner. He leant against Ponk’s back, resting his head on her shoulder. “Thank’s Ponkie.”

“Are you going to talk to Tommy today?” Ponk asked. Sam groaned.

“Do I have to?”

Ponk turned to face him, giving him a Look. 

“Fine.” Sam said, burying his face further into Ponk’s shoulder. “I just want to figure out what I’m going to say first.” 

Now it was Ponk’s turn to groan. “Dude, don’t overthink it so much! Just be honest, Tommy will get it. He’s a smart kid.”

“Ponk, last time he literally ran away. This is a delicate situation!”

Ponk gave him another look. “Last time he ran away because I had to spring it on him out of nowhere, and because you had literally passed out from being attacked, like, a few minutes ago. Besides, why would making it more complicated help? If being adopted is too overwhelming or he doesn’t want to for other reasons, do you really think coming with a stack of notecards would change anything?”

There was a long silence. “...I wouldn’t come in with notecards…” 

“I know you and you absolutely would. Just, take a deep breath, calm down, and talk to him. I know you know what you want to say, you've been thinking about this for weeks. Now eat your breakfast.”

Sam sighed, pulling away to grab a plate. Ponk was right, as he often was. That didn’t change the fact that Sam was terrified. He really, really wanted this to go well. But he didn’t want to drag it out. He would find out where Tommy stood today. Whatever Tommy wanted, he would accept.

Chapter Text

As soon as Tommy saw Sam coming up the hill towards the hotel, he wanted to hide. 

He had changed his mind. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t want Sam to explain it to him, it would be better just to pretend it didn’t happen and go back to normal. 

He forced himself to keep still with a soft growl. He wasn’t gonna fucking run away again. He wasn’t a pussy. He survived wars and exile, he could survive one conversation.

One conversation could destroy everything.

But it wasn’t going to, and even if it did he would be fine, because Tommy didn’t need Sam, or a father, he was a big man and he had Tubbo and maybe Ranboo anyway, and he really didn’t need to be this fucking scared. 

He dug his nails into the tough skin of his palms to keep them from shaking, plastering a grin on his face. He hoped it didn’t look as plastic as it felt. 

“Heyyy Big S! What brings you here?” Maybe if he doesn’t bring it up Sam won’t either. Maybe they can just talk about the hotel, or Sam Nook, hell, Tommy would sit through the longest, most boring lecture about redstone if it just meant they didn’t have to talk about-

“Hey Tommy. I wanted to talk to you about last night.” 

Fuck. What was Tommy expecting? Of course he couldn’t catch a fucking break. Whatever. Whatever. It would be fine. It would be done. 

“S’ that so? What about it big man? You feeling okay? All uh, all recovered from the egg?” 

Sam’s voice was soft when he replied. “Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better, thanks to you, Puffy, and Ponk. But, I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to spring that on you so suddenly. Ponk told me you uh. Panicked.”  

A sudden flash of anger hit Tommy, out of nowhere. “I didn’t fucking panic! Anyone would have fucking- fucking- you can’t just tell people that shit!” 

Sam raised his hands placatingly, which only pissed Tommy off more. He didn’t even know why he was angry, just that he could feel his skin prickling under some invisible heat. “No! Fuck you! Why would you say that? What the hell do you want from me!?” Tommy shouted, the words escaping before he could think about them. What was he doing? Why was he so angry? This wasn’t how he wanted this conversation to go. His throat hurt and his head felt like it was full of tacks. He wanted to go home. He wanted Sam to hug him and tell him it would be alright. 

“Hey, hey, Tommy, it’s okay. Can you take a deep breath for me? I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, okay? I promise.” 

“What do you mean? ” Tommy took a gasping breath in, his next words coming out softer. At least he wasn’t crying. “Just tell me what you want. Please.” 

Sam took a step forward, and Tommy resisted the urge to back away from him. Sam wasn’t going to hurt him. Probably. He didn’t need Sam to know he was afraid. 

“I just want to see you safe and happy, Tommy. Whatever form that takes. I… I would like to try being your father, but what you want is more important. If you just want me to be a friend, that’s fine. If… if you want me to leave you alone, then I will.”

A sudden panic surged in Tommy’s throat. “No! No. Don’t leave. You don’t have to- I don’t want you to leave.” Tommy felt his face flush in embarrassment. God, he sounded pathetic. 

He heard Sam take another step towards him, but didn’t raise his head to look at him, suddenly finding the ground very interesting. “Okay.” His voice was so gentle it made Tommy’s chest hurt. “I won’t leave then. I’ll stay right here. I’ll stay with you.” There was a pause, where the only sounds were the buzzing of insects and Tommy’s breathing. “Is it okay if I touch you?” Tommy nodded jerkily, and Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulders, rubbing circles into his back. “Do you want to sit down?” 

Tommy nodded again, unable to find his voice. Sam moved them over to a small incline in the hill they were on, sitting them both down on the grass. They just sat there in silence for a few minutes, Sam still gently rubbing his back. His fur tickled his neck under his bandanna. Tommy felt all his anger and fear slowly drain into a vague anxiety. 

Sam seemed content to sit in silence until Tommy was ready to talk, which was… weird. Usually when people wanted to talk with Tommy they would just… start talking, and if Tommy wasn’t ready or whatever he would just improvise. Wasn’t Sam impatient with him? He had wanted to talk to Tommy about something, something important, and so far all Tommy had done was yell at him and then shut down. Part of Tommy wanted to call Sam’s bluff, wanted to see how long he could wait before Sam forced him to talk, but that wasn’t fair. Sam didn’t deserve that. Tommy took a deep breath and braced himself the best he could before speaking. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I feel like I do.” 

“You were overwhelmed. It’s understandable that you’d get upset.” 

Understandable. Tommy knew he wasn’t a particularly ‘understandable’ person. He got attached to weird things and got angry about weird things and every time he tried to talk it felt like all his emotions scattered out of his mouth in a chaotic blur. Sam was even more confusing than he was though, so maybe it made a backwards kind of sense. “Whatever. So you said you wanted to- wanted to talk about- you wanted to adopt me.” The words were stuttered out, but Tommy was honestly proud of himself for being able to say them at all. 

“I did. I do.”

“Why?” 

Sam shook his head. “There’s no grand reason. I like you. I want to provide for you. I… I see you as a son. I have for a while now, I think.” 

“That’s a shit answer.” Tommy choked out. 

Sam laughed softly and shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the truth.” 

“When did you start, uh… you know. When did you start thinking of me like that?” 

Sam thought for a moment. “There wasn’t just one moment. It just kinda crept up on me. Building the hotel together… It made me think about some things I guess.”

Tommy made a noncommittal sound, but leaned more heavily into Sam’s side. Sam held him tighter in response. 

Sam’s next words came out at almost a whisper. If Tommy wasn’t so close, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear him. “But you know you don’t owe me anything, okay Tommy? What I want doesn’t matter. Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.”

Tommy huffed. “...’Course what you want matters big man.”

Sam laughed softly. “Sure. What you want just matters more, then.” 

“...What if I don’t know what I want?”

“Then I’ll still be right here once you figure it out.”

Will he though? The thought came unbidden into Tommy’s head. When was the last time Tommy had time to think through a decision before he made it? At Techno’s maybe? Pogtopia? But neither of those decisions had mattered in the end. Whether he had chosen to stand with Techno or Tubbo, Wilbur or L’manburg, everything seemed destined to be destroyed anyway. Would thinking about it really matter in the end? Did he really want to risk Sam’s patience running out? Maybe wasting time thinking about it will just make everything worse. Maybe Sam will take back the offer if I wait too long. Maybe he'll get sick of me. 

“Okay.” Tommy said, voice rough. 

“Okay?”   

“Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s do the adoption.”

“You-” Sam’s grip tightened and he turned to him, clearly surprised. “Are you sure? You really don’t have to decide right away-”

“I’m sure! I was- surprised earlier, but it really sounds like a good idea! We should try it, I want you to be my dad!” 

And oh. 

Oh. 

It was like everything froze. Sam’s eyes had gone impossibly wider, but Tommy could hardly focus on anything over the pounding of his heart. Dad. He had a dad! For the first time, someone had wanted to be his dad. Why had he ever been scared? Why had-

His thoughts were interrupted as he was pulled into a crushing hug. He was quick to return it, wrapping his arms around Sam’s back and burying his face into his shoulder. He could hear Sam’s voice, a bit jittery but still reassuring, still gentle, and Tommy felt an almost manic laugh burst out of him, wet with tears. 

This would work. He would make it work. It would be good this time. 

This time, he wouldn’t mess it up. 

Chapter Text

Sam could feel the glowing excitement he’d been carrying around all day slowly dampen as he made his way further into the prison. But even the prison’s towering black walls weren’t enough to ruin his good mood. He felt secure, felt more sure of himself than he had in a long time. 

He had Tommy, and he had Dream, secure and trapped where he could never hurt his boy, hurt his son, ever again. 

He flicked on the camera feed once he entered his office. Dream was lying on top of his chest, the closest thing he had to a bed in the cell, staring up at the camera. Sam did not shiver, as he might have a few weeks ago, but he couldn’t completely push down his unease. 

Dream did this sometimes. He knew where the camera was located in the cell, and sometimes when he got bored of pacing or writing in his books, he would just lock eyes with the camera and stare. Sometimes he would talk. Sam was pretty sure he used to have the times when Sam came in memorized, but ever since he lost his clock he’d lost track. 

Every shift Sam spent in silence, he was grateful that he stopped replacing Dream’s clock. The prisoner had brought it on himself anyway. 

Unfortunately, it still wasn’t a perfect solution.

“Sam.” The voice filtered through the camera’s microphone after about 30 minutes of peace, static clinging to it. “Are you there?” 

Sam didn’t respond. He had infinitely better things to do than entertain the prisoner. 

“You are there, right?” Dream continued, something similar to desperation slipping into his voice. “How’s Ponk doing? Tommy?”

“None of your business.”

“You are there.” Even without looking at the camera feed, Sam could hear the smile in Dream’s voice. “What have you been doing?”

“Dream.” Sam breathed harshly through his teeth. “You can’t honestly think I’m going to tell you anything.” 

“Not anything important!” Dream protested. “I just want to talk to someone. It’s so boring in here.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Dream.” 

“Should I tell more stories about Tommy? You seemed to like those. You always listened very carefully.” 

Sam resisted the temptation to cut the audio from the cell. If Dream tried anything, Sam needed to be able to hear it. “What has Tommy been doing? Have you been seeing him?”

“I don’t know why you ask questions you know I won’t answer.”

Dream clicked his tongue. “Whatever. I’ll just ask him when he visits.”

Sam couldn’t help tensing a bit at that. Tommy hadn’t talked about visiting Dream again, but he vaguely remembered him mentioning it during his first visit. He would have to review the tapes. And probably talk to Tommy about it. If (and that was a big If) Tommy really wanted to visit Dream again, Sam wouldn’t stop him, but honestly the thought of the two being in a room together made something uneasy and protective shiver down his spine. 

“I doubt he’d want to sit around and chat, even if he did visit you.” Sam finally spoke, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice. 

Dream’s next words came through the microphone with an oil-slick interest. “Feeling protective, Sam? You weren’t like this when Bad came to see me.” 

Well, you didn’t isolate and abuse Bad, now did you? 

Sam kept his thoughts in his head, not letting the words he wanted to spit at the bastard past his teeth. He had already given Dream too much. The Warden needed to be silent and sure, not rise to the bait of his prisoner. 

It was difficult though, especially now. The urge to defend his son was almost unbearable, but he pushed it down. As hard as it was, he wasn’t Tommy’s father right now. He wasn’t Awesamdude, builder and pie-enthusiast. He was The Warden, and he had a job. 

Dream kept talking, but The Warden stayed silent. He wondered if Dream just liked hearing the sound of his own voice. 

---   

When Sam made it back home, Tommy was lying on the floor, seemingly telling a story to Fran, who was flopped over his stomach. Tommy had been alternating sleeping at Sam’s house and his own, and Sam was beyond grateful that he had chosen to stay here tonight. 

Sam could tell the exact moment Tommy noticed his arrival, the boy jolting up to his feet. Immediately, he noticed the tension lining his shoulders. 

Sam tilted his head at the boy as the large door clattered shut behind him. “Is something wrong?” 

Tommy waved his hands in broad circles, laughing nervously. “No, no, nothing’s wrong big man. I just uh. Wanted to ask you something?” 

“Of course.” Sam replied, fighting to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. The prison had taken a lot out of him, but Tommy didn’t need to know that. He had hardly been a father for a week, he wanted to be a stable pillar that Tommy could lean on. He didn’t want Tommy to have to worry about him. He wanted to be reassuring. 

“Okay. So, uh remember that whole adoption thing? What am I talking about, of course you do, it was very memorable, but uh, I was wondering, how many um. Who knows about it?” 

Sam tilted his head, thinking. Obviously there was more to the question than just curiosity, but Sam didn’t know why Tommy was so nervous. “Well, Ponk knows, and I was thinking about at least telling Puffy. Why?” Sam answered, making his way to the couch and sitting down. His legs ached from marching around the prison all day. 

“Well I guess I was just wondering if we should tell people? Like do you… are you sure that would be a good idea?”

Sam unfastened his mask from his jaw and pulled off his goggles, taking a breath of the filtered air of his base. “What do you mean? Do you want to keep it a secret?” It would be fine if Tommy did, of course, though Sam would possibly be a bit disappointed. What could he say, he was proud of his son, and sometimes he wanted to scream it from the rooftops. 

“Well, you know me, Tommy Trusty, I never tell lies or keep secrets, but you know, you got a nice place here, and a really nice dog, and I’m done with wars, really, but I don’t always get a say in it and I-” He takes a heaving breath. “I really don’t want to drag you into any of my bullshit. Just feels unfair ‘y know?” 

Oh. That’s what Tommy was worried about? “Tommy... “ Sam said softly, “sorry, but I’ve already been ‘dragged in’ to your problems.”

Tommy’s eyes fly open in distress, and Sam rushes to elaborate. “Hey, no, I just mean that, even if I wasn’t… If I wasn’t your father, I’d still want to help you. If you got involved in some war, I’d still want to help. Your bullshit is my bullshit. Has been for a long time.” 

Tommy didn’t look as reassured as Sam had hoped.

“That’s different. It’s all official now. Our names are connected. Or they could be.” 

Sam held in a sigh. He felt out of his depth, and the exhaustion wasn’t helping. “Look. I’ll go along with whatever you want. If you want to keep it private, we’ll keep it private, all right?”

Tommy still looked put out, making a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “It’s not… it’s not about what I want. It’s-” his voice cracked suddenly “When… when we were in Dream’s creepy hall, before everyone came, he was gonna kill Tubbo just because he knew it would hurt me. Because, because he knew I was attached to him, and- and- I think Jack Manifold is really trying to kill me, and I don’t even know what I did to him and it’s all just-” Tommy’s voice was getting progressively higher, his breaths coming shorter and shorter. 

“Tommy.” Sam puts all his focus into keeping his voice even. Authoritative enough to get Tommy’s attention, but gentle enough so he knew he wasn’t angry with him. 

“Sorry.” A gasp. “Sorry, sorry I’m whining, I-I just. I’m being annoying. ‘M sorry. Sorry.” 

Not gentle enough, apparently. 

“No, Tommy, it’s okay, I’m not angry with you. I understand why you’re worried. Can you try to breathe for me?”

Tommy nodded frantically, swaying slightly. Sam could hear him counting to ten softly under his breath. 

“Tommy.” Sam said again, when he was sure the boy had calmed down. He patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Do you want to sit down?” 

Tommy nodded again, shuffling over to the couch. He sat down awkwardly for a moment, pulling his knees to his chest.  

“Can I touch you?” Sam asked. Tommy nodded silently, and Sam put a careful arm around his shoulders. Tommy responded by sinking his full weight into his side. The weight was comforting, not just for Tommy, but for Sam as well. Sam focused on the solid press of his son’s body against him as he thought about what he should say. 

“Dream is in prison, Tommy.” Sam said softly. Tommy tensed against him, but didn’t move. “He can’t hurt you, and he’s not going to hurt me. So I don’t care what he has to say about attachment. And, honestly-” he pulls his son closer to him “I’m pretty sure I can take Jack Manifold.” 

That shocked a laugh out of Tommy, and Sam felt his chest swell with pride. “Yeah that’s- I guess most people can take Jack Manifold.”

Sam smiled, moving to run his fingers through Tommy’s hair. “It’s up to you. But, ideally, I’d like you to make the decision for yourself. Not for Dream or Jack or anyone else.” 

“Psh. I only ever make decisions for myself. My decisions are simply too Large for anyone else to make them.”

Sam laughed into his son’s hair. “I know. But maybe we should both sleep on this particular decision, okay? There’s no reason to decide right away, after all.” 

“Yeah. Sure, okay.” 

Tommy made no effort to move, so Sam just settled into a more comfortable position on the couch. Slowly, he fell asleep to the sound of Tommy’s steady heartbeat. 

He dreamt of green eyes, and dark dark prison walls. 

Chapter Text

Tommy stared up at the tall red building, pride glowing in his chest. Sam Nook chittered next to him, and he felt a broad smile fill his face. 

“Sam Nook!” Tommy cried, whirling around to the robot. “Look! It’s done! It’s so big!” He craned his neck to try and look at the top. Laughing, he grabbed one of Sam Nook’s robotic arms. “Give me the tour big man! I gotta make sure it’s ready for the grand opening!” 

Nook chittered something in response, but Tommy was too distracted to check his communicator to see what it was. It was probably just something like ‘Wow Tommy, you’re so amazing and large and your hotel is clearly the best hotel, wow,’ or something. 

The interior was just as good as the outside, especially now that it wasn’t full of scaffolding. Tommy couldn’t help laughing again. He was laughing a lot today, huh. But there was still one thing missing. 

“Oy, Sam Nook, can you call Sam? The other Sam I mean.” 

Sam Nook tilted his head. Tommy was enough of a big man to admit that it was adorable. 

--[Awesamdude is currently unavailable.]--

“Eh?? Why?”

--[He is currently acting as [ The Warden ] in [ Pandora’s Vault ] and cannot be interrupted.]--

Tommy frowned. “But the hotel’s done…”

--[I am sorry. Awesamdude has set [ Pandora’s Vault ] as top priority. He cannot be interrupted. Would you like me to notify you when his shift is over?]--

“Sure I guess…” Tommy said, trying not to sound too dejected. It made sense, watching over the prison was definitely more important than hanging out with him. He wasn’t so self-centered that he couldn’t see that. And Sam was still going to make time to hang out with him, probably, just not at this exact moment. Tommy would be fine, patient was one of his middle names after all. At least, he was pretty sure patient was one of his middle names…

Regardless, being reminded of the prison unsettled him. Tommy had been free for a while now, but it was still hard to even think of that place. Which, in hindsight, would probably be a bit of a problem if the warden was his dad. (And oh boy, was that still a lot to think about, damn. He had a father and shit.) 

--[Is there anything I can assist you with TommyInnit? Or would you like to continue the tour?]-- 

If Tommy wasn’t mistaken, he heard a note of concern in that robotic voice. Weaker men would say that you couldn’t infer tone from what was essentially just a bunch of bleeps and bloops, but Tommy was simply Better. 

He plastered his smile back on. He would not be responsible for worrying Sam Nook. 

“I’m good big man. Just keep tour guiding me okay? I still need to see the top floors.” 

--[Of course Tommyinnit. Follow me.]--      

Tommy followed after the robot obediently, making sure to keep any unease hidden. It didn’t take long for his smile to become genuine, though. It was hard to focus on his stupid anxiety when he had The Big Innit Hotel to focus on instead. 

Because holy shit the hotel was done! And he had built it with his own two hands- well, technically Sam Nook had built it, but Tommy did most of the work. It was done, and it was great, and it was his. His and anyone else who needed a place to stay (and could tolerate some light scamming). 

Standing on the roof, overlooking the server with Sam Nook at his side, it began to sink in, perhaps for the first time, that Tommy wasn’t at war. He still had enemies, sure, but he wasn’t a soldier. Just a humble hotel owner. Someone’s son.    

It was really over, he thought. All the shit with Dream. Being with Dream, running from Dream, fucking thinking about Dream, he was done. The prison was black and huge on the horizon, an impossible to ignore reminder that Tommy had won against him. That he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.   

--[Tommyinnit?]--

“Huh? What is it Sam Nook?”

--[Are you alright?]--

“Wh- ‘course I’m alright big man, this is- this is awesome, look at the fuckin’ view!”

--[The scenery is very beautiful. Would you like me to get you some tissues, so you can see it better?]--

“Tissues? Why the fuck-” Tommy rubbed his eyes. Oh shit, he was crying. “Oh! Oh, no I’m okay. It’s- it’s good tears you know? Big man tears. I am simply too massive to be contained without overflowing, that’s all.” 

Tommy usually hated when he cried, especially around people. This felt good though. Like his body was agreeing with him, telling him that he was really done, and it was time to clean out all the heavy feelings weighing him down. 

He had hardly cried in exile. Almost never had the energy for it. For a while afterwards, he thought tears were just another thing Dream had taken from him. It wasn’t until he was running through the nether, away from that terrible hall, Tubbo’s hand clutched tightly in his, that he realized he had gotten them back. 

It was probably stupid, to be proud of himself for crying. He was anyway.

He wondered if Sam would be too, if he was here. 

---

By the time he and Sam Nook got off the roof and came back to the lobby, the sky was beginning to turn a pinkish orange. Tommy glanced out of the window next to the doorway, and realized that he didn’t really feel like returning to his house right now. He didn’t want his first experience in the hotel to end just yet. Not without Sam seeing it too.

It was already getting late, so Sam would probably be back soon anyway. He just needed to find something to pass the time until Sam’s shift was over.

There was the list of upgrade materials Nook had left, but Tommy didn’t really feel like gathering materials right now. Besides, he could just hire someone else to do that stuff for him. He would need to get some employees later anyway. 

He fiddled with some paper in his inventory. Maybe he could start on the invites for the grand opening? 

“Oi! Sam Nook! Come help me write invitations!”

--[Invitations?]--

“Yeah, for the opening! The hotel’s done, so I’m gonna have it soon.”

Sam Nook tilted his head. --[I am designed primarily for [ Building ] and [ Protecting Tommyinnit ]. But I will help as much as I can…]--

“That’s fine, you can just like, help me brainstorm and shit. And- wait, you were designed to protect me?”

--[Yes. I am not to allow any harm to come to [ Tommyinnit ]]--

Tommy thought back to Sam Nook chasing Jack Manifold off the hotel premises a few times. Huh. “Well, uh, thanks for that big man. Not that I need to be protected or anything! If anything, I should be protecting you, since I am so powerful and cool and you can’t even pick flowers on your own- but that’s okay. I am a forgiving man, afterall, and you are pretty cool, I guess so-” damn, he was rambling again. “So I won’t allow any harm to come to you either, or whatever.” He finished, flushing. 

--[Thank you for saying that, Tommyinnit]--

“Yeah well, I am pretty great.” He looked down at his feet. “Anyway! Invitations! Let’s do them!” 

Tommy stomped over to the table, the roll of Sam Nooks wheels following him. Tommy thought the way Sam Nook’s wheels worked was pretty cool. They were all retractable and shit, so he could walk up stairs and stuff, but also zoom over flat surfaces super fast. He wondered if he could get Sam to build him some wheeled boots or something, then maybe him and Sam Nook could race down the prime path sometime. 

He slapped the papers down on the desk, pulling out a pen as he sat down. He let himself space out a bit as he wrote, enjoying how the sunset cast warm colors on the paper. It was actually pretty relaxing, listening to the sound of his pen scratching the paper and Sam Nook’s occasional chittering. 

By the time Sam Nook got his attention again, you could see stars twinkling through the hotel windows. 

--[Awesamdude has finished his shift as [ The Warden ]. Would you like me to alert him that you require him at the hotel?]--

“Oh yeah, do it big man!” Tommy replied, even as he pulled out his communicator. Sam probably didn't need to be messaged by both Sam Nook and Tommy, but that’s what he gets for spending so much time not in Tommy’s amazing hotel.

[Sam. Sam. Big S. Sam the Man]

[Yes Tommy?]

[Why are you not at the hotel. Bitch.]

[Im walking as fast as I can]

[Why arent you RUNNING]

[apologies :(]

Tommy put his communicator away, tapping his feet anxiously. He was pretty sure he hadn’t actually annoyed Sam, but it was hard to read tone from messages sometimes. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so demanding? He was probably not in the mood after working in the prison all day… No, fuck that, he was Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Innit, he could be as demanding as he wanted! Sam would just have to deal with it. It would be fine. Sam was weirdly hard to annoy anyway. 

Still, he couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty when he saw the exhaustion clear in the set of Sam’s shoulders when he walked through the doors. But the edges of his eyes still crinkled when they met Tommy, so Tommy just smiled back at him. 

“Big S! Look! It’s great right! My building skills are clearly unmatched. And Sam Nook helped a bit too, I guess.” 

Sam chuckled, laying his goggles on the desk. “Yeah, it looks great Tommy.” 

“Do you want a tour? Or, on second thought…” Sam had plopped down on one of the lobby’s couches, but was listening attentively, “Maybe we can save that for tomorrow. The hotel looks better during the day anyway.” 

Sam nodded easily, grateful he wouldn’t have to climb any stairs right now. It was endearing how Tommy was being considerate of his lack of energy, in his own way. Seeing him was already helping with his lingering stress, the boy a constant reminder of what made his work as the Warden worth it. 

“So, what have you been up to?” Sam glanced at the papers strewn across the desk. “Doing paperwork?”

“I’m making invitations big man.” Tommy gathered the papers up with both hands, not bothering to organize them. “For the grand opening you know?” He walked over to the couch, sitting next to Sam. “I really want the hotel to be like, all inclusive you know? A neutral zone. Plus, everyone on this server ought to be paying me money.”   

Sam looked at the messy stack with interest, and Tommy gave them over without resistance as he continued talking. 

“I haven’t finished them yet, I’ve only done the first few so far. Sam Nook’s been helping me, or trying to help me at least, he doesn’t have my way with words-”

“Do you-” Sam cut in, his voice tense. Tommy shut up immediately, put on alert. “Are you- Tommy, did you mean to write one for Dream?” Sam asked, pointing at the offending paper. His confusion and concern was obvious on his face.  

Tommy’s stomach swooped, his whole body tensing up. He grabbed the paper from Sam, glaring at it. It didn’t change what was written there, in his hand writing. 

Dream, aka Big Pussy Bitch, aka Twat, aka Arsehole, aka Destroyer of Fun…

He didn’t even remember writing it.  

Why had he written it? It wasn’t even that insulting- sure, he had called him a few names, but he had still acted like- like Dream was a friend. Like he would actually be allowed in his hotel if he ever escaped. 

If you escape from prison, you are welcome to come,

And in the end he would be, wouldn’t he? If he ever got out, if he strolled through the doors of the hotel, Tommy wouldn’t be able to stop him. He’d probably just grovel at his fucking feet, because he was still just as pathetic as he’d always been, apparently. 

I will be checking in on you soon.

Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck everything. He was so fucking stupid, crying like a bitch about being done, being free, only to fucking betray himself minutes later. Would it just never end then? Was Dream going to live in his brain until he fucking died? 

Because he did want to check in on him again, he realized. He wanted to know what he was doing. To make sure he wasn’t up to anything, sure, and maybe to gloat, but also because- because-

“God damn it.” He choked out. The letter was crumpling under his fingers. He wanted to cry. It wasn’t a good kind of cry, this time.  

Things got kind of fuzzy after that. In the end, it was Sam Nook’s voice that brought him back to reality. He didn’t check his communicator to see what he was saying, but the bubbly noises soothed him. After Sam Nook’s, he could hear Sam’s voice, gently reminding him to breathe.

He put the invite down, breathing heavily. Sam gently took it and moved it out of view. 

“Back with us?”

Tommy wrapped his arms around his knees, not wanting to respond. He was pissed. More than that, there was hot shame creeping up his neck. He didn’t want Sam to be here, didn’t want to be seen. 

“Tommy?”

“I’m fine.” He snapped. “It’s just a stupid letter. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean it.” 

“Tommy, it’s alright.”

“Fuck off!” Tommy yelled, finally turning to look at Sam. “It’s not alright! You know it’s not, you- Don’t fucking lie to me, I’m not an idiot!”   

“I’m not lying!” Sam looked bewildered. “It’s okay-”

“I’m supposed to be better! I’m supposed to be done! I-” and Tommy really does sob now, the sound grating and harsh in his throat. “I’m not-” another heaving breath “Why-” and then any words he could say are drowned out by gasps as he tries to get air back into his lungs. 

Sam reaches an arm out but doesn’t touch him. Tommy’s grateful for it. He doesn’t want to be touched right now. Doesn’t want to be looked at. He wants to run away, and he probably would if he felt like he could move. 

But he doesn’t, and apparently neither does Sam, because he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch. He doesn’t move to touch him again, so they just sit, Tommy’s breathing the only sound. Even Sam Nook has gone quiet. 

Finally, finally, Tommy calmed himself down. The shame was back in full force. He’d annoyed Sam into hanging out with him when he was definitely exhausted, yelled at him, and then had a fucking breakdown in front of him. He had cried in front of Sam before of course, but this time felt especially pathetic.

“Sorry.” He forced out, after regaining his voice. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.” He buried his head in his knees, not wanting to look at Sam. 

“It’s alright, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have brought it up so bluntly.” Sam said. 

Despite Tommy’s recent apology, he bristled again. “The hell are you apologizing for? I wrote the damn thing. You shouldn’t have to use fuckin’ kid gloves with me just because I- because I’m like this.” 

Sam shifted slightly closer to him. “It’s not ‘kid gloves’ Tommy, it’s basic consideration. This is a sensitive subject for you, I should have been more careful.” 

Tommy knew Sam was trying to help, but the words still put a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. He didn’t want Sam to have to be careful. He didn’t want to be this fragile. He wanted to go back to how he was before Dream. How he should be, now that Dream was in prison. 

“...When does it stop?” He whispered into his knees. Unfortunately, (fortunately?) Sam heard him. 

“When does what stop?”

“When do I stop thinking about him?” 

It was obvious who he was talking about. “Oh Tommy…” Sam said. “It’s going to take time.”

“How much time?” 

“I don’t know, kiddo. There’s no handbook for this. It will get better though. I know it will.”

Tommy didn’t know how Sam could be so confident in him. But Sam was smart, right? If Sam said it would get better, then maybe… 

Tommy raised his head from his knees, looking at the man who decided to be his father. Sam looked encouragingly back at him, and Tommy felt a ball of tension in his chest unwind a bit. 

He let his body lean over until he was laying across Sam’s side. The man wrapped an arm around him, rubbing circles into his shoulder. Tommy closed his eyes.

“I miss him.” He whispered. Just saying the words felt like a death sentence. But Sam deserved to know, if he was going to believe in like that. He deserved to have all the information. “I dream about him a lot. They’re not all nightmares. The good dreams are worse, I think.”

Sam had not stopped rubbing his shoulder through his confession. “Sometimes I miss him too.” Sam whispers back, and Tommy shudders. “He was my friend. He was your friend too, once. You’re not bad for missing him. You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“Why…?” Tommy gasped “Why did he do all that to me? What did I do? ”  

“You didn’t do anything Tommy. He just wanted to hurt you. He can’t anymore.” 

For the third time that day, Tommy cried.

---

Eventually, Sam Nook left to go back to guarding the entrance, and Sam and Tommy ended up falling asleep in the lobby, neither of them having the energy to go home. Tommy woke up first, stumbling off the couch and rubbing at a crick in his neck. His clothes had gotten wrinkled from him sleeping in them. 

He found the letter on top of a chest, and Sam woke up to the sound of a fire being lit. Tommy watched numbly as his words transformed into ash, feeling Sam’s eyes on him. 

“There.” Tommy said. “Now it’s gone.”

Sam sighed behind him. “Probably for the best.” Tommy heard him get up from the couch, but didn’t turn around to look at him just yet. “But, really Tommy, you shouldn’t blame yourself for having conflicting feelings about him. After how he manipulated you… It would be more surprising if you didn’t.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” Tommy grumbled, before the implications of Sam’s words dawned on him. “Wait, how the hell do you know about that?”

Tommy finally turned towards Sam, who was stretching his two pairs of arms. Two reaching above his head, the others down towards his knees. 

“Know about what?” Sam asked. 

“About Dream. How he manipulated me. You weren’t… you didn’t see me right after exile. Or during. Just in the final battle.” Tommy said.

Because, Tommy had never actually told anyone the specifics of what Dream did to him. It was clear to anyone that Dream had… hurt him. But the way he did it, the manipulation, telling Tommy he was his friend… Techno was the only one who even knew parts of it, and even he didn’t know much. 

Sam looked cautious, and a touch confused. “Well… I’m the Warden, Tommy.”

“Yeah? What does that have to do with it?” 

Sam’s expression transformed into one of discomfort. He took a few seconds to speak, and Tommy nearly yelled at him to just spit it out, before he spoke softly: 

“The prisoner talks about you.”

Tommy didn’t miss what Sam was trying to do. Like calling him ‘the prisoner’ would soften what Tommy had just learned. It didn’t work. He felt his whole body shudder, as if insects were running up and down his skin. 

“What?”

Sam didn’t say anything in response, just looked at Tommy apologetically.

“What? And you- do you listen to him? Are you having fucking conversations in there?” What were once insects transformed into sparks, and Tommy felt his skin start to burn. His head was spinning. 

“No Tommy. But I have to watch him. I have to keep the audio feed from his cell open at all times. If he were to do something, or plan something without me knowing… I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” Sam said, his tone calm and even. 

Tommy felt himself catch his breath in the face of Sam’s steadiness. That made sense. Didn’t mean he didn’t hate it though. Didn’t mean he didn’t have questions. “So, what, he just talks about me? What does he say?”

“Tommy…” Sam still had that same apologetic look on his face. Tommy hated it.  

“Don’t ‘Tommy’ me! I deserve to know!” he demanded. 

“You do. But do you want to know?” 

The question doused Tommy’s anger immediately. Did he want to know? Did he need to know? Did he need to force himself to hear all the no doubt fucked-up shit the green bastard was saying about him? 

(Wasn’t he supposed to be done?)

“No.” Tommy finally said. He shuffled closer to Sam. “No I- I don’t. But just-” Sam’s eyes widened minutely when Tommy grabbed his upper arms. He stared into the creeper hybrid’s eyes, trying to communicate the importance of what he was saying. “He’s a liar Sam. All he does is lie. Don’t- don’t believe what he fucking says about me, or anyone, just. Promise me you won’t ever believe him.” 

Tommy was going for intense, but the words became desperate at the end. He had to focus to make sure he didn’t dig his claws into Sam’s arms.  

Sam met his stare. Slowly lifted his hands up to cup Tommy’s face. “I don’t believe him, Tommy. I promise. I won’t ever believe him.” 

Tommy let out a choked noise, pressing his face into Sam’s hands. He knew he was being embarrassing, but he didn’t care. He had already seemingly developed a habit for being embarrassing in front of Sam, once more wouldn’t kill him. 

Because Sam was telling the truth, wasn’t he? Because Sam had been listening to Dream’s poison this whole time, and still he wanted Tommy. Wanted Tommy to be family. He was the only person who knew the whole ugly story- no, who knew Dream’s version of the story, and still, he was here. He was still here. 

When Sam moved to gather him into a hug, Tommy went easily, wrapping his arms around his dad’s torso. 

Tommy knew his thoughts were going to catch up to him. He knew before long his paranoia would creep through the cracks in his trust, whisper doubts and fears in a sweet voice. He knew he would have to tell Sam everything, now, because the thought of Sam’s only version of events coming from Dream made his skin crawl. 

But not yet. Not now. Now it was just Tommy and Sam, clutching each other, in the lobby of a hotel that could have been a new beginning.  

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, any hard won peace of mind couldn’t last. 

It didn’t take long after their conversations at the hotel for doubts to start creeping into Tommy’s mind. He trusted Sam, really, but that trust couldn’t override his fear of Dream. What if Dream manipulated Sam into hating him? Everyone always seemed to listen to Dream. Sure, he was in prison now, and everyone knew that he was a bastard, but would that really be enough?

It didn’t help that Sam was at the prison all the goddamn time. 

Tommy knew, logically, that Sam wasn’t in the prison any more than he had been since Dream had been put there in the first place. The issue was now Tommy was paying attention. Now that the image of Dream talking to Sam had been put in his head, he couldn’t help obsessing over it every time the creeper hybrid was out of his sight.

What are they talking about? What is Dream saying? Is he talking about me? Is he talking about Sam?

Because that was the other issue. Even if Dream couldn’t do anything to him, that didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything to Sam. Sam was the one who had to spend hours with him, alone, in that terrible building. Watching him. Listening to him. 

Sam was the warden. He should be the one with all the power, Tommy knew, but it didn’t feel like that. The idea that Dream could be the powerless one in the situation, in any situation, felt impossible. Dream always had power. 

What was the point of imprisoning him in the first place then? If it didn’t do anything to him?

Tommy shook his head harshly to clear it. He was being ridiculous. Sam would be fine. It wasn’t like exile. Dream had no weapons or armor, and Sam could leave the prison whenever he wanted. Sam knew not to believe Dream, and he was only listening to him because he had to. 

Sam would be fine. Tommy would be fine. It would be fine. 

It didn’t feel fine.

Tommy grumbled, sitting up from where he had been lying on Sam’s floor. He was hanging out at Sam’s house (their house?) again, playing with Fran and stealing Sam’s shit. (Hey, in his defense, if Sam didn’t want his shit stolen he should’ve had less cool shit just laying around. What was he meant to do, not swipe some of the half-finished redstone gadgets to see what they did?) And he totally wasn’t anxiously waiting for Sam to get home so Tommy could make sure he was okay and hadn’t started thinking Dream was his friend or that it was actually all Tommy’s fault what had happened and that he was a terrible son and person and brother and-

Fran barreled into Tommy, squeaking a toy loudly and snapping Tommy out of his spiral. He squawked in surprise, stumbling to his feet before Fran could slobber all over him.  

“Okay! Okay! I’m right here girl, I’ll play with you. Heh, truly I cannot escape the attention of women.” Tommy said, taking the toy from Fran’s mouth and throwing it across the wide room. She was back before long, pushing the toy into Tommy’s leg.

Tommy smiled. Playing fetch with Fran would be a good way to take his mind off things. Not that his mind was on things, because he was too much of a big man to worry when there was literally nothing to be worried about. That would simply be a waste of time, and Tommy has never wasted his own or anybody else's time, ever, in his life. 

“Bet you miss him though.” He told Fran, watching her sail to the far end of the room again. “You’re probably worried, since you don’t understand people shit like prisons or manipulation or responsibility and what not. You just know your owner’s always gone.” Tommy sniffed, taking the toy back once again. “It’s a good thing you got me lookin’ out for ya.”

The toy sailed through the air. Tommy missed having pets. Did Fran count as his dog too, since he was Sam’s kid? Tommy was going to assume yes. Fran clearly liked him best anyway. 

He knew he should probably be working on the plan for the hotel’s grand opening, but he ended up spending most of the day with Fran anyway. He had tried a few times to think about picking a date and handing out invitations, but something was stopping him. It was like there were walls surrounding the part of his brain capable of productivity, and everytime he tried to approach it, he slid right off. 

Asking Sam for help was equally impossible. He didn’t want to bother him with something he should be able to do easily by himself. He just needed to… find a way to break through the walls, or something. The brain walls. 

Whatever. Wilbur was the one good at words and metaphors and shit. 

Still, he had a… theory, about why the opening was making him so anxious. 

The hotel was meant to be a new beginning. A new chapter of his life, free from Dream and war. And at first, it felt that way. But then the whole thing with the invitation happened, and it felt like Tommy had been thrown backwards. On top of that, the knowledge that Dream had been spending his time in the prison talking about him, and that Sam had heard every probably-awful thing he had said…

It just felt wrong to open the hotel now, when his mind was all fucked up. Not that he was giving up! It just meant he had to get his mind unfucked up before he was ready. He had gotten his brain unfucked before (kinda), he could do it again. 

And he was pretty sure he knew what the first step was, even if the thought of it filled him up with dread. 

He couldn’t let the green bastard be Sam’s only source of information. He had to tell him about exile. 

—

The stars were glowing high in the night sky by the time Sam left the prison. His last few shifts as the Warden had been long, stretching into dusk and beyond. 

He knew he had guards that could take shifts for him, but he found it difficult to trust Bad or Ant most days. Not with something so important. The memory of his own flesh sliding down his throat did not fade easily, after all. 

And he couldn’t imagine anyone but him watching the camera feed. Especially after the incident with Tommy at the hotel. Tommy was trusting him to listen to Dream without falling for his lies, and Sam would not risk that trust by bringing in a third party. Dream’s words were his burden to bear. 

But he shouldn’t dwell on that now. His shift was over, and soon he would be able to get home and crawl under his covers. 

He wondered idly if Tommy was staying over tonight, as he made the trek back to his base. Recently, the boy had been sleeping at his house nearly every night. Sam knew that his son would never give up his dirt house, but having Tommy in his home felt like the snap of the final piece fitting into a complicated puzzle.  

A quieter part of him hoped he had already gone to sleep, if he was staying over. Not that Sam didn’t want to see him, of course! But the prison had taken a lot out of him, and he just… wasn’t sure if he had the energy. Tommy would understand.   

His commute passed in a blur, the route long since memorised. He refocused to the sound of his door lifting up, revealing a very awake, and very anxious Tommy Innit. 

Great. He thought, before immediately reprimanding himself. It wasn’t Tommy’s fault he was tired. He just had to… figure out what was wrong, fix it, and then he could sleep. Simple. Hopefully. 

“Hey Tommy.” He said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Did something happen?”

Tommy’s eyes widened, like he hadn’t expected Sam to call him out. Did he really think he was being subtle? His anxiety could probably be seen from space. 

“What?” He said, stretching out the word. “Nothing’s wrong! Everything’s peachy. Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens to Tommy innit.” 

“Mm hm.” Sam replied, deadpan. He made his way to the couch and collapsed on it, eying his son, who was fiddling with the triangular end of his tail. 

“Well… I just thought we should… talk about some things.” Tommy murmured into the ground. He doesn’t look up to meet Sam’s eyes.  

“Yeah?” Sam said, stubbornly burying the exhaustion in his voice. He selfishly hopes the conversation is a short one. 

“Yeah! Like uh, h-how was prison? Or prison guarding I guess, you’re not in prison, well, I guess you are inside the prison but you’re not you know-”

“Tommy. Breathe.”

Tommy took a deep breath, before coughing awkwardly into his hand. “Sorry. Um. How was your day? Nothing bad happened?”

Sam wasn’t quite sure what Tommy was getting at. “My day was fine? Nothing happened. What is this about?” 

“I just think that I should-” Tommy took another deep breath, bracing himself. “I think I should tell you about exile.”

Okay. So this was not going to be a quick conversation. Sam sat up on the couch, giving Tommy his full attention. “Tommy. What brought this on so suddenly? You know you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with.” 

“I do though!” Tommy protested. “Because if I don’t, then Dream will be the only one to tell you! And he’s a liar, so he’ll just- manipulate you into thinking the wrong things and I- I can’t-” The next breath he took was a gasp, and sounded wet. Sam was on his feet, at a loss for what to do. He wanted to comfort Tommy but didn’t want to touch him without permission. 

Eventually he decided on just holding his arms open awkwardly, trying to get his tired brain to think of something appropriately soothing and paternal to say. Luckily, Tommy took the initiative and dove into Sam’s chest, wrapping his arms desperately around his back. 

“I know you said you wouldn’t believe him.” Tommy gasped, the words muffled in Sam’s shoulder. “And I trust you! But I was- I was so sure he wouldn’t get to me, when it all started, and now I’m- like this- and he, he ruins everything and I can never do anything to stop it and I don’t want him to take you too, dad, I don’t want him to do anything to you -”

Tommy said the last words like a desperate prayer, and Sam clutched him closer to his chest. His heart ached, anger and regret and exhaustion and deep, deep sadness coursing through his veins.  

“Tommy…” Sam whispered into his hair, “He’s not going to do anything to me.”

“But how can you know that?” Tommy demanded.

“Because I know the prison. He has no power in that place. It’s not like it was before, he doesn’t have any weapons or supplies or influence. As long as he’s in there, he can’t hurt anyone.” 

Tommy shook against him. “Okay. Okay…” He pulled away from the embrace, looking sheepish. “And you’re sure? That he can’t do anything? The prison is enough to stop him?” 

“Yes, Tommy. I built the prison myself, I know how secure it is. And I’ll do anything to keep it that way. He’s not getting out. He’s not going to hurt anyone again.”

“Okay.” Tommy exhales, before nodding decisively. “Okay. I believe you. But I think I need to see it myself. I need to- to see him one last time. Then I’ll have closure. I’ll be done.”

Sam sighed deeply. “Are you sure?” 

Tommy nodded again. “Yes. I’m sure.” 

In the future, Sam would wonder if he’d have answered differently if he had been less tired. If he would have forbade Tommy from ever stepping foot in the prison, ever coming near Dream again, for any reason. He can’t say for sure. He just wanted to help his son ease his mind. That’s all.

“Okay.” Sam answered. “One last time.”  

Chapter Text

Looking up at the massive wall of the prison, Tommy couldn’t help but feel like he was the size of an ant. Despite the feeling, he knew he had to do this. His anxiety, while present, could not override his conviction. 

It was a nice feeling, the certainty. 

Sam had walked with him to the prison, asking him a few more times if he was sure he wanted to do this. He was. But the man's presence was a comfort, even if Tommy wouldn’t admit it. 

The portal hummed as it activated, and then they were inside. 

Tommy saw the exact moment Sam shifted into Warden Mode. His back straightened, his posture turning rigid and harsh. Tommy couldn’t see his face behind his gas mask and goggles, but he reckoned his expression had gone all serious and shit. 

It was a weird change to watch. Still, it was easier to focus on Sam then on the prison itself. 

The lobby wasn’t too bad though, as far as prison rooms went. At least it was plenty big, and the lights made the room feel a bit less suffocating.

“Okay Tommy. I’m sure you remember some of the routine from last time. I’ve got to ask you some questions before we start.” Sam said, picking up a book, his movements sluggish from the mining fatigue. 

“Sure. Whatever. Heh- got some slow arms there pal? Been lifting too many weights or not enough?” Tommy attempted to joke. 

For a beat, Sam was silent, and Tommy was afraid he might reprimand him. He was about to open his mouth to apologize, or just fill the air with more words, when Sam answered, the barest hint of humor in his voice.

“Far too many.” 

Tommy felt something tight and tense unspool within him. Sam was still here with him. He wasn’t doing this alone. “Really?” Tommy asked, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“When was the last time you visited the prison?” Sam said, ignoring Tommy’s attempt to continue the banter. Which was fine. Tommy could take a hint, he could be serious. He had answered all these questions before, anyways. 

He stopped to think for a second. “A bit ago.” 

“...What does that mean?” Sam said. Tommy swore he could feel him peering at him through his goggles. It didn’t feel tense though, more like the kind of exasperated-but-curious expression Sam sometimes got when Tommy said something especially out there. It felt familiar, and further eased the tension which was wound up in Tommy’s throat.

The rest of the questioning went smoothly from what Tommy could tell. Truth be told, he wasn’t really paying attention, too preoccupied thinking about seeing Dream again, what the man would say, what Tommy would say back.  

“Okay Tommy, you can use locker one.” Sam’s voice cut through the buzzing white noise of Tommy’s brain, as he pulled the lever to open the small room. Tommy blinked, then sauntered through the doorway, keeping his steps nonchalant.  

“Same one as last time, huh?” Tommy said under his breath. The familiarity was comforting. The oppressing dark of the obsidian was less so. 

He set his items into the locker one by one, hesitating when he reached the plastic hardhat Sam Nook had given him. “Can I keep the hardhat?” Tommy asked, looking back over his shoulder. 

“No Tommy. No items.” Sam said evenly. 

Tommy bit back a pout as he dropped the hardhat next to all his other items. He understood that the prison had its rules, but couldn’t Sam make just a tiny exception? It’s not like the piece of yellow plastic was anything dangerous. 

Tommy wasn’t gonna push the issue though. Sam knew what he was doing. 

And he was looking at Tommy expectantly as he came out of the locker. Tommy tapped his fingers against the palms of his hands, trying to get some energy out. He needed to talk, needed to hear himself over the stifling almost-silence of the prison settling itself. 

“So, uh, I’ve been well- I guess you know that, since you’ve been with me for a lot of it, ‘cept when you’re in here I guess, or I’m off doing big man shit, but-”

“Tommy.”

“I’m nervous! My teeth are fuckin- shattering and shit, or wait, chattering, I didn’t-”

“Tommy.” 

“Huh?”

“You need to lock the locker.” Sam said. He looked amused, though it was hard to catch under the serious persona.  

“Oh! Yeah, ‘course big man.” Tommy said, whipping around. His voice was the slightest bit strained. 

He closed the locker with more force than necessary. After fumbling with the key for a second, the lock clicked shut with a mechanical thump. Sam stood quietly behind him. 

“Are you sure you want to see him today?” Sam asked softly. Giving him an out. 

Tommy didn’t look back at him. He made a conscious effort to untense his jaw. Breathed out.

“Yes.” He said. “I need it to be done. I need to do this.”

“Okay.” Sam said, simply. 

Tommy finally turned around, opening his mouth to say- something. To thank Sam for not doubting him, or just to make a dumb comment to cut the tension- when he’s interrupted by a wailing creak coming from the inner guts of the prison. The sound echoed through the entire room, and all that ended up coming out of Tommy’s mouth was a startled yelp.

“Oh fuck! ” Tommy gasped when he got his voice back. “That’s gotta be an omen or some shit- Let’s just- we can talk later, let’s get going, this room has it out for me.”

He practically shoved himself and Sam through the door. Sam didn’t react other than to silently match Tommy’s steps. But he didn’t move away when Tommy pressed himself close to his side, and that would have to be enough.

—   

Tommy was aware, objectively, that he had gone through all the complicated security protocols of the prison. He knew he had said some things, and that Sam had replied. He couldn’t for the life of him remember any of the details though. Just a blur of blackstone and searches and swimming through water, until he was standing in front of the bubbling lava curtain separating him from his closure. 

It was hard to stare at the lava for too long. He looked at Sam instead, watching him stand by the array of levers. 

“Hey…” Tommy started. “Um, Sam, I-”

“Face the lava.” Sam said. Tommy spun back around immediately. He hadn’t even noticed he had turned completely away from the curtain. 

“Oh yeah, sorry big man. Bit distracted, you could say.” Tommy said, still glancing at Sam from the corner of his eye. The silence sat awkwardly like an unwelcome guest, and Tommy hated it with his whole entire being. Why did the lava have to take so long to come down? “But Sam I… I wanted to say thank you, I guess. You’ve done a lot for me. You’re not as cool as Sam Nook, obviously, but still. Thanks. For being here.”

Sam exhaled. He didn’t sound annoyed, though. “You know I have to be here right? I’m the Warden. It’s my job to be here.”    

Tommy groaned. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m trying to be sincere here! Gracious and shit! You can’t just-”

“Face forward. The lava’s coming down. Get ready to get on the platform.” 

And the Warden was back. Tommy turned around, forcing himself not to flinch.

This was the first time he had seen Dream outside of his nightmares in weeks.

He wished he had more time to take stock. To try and figure out best he could with the distance between them what Dream was doing, if he was looking at him. But the platform was already moving, and he was moving with it, staring at his feet.

He changed his mind about the lava taking too long. In Tommy’s professional opinion, all lava curtains holding terrifying green pricks should take at least an hour to come down.   

He bit the inside of his cheek. No. He couldn’t think like that. He wasn’t going to spend his whole life living in fear of a stupid green teletubby. This was ending now.

A final mechanical chunk sounded out as the platform hit the obsidian floor of the cell. 

Tommy could feel Dream’s stare on the back of his neck as he stepped off the safety of the platform. He lifted his eyes, and immediately had to swallow a gasp. Dream was way closer to him than he had expected, leaning against the bars, head tilted in curiosity. 

Tommy didn’t think he would ever miss Dream’s stupid mask but being able to actually see his eyes was worse. Especially with what had happened to his face. 

(He brought the Axe of Peace down, letting rage and protectiveness guide his movements. He felt it find its home in Dream’s face. He heard Dream’s groan of anger. Heard the fleshy thump of blade reaching bone. Heard a strange shattering noise, like a vase hitting the floor. 

He looked up, catching a glimpse of Dream’s face in the moment before he respawned. There was a large black crack stretching over his left eye, down to his neck. It wasn’t like a human scar, not like the many other scars Dream had. It was more like a break in porcelain. 

A flash of green shone from the void under his face, and then he was gone.) 

He would find out later, as Dream was being led to the prison, that the green light he had seen was an eye. Despite hitting the bastard right in the face, he wasn’t lucky enough to blind the fucker. Not Tommy’s fault the prick apparently kept weird back-up eyes under his normal ones.     

Tommy felt fire at his back as the curtain lifted behind him. He didn’t turn around, kept his eyes on Dream. He didn’t watch Sam disappear from sight. 

The bars between them lowered, and Tommy and Dream were alone. 

—

Sam kept his eyes on Tommy’s back until he disappeared behind the rising lava. 

His legs itched to run to the monitoring room, to glue himself to the camera feed. Watch the prisoner’s every movement for danger, listen to every word for cruelty. 

His hands itched to pull the lever controlling the lava. To bring it down again, to bring Tommy back. To cross over the platform himself, make sure Tommy didn’t have to be in the cell alone with Dream. 

The Warden kept still. It was his responsibility to oversee visitations. He was to stand in this room, until the visitor requested to leave, and then he would pull the lever and the visitor would return. Those were the procedures. 

As long as the procedures were followed, everything would go smoothly. 

—

Tommy was doing well. 

With every word he spat at Dream, he felt his head clear a bit more. Every time he saw the man’s face contort in anger or irritation or desperation he felt better. Because Dream couldn’t do anything to him. Dream could get as angry as he wanted, but he couldn’t raise a hand against Tommy. He was sitting here with no armor and no power and no one to hurt. 

“You ruined my past Dream, but I won’t let you ruin my future-” 

And then-

And then L’manberg was exploding under his feet, and he could feel the heat of the nether at his back, and he was trapped and he couldn’t breathe and it was so loud-

“What the fuck.” He screamed, trying to hear himself over the prison’s wail. The walls shuddered around him, like a roiling stomach. Tommy had the panicked thought that oh, shit, the prison’s collapsing, we’re all gonna be buried alive here, before the room finally settled.  

He clenched his eyes shut, deeply aware of the other person in the room with him. He could hear Dream’s startled breathing over the bubbling of the lava. He forced himself to focus on his claws digging into his scalp, letting the pain ground him. He couldn’t have a panic attack here, not in front of Dream. He just needed to- Just needed to calm himself down and figure out what was happening. 

He wrangled his breath back into his lungs. “What the fuck did you do?” He yelled, glaring at Dream. The man held his hands up in faux surrender. 

“I didn’t do anything! I don’t know what’s going on!” 

“Don’t fucking lie to me! Explosions as soon as I come to visit? This has your stupid name written all over it! Trying to get one last jab in you stupid prick? Fuck you! I’m leaving and I’m never gonna have to think about you again!” Okay, so maybe Tommy didn’t calm himself down super well. It didn’t matter, he was getting out now. “Sam! Sam, let me out. I’m ready to leave.” 

The resulting silence felt like a sword to the gut. Like water in his lungs. Tommy swallowed against the fear, raised his voice again. “Sam! Bring the lava down, I want to leave! I’m ready to go.” 

For the second time, there was no answer. The lava was too bright. Dream was right behind him, and he was going to do something to Tommy, and he must have done something to Sam, and Tommy was supposed to be done feeling like this, he was supposed to be done with losing things-

His communicator buzzed in his pocket, and Tommy reached for it like a drowning man reaching for a liferaft. On the screen, sits a single innocuous message.       

You’re going to have to hang tight Tommy. The prison is on lockdown. There has been a security issue. 

Tommy’s heart plummeted to his stomach. He mashed his fingers over the keys of his communicator, demanding an answer. He could hear his breath whistling through his teeth, and over that, he could hear Dream laughing softly from the other side of the cell. 

The familiar sound sent him back to too many unpleasant places. His head snapped up towards Dream.  

“What. The fuck. Did you do.” 

Dream’s posture was loose and unconcerned. “I told you, I didn’t do anything! I know as much as you do. I have nothing to do with this.” 

“ Fuck. Off. Don’t fucking lie to me, all you do is lie to me. I don’t have to listen to you anymore, I don’t have to be here I-” Tommy could swear he could feel the prison floor swaying under his feet. “ Sam! This isn’t funny, let me out now , I want to leave-”

“Tommy he’s not here! Don’t you think he would have answered the first ten times you called for him? He can’t hear you!” 

Tommy ignored him. Tommy ignored him because if he acknowledged him, he would start to panic, and if he panicked then everything would get worse. 

He just needed to drown him out. If he was loud enough, then surely Sam would have to hear him. Sam would listen, Sam always listened. He just needed to be loud enough.

“Sam! Sam, I’m ready to leave! Let me out! Dad!” 

As soon as the last word left his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake. He saw Dream’s face snap to him in his periphery.    

“Dad? Been adding people to the family tree while I’ve been away?” Dream teased.  

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not talking to you, I’m not-”

“You’re the one being annoying Tommy!” Dream snapped, all mirth leaving him in an instant. Tommy felt his jaw click shut instinctually. “You’re just standing around yelling at no one! Sam’s not here, he’s dealing with the security issue. We both know what you signed.” 

“What I signed?”

“You really don’t remember?” Dream scoffed. “The prison’s in lockdown. You’re gonna be stuck with me for up to a week, and it’ll be better for both of us if you stop whining about it.” 

“A week? No, that’s not…” Tommy trailed off. He did remember. He remembered what he signed and he knew how serious Sam got about the prison. But surely he could make an exception? He couldn’t stay here for a week. 

And what makes you think you’re worth an exception? His thoughts muttered darkly. You know how Sam exhausts himself watching over this place. You want him to risk the whole server, risk everything he’s worked for, just for you? Selfish. 

Tommy shook his head, leaning into the rough obsidian wall at his back. He wasn’t being selfish. He just wanted to be safe, that wasn’t selfish, it wasn’t…

“And this can be fun!” Dream chirped, unintentionally cutting off Tommy’s spiral. “We can bond. It can be just how it used to be.” 

“No you green fuck, I don’t want to bond with you, we’re not friends.” Tommy pressed further into the wall. The room was so small that no matter where Dream stood, he was always too close for comfort.  

“Well, I think we’re friends. I’m the only one here aren’t I? Even your dad left you.” Dream tilted his head, and his smirk stretched to the edge of a particularly long crack cutting across his cheek. 

“He didn’t leave me! He just…” 

“He’s just not here?” 

“Be quiet.” Tommy pleaded. He felt lightheaded. Was he dying? Did the cell have air holes? He was pretty sure the room wasn’t supposed to sway like that. 

“I was supposed to be done.” He warbled miserably. He tried in vain to keep himself standing, but everything was hot and close and loud and too much, and Dream was staring at him, and the obsidian was scratching his back as he slid down the wall. 

His vision was black at the edges, and in the next moment everything cut to darkness.  

Chapter Text

“Heh, finally awake?” 

Tommy cracked his eyes open, and immediately wanted to hurl himself back into the realm of unconsciousness. 

He didn’t even get the mercy of not knowing where he was, in an instant the events of the past however many hours came crashing down around him. 

The prison. Dream. Sam’s message on his communicator. 

He turned towards the wall, refusing to answer Dream. 

“What, giving me the silent treatment? We both know that’s not going to last. You could never resist running your mouth.”

Tommy tensed at the jab. He hated how well Dream could get under his skin. He bit his lip, staying silent. He wouldn’t give Dream the satisfaction. 

After a moment, Dream hummed, clearly miffed. Tommy heard a wooden creak as Dream presumably sat down on the chest. Tommy had to resist the urge to turn around, to see exactly where Dream was in the room, if he was too close. 

(No matter where he was, he would always be too close. The cell wasn’t big enough for anything else.)

“So. Sam’s your dad now, huh? When did you figure that out?” 

“I’m not going to fucking talk to you. Especially not about Sam.” Tommy growled, giving up on his silent treatment. He made himself sit up and turn away from the wall, the desire to keep Dream in his line of sight too great. 

“But you just did! I mean, technically.” Dream said, pleased with himself. His normal eye crinkled at the edges, while the other just stared out of the darkness. “Seriously, how did that even happen? The hell did Sam have to fuck to make you?” 

“Ew, why are you talking about Sam fucking? I’m a minor you know.” Tommy stuck his tongue out in exaggerated disgust. He really didn’t want to banter with Dream, but humor seemed like his best defense right now.  

Dream chuckled snidely. “It’s good to see that you’re just as annoying as I remember.” 

Tommy cringed. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the clear fondness in Dream’s voice, or the fact that a part of him wilted at the jab. As if he still ached for the man to have a positive opinion of him. “Yeah, well you’re just as much of a prick as I remember.” He replied defensively. 

Dream just raised an eyebrow at him, before he shifted to look at one of the corners of the ceiling. “So he adopted you then? What, was he drunk or something?” 

Tommy clenched his teeth. “You’re not doing this to me again. No, he wasn’t fucking drunk, he just wanted to. Because I am clearly the most poggers person on this server and people like me.” Sam likes me, he almost said, but the words got caught in his throat.   

Dream rolled his eyes. “Could have fooled me.” 

Tommy opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by a crackle of static from the corner. 

“Dream, the lockdown is not an opportunity for you to distress the visitor.” 

Tommy stumbled to his feet. That was Sam’s voice! Looking into the corner that Dream was staring at, he could faintly make out a glint of a camera.

“Sam! You can hear me?”

“...audio from the cell is transmitted into the monitoring room. The Warden and guards can see and hear what is going on from the feed.” Came the slightly staticky reply. 

Okay. So Sam was clearly still in ‘serious mode’. Not a good sign. Tommy still had to try though. 

“Sam. Let me out. I don’t want to be here.” 

There was a long silence, broken only by the steady drip of the crying obsidian. 

“I cannot take the prison out of lockdown until the security issue is resolved. I’m sorry, Tommy.”

To his horror, Tommy felt tears pricking at the sides of his eyes. He blinked quickly to get rid of them. At least he apologized, he thought sarcastically.  

“Aw, he said sorry.” Dream chimed in, because of course he did. 

“Fuck off.” 

—

The Warden stepped out of the monitoring room numbly. Keeping watch over the prisoner and the visitor was important, but there was too much vital work to do for him to be able to hole up in there. He needed to investigate the roof. And check all of the mechanisms. Make sure everything was structurally sound. Repair anything that needed repairing. Ensure there were no intruders. 

He kept the list running on repeat in his head. Roof. Mechanisms. Structure. Repairs. Intruders. He did not think about Tommy- The visitor. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. He couldn’t let even the slightest cracks show. He had to be the Warden. 

The roof was empty, apparently unchanged aside from some slight indents in the obsidian. At first glance, there didn’t seem to be any cracks in the prison’s security, but it was too early to tell. 

He returned to the interior of the prison. He started a route around the entire prison, lifting his comm to notify the guards to begin their rounds as well. 

He paused with his finger over Antfrost’s name. For a moment, red vines flashed behind his eyes, and he could taste matted fur and blood in his mouth. 

He decided not to message the guards. He wasn’t sure if he could trust him. If they were involved in the incident, having them report to the prison could make things worse. He could handle this on his own anyway.

Tommy’s messages glared at him accusingly as he put the communicator away. 

The more time went on without the Warden finding any evidence of an intruder, the more frustration started to sizzle inside him. The black walls of the prison and the darkened night sky blended together as he made his rounds again and again, looking for anything out of place. He exhaled, and saw smoke pour out the front of his mask.  

He pushed down the anger. His status as a creeper hybrid meant he was normally good at regulating his emotions, and right now he couldn’t afford to get emotional. Emotions led to mistakes. Anger led to weakness. 

Another emotion he couldn’t afford right now was exhaustion. But he could feel himself lagging as the hours went on. The other guards would have taken their shifts hours ago, if he had messaged them. His arms ached from checking and re-checking the status of the prison’s complex machinery. 

He should go home. The Warden knew that trying to work without sleep was asking for trouble. It would be too easy to overlook something in this state.

His feet stopped at the hallway leading to the exit. Just one more time, he would check the monitoring room one more time. Once he made sure everything was fine, he would go home, sleep for three hours max, and come right back.  

He didn’t remember the walk to the monitoring room. The glow of the lava in the camera feed hurt his eyes, made brighter by the vision enhancements built into his goggles. He could hear murmuring coming from the speakers and turned the volume up so he could hear properly. 

“You know what, no, this isn’t like exile.” Came Tommy’s voice, still a bit muffled from the static of the audio feed. “Because in a few days I’m gonna be out of here, and you’re gonna be stuck here to rot.” 

“Tommy.” Dream’s voice, now. “That’s no way to speak to me. We’re stuck together for the time being, you should at least try to be a little empathetic.” 

Tommy had his arms crossed in front of him, and he was pushing himself into a corner of the cell, in good view of the camera. Only Dream’s legs could be seen, where he was presumably sitting down directly under the lens. 

“Yeah?” Tommy said. He glanced towards the camera, and for a moment Sam felt horribly stared at. “And what will you do if I don’t? You’re being recorded bitch, caught in 4k. You can’t just do whatever you want anymore, prick.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, Dream’s voice: “...Well, I mean, Sam’s not watching all the time. He’s got more important things to do than just… babysit you constantly.” 

Even through the grainy footage, Sam could see Tommy tense up. The microphone was brought to his mouth before he realized. 

“Dream, you are not permitted to threaten the visitor in any way.”

Tommy’s eyes flashed on the camera again, his expression complicated. Sam looked away. He still heard his response coming grainy through the speaker. 

“Well he’s watching now! So back off, green prick.” 

Tommy’s voice was relieved, but there was something else. Something that was making his voice thready. Betrayal, maybe, or desperation. The Warden chose not to think about it. He needed to focus on the cameras.

Dream muttered something dismissive and annoyed in response, but it was clear he wasn’t going to do anything with the knowledge that the Warden was watching him. Nothing in the cell seemed out of place. The visitor was safe and the prisoner was secure.

The Warden had done his last check. He needed to sleep now, or else his ability to run the prison would be compromised. 

Dream’s words echoed in his mind. Sam’s not watching all the time. The image of Tommy’s eyes flashed in his head, betrayed and desperate and hopeful. He tried to push them down. It didn’t work. 

He had a spare cot somewhere in his base. He could bring it here, and then just sleep in the room. That way he would be woken up if there were any loud noises.  

(Fran blinked at him lazily when he made it back to his base. As he shuffled into his room to grab his cot, he avoided looking at the red squeaky toys scattered all around the base. Tommy would be back to play with Fran soon. He had to be. Sam would make sure of it.)

Chapter Text

Tommy wanted to take out his hearing aids. 

He really did. He had been stuck in the stupid cell for… a day? Two days? Whatever, it was impossible to keep track of time since Dream was a dumbass who had destroyed his own clock, apparently. 

The point was, Tommy had spent too goddamn long in this cell, and the sounds were starting to grate on him. The bubbling of the lava reminded him too much of the nether, the dripping from the crying obsidian was never consistent enough for him to get used to, and the room kept making these horrid creaking noises, like it was wailing. 

(Sometimes, Tommy couldn’t help but think of the prison as if it were a living thing. Like it was a great beast that had swallowed him whole. Like he was being slowly digested, the longer he stayed in the sweltering heat of the small cell.) 

Now, Tommy prided himself on being the most grating sound in the room. Despite all of Dream’s bluster, it was obvious he was quickly growing annoyed by Tommy’s various antics. Good. Tommy would be lying if he said it didn’t reassure him that he could irritate the man all he wanted and Dream couldn’t pull any shit back, other than maybe yelling at him when Sam wasn’t at the cameras.  

On the other hand, being yelled at by Dream fucking sucked. It only reminded him that he hadn’t yet killed the part of him that still wanted to apologize to Dream. That still believed what he said. 

So, Tommy just thought it would be a little bit funny if, in the middle of one of Dream’s rants, Tommy just took em’ out. No more listening to the green boy. Well, Tommy would still be able to hear him, but at least he wouldn’t be as loud. 

The only issue was that the cell was really goddamn small. And Dream was- he always seemed to be looking at Tommy. Which was creepy as fuck, by the way, but it also meant that Tommy didn’t think that he could take his aids out without Dream noticing. 

And if Dream noticed, he might try to take them. Sam wasn’t watching all the time, he had said. And if he took them, he would probably destroy them just because he could, like he did with the clock. And also nearly everything else of Tommy’s except for his discs. 

Tommy had asked Dream before why he destroyed his own clock. “Because I wanted Sam to have to bring me another one,” he had said. Tommy didn’t know if Sam would make him another pair of hearing aids. Or, Tommy guessed, he didn’t know if he wanted to ask Sam to make him another pair of hearing aids after this. 

Sam said he would make as many as he needed, back when he first made them, but had that changed? Does Tommy want it to have changed?

Because Tommy was angry at Sam. Part of him wanted Sam to have just- always been a dick, and this was just him showing his true colors or something. Part of him wanted this event to be the point of no return, where afterwards Sam and Tommy would just be through with each other.

But Tommy was also scared. Because his anger burned bright, but it did not burn long. He didn’t want to lose his dad; he didn’t want the things he had been gifted to break. And, perhaps ridiculously, he didn’t want new hearing aids. He liked the ones he had now, the first ones Sam had made them. Getting new ones would feel too much like starting over- like the relationship they had built had not been able to survive the lockdown. 

But God. He really wished he could make the lava a little quieter. 

—

Sam was considering turning his communicator off. 

Well, considering was the wrong word. The Warden was absolutely not going to turn off his communicator. It simply wasn’t an option. It would be more accurate to say he wished he could turn his communicator off. 

Because it was a distraction. 

It kept buzzing, and every time, the Warden checked it, because it might be something important. It could be an alert from the prison, or a vital update from the visitor. It could be some sort of lead on the identity of the intruder. 

But it never was. 

At first, it was the guards, asking about their shifts. The Warden had first told them to just not come in, but then eventually put them on a limited schedule so they wouldn’t get too suspicious. Just the times when the Warden was on the cameras, so he could see where they were and what they were doing. 

Then there was Ponk and Puffy. 

The Warden knew they meant well, and that they were just concerned about the fact that he hadn’t shown his face outside the prison in a couple of days. But they were distracting. And while Sam felt a little bad about blowing them off, he had much more important things he had to do. 

So, it was just a little frustrating. To have to look away from what he was doing to check his comm all the time, just for it to not be anything important. 

After what felt like the thirtieth time he had been interrupted in the middle of checking one of the prison’s many machines, he finally responded.   

[I am currently acting as the warden. Do not message me unless it is an emergency.]

He copy and pasted the message, sending it to both Ponk and Puffy. He couldn’t help feeling a little guilty about how curt it was, but it couldn’t be helped. The prison took precedence over social courtesy. Hopefully they would understand. 

The Warden put his comm away. It buzzed again. 

The Warden held back a groan as he took it back out. Two new messages flashed on his screen. From Puffy:

[Ugh, fine. Message me when ur done being a workaholic, theres some builds i want ur opinion on. Dont work urself raw in that prison, that place is depressing]

Good enough. It looked like Puffy wouldn’t be messaging him in the short term, at least. 

Then, from Ponk:

[the emergency is ur lame. Stop working so much dude, when was the last time u went outside. You gotta get ur vitaman D]

Then, another message, coming in soon after the first:

[vitamin D deficient motherfucker lol]

Sam closed his eyes in annoyance. Okay, so Ponk would need some convincing then. He typed out a reply:

[I'll be fine. I'll be done faster if I'm not distracted.]

[Oh, am i distracting u? ;0]

[Ponk. Please take this seriously.]

[Ugh. Fine.]

Sam cringed. He had the feeling Ponk was upset with him. He would have to do something for them once the week was over. 

Because this would be over in a week. Sam would figure out what was wrong and fix it, and then things would go back to normal.

Until then, he pushed down the guilt he felt. Pushed down any emotion that would get in the way of the Warden’s cold efficiency. He needed to get back to work.

He gave a final searching glance to the mechanism he was inspecting, before heading back upstairs. He needed to check the monitors again. 

Chapter Text

“Holy shit Tommy, can you shut the hell up for one second?” Dream said angrily, his back turned to Tommy. He was clearly trying to focus, on writing in his dumb notebooks if Tommy had to guess, not that he gave a shit. 

Tommy glanced at the man. Closed his mouth. Inhaled through his nose.

And then he immediately resumed singing at the top of his lungs. 

He saw Dream’s shoulders hike up in anger out of the corner of his eye. The satisfaction that sparked in him was enough to drown out the hint of fear at knowing the man was angry at him. What was the green bitch gonna do? It had been days, (though not a week) and the worst he had done was yell at him and attempt to hoard food, which didn’t even work because after Sam found out he made him share or else he would halve the amount of potatoes he got once the week was over and Tommy was out. 

Which was maybe a little fucked up if Tommy thought about it, but he remembered too well what it felt like for Dream to be his only source of food. It was about time the prick got a taste of his own medicine anyway. 

“ God you’re annoying. I am trying to write!” Now Dream turned fully to face him, eye glowing from the pit in his face. 

“Oh you’re trying to write? Are you writing fanfiction? Writing about Gogs perhaps?” Tommy barked back, finally stopping his loud singing. His throat had started hurting, anyway. Not enough for him to be quiet, of course, he simply wouldn’t let Dream have his way. 

“Gonna update your Wattpad? Oh wait, you can’t, cus you’re in prison for being a dick.” Tommy let his voice get high and mocking at the end, as he paced the small room. He felt a bit like a rat running on a wheel like this, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving. As if he could somehow make the room wider if he just circled it enough.

Dream had put his book away to give Tommy his full attention. Which wasn’t great, if Tommy had to give his review. He once again wished Dream still had his mask, as Tommy wasn’t used to reading his facial expressions. At least with the mask, Tommy could pretend Dream wasn’t always trying to make such direct eye contact with him. 

Tommy felt horribly watched, and it had nothing to do with the camera he knew was in the corner of the ceiling. 

“You’re in prison too, you know. It’d be better if you would cooperate with me.” Dream said. Tommy’s footsteps stuttered, and he nearly tripped on a wet spot of crying obsidian. He could feel Dream’s eyes follow the movement.

“Don’t fucking compare us!” Tommy yelled. “ You’re in prison! I’m just here for a week until Sam fixes your stupid bullshit attack and then I’m fucking out! I’m not- Why would I fucking cooperate with you!” 

A smile stretched across Dream’s face, all teeth. Tommy took a step back automatically and found himself pressed against the wall. Why did this room have to be so goddamn small? “Because obviously your dad’s not gonna help you. It’s already been like, ten days. I think he forgot about you.” 

Tommy felt the breath in his chest stutter. Dream was a liar. Tommy knew he was a liar. It hadn’t been a week yet, he knew- well, technically it was hard to keep track of the days because of the lack of clock- but Tommy knew it hadn’t been a week yet. It couldn’t have been. Dream was just fucking with him, because that was all he ever did. And anyways-

“Sam didn’t forget about me dickhead- he fuckin talks on the intercom all the time! If you’re gonna- If you’re gonna lie you should at least say something realistic.” 

Dream scoffed. “Well, I mean he has to talk on the intercom. It’s part of his protocol. And anyway, if he doesn’t, you just start whining and screaming. He probably just talks to you so you won’t complain so much.” 

Tommy could feel his tail wrapped tightly around his leg. He hated how obvious his fear was, how his body's natural instinct to protect itself instead put him in more danger by letting Dream know what he was feeling. 

“That’s not true.” Tommy said, his voice coming out softer than he intended. “You know- we both know that’s not true.”

Dream smiled again. “Do we?”

Tommy felt a familiar heat spreading through his limbs. At that moment, he wanted to lunge across the cell and grab Dream around the throat. He wanted to put the claws and teeth and horns that earned him derisive looks when he was a child to use, he wanted to prove everyone that ever looked at him like he was nothing more than a feral little monster correct, he wanted to rip Dream to shreds. 

But Tommy stayed where he was. Silent and glaring, clenching his fists. Because being angry at Dream was familiar, but being scared of him was ingrained. The one couldn’t quite overpower the other. 

But he had to do something. He had to try, he had to move- for Prime’s sake Dream was powerless right now and Tommy didn’t need to be fucking afraid of him-

The tense moment is interrupted by a soft sound coming from the other side of the lava curtain. If the cell hadn’t fallen so silent, Tommy was sure he wouldn’t have heard it. But it was unmistakable- a muffled mechanical clicking noise.

“Sam?” 

—

The Warden still hadn’t fixed the issue. 

He tried to reassure himself that he was making progress, that he had in fact fixed a few minor problems in the prison’s machinery, and he had found a few minor clues about the intruder's identity. Namely, a small, charred scrap of black fabric, nearly invisible against the obsidian ceiling where he found it on one of his many checks of the location. 

But it wasn’t enough. Sam knew it wasn’t enough.

He just needed to work harder. He couldn’t risk Dream escaping. He couldn’t let the prison’s security be compromised. He couldn’t let his son down.

(You already have, a voice in his mind whispered. He ignored it. ) 

He walked to the prison’s waiting room, nearly stumbling. He needed to sleep. No, sleeping was the problem. He was wasting time, spending so many hours unconscious. Every second he spent sleeping was another second the visitor was trapped.  

There had to be something he could do to keep himself awake and alert without having to sleep so much. A potion of some sort? Sam remembered Quackity occasionally mixing a dash of speed potion into his coffee back in the Manberg days. At the time it had worried Sam, seeing the man so twitchy from clearly pushing himself past his limit. But maybe Q was onto something. It’s not like it would be a long term thing, after all, Sam would just need it until he fixed the issue. 

It was something to consider, at least. 

The glow of the lava curtain stung his eyes. It didn’t seem to matter how long he had spent in the prison, he couldn’t seem to get used to the sudden changes in lighting from room to room. It didn’t help that his goggles were specifically made to help with dark vision, and so they made bright lights even brighter. 

Maybe he should modify them. Once he had fixed the issue. 

He blinked and shook his head. He needed to get back on track. 

Two walls of levers surrounded him. If the prisoner was planning to escape, it was likely he would try to tamper with the mechanisms in this room first, seeing as they were the ones that controlled the lava curtain and the bridge. Of course, the Warden had checked them immediately after he had called the lockdown, but unfortunately he could not monitor the room at all times. 

It would be worth it to check the machines again. Just in case anything had changed. 

He stood in front of the nearest lever, carefully unscrewing it from the wall. Thick wires filled the space behind it, seemingly untouched. His eyes scanned every inch, looking for anything even slightly out of place. 

There was nothing. It was exactly the same as he had left it. 

The Warden tried not to be disappointed. After all, the lever being in working order was a good thing. 

But it meant he would have to search longer to find what had actually gone wrong. The explosions on the roof couldn’t have been a coincidence, after all. He couldn’t afford to underestimate Dream and whoever was working with him. 

He attached the lever back onto the wall, a sharp click echoing throughout the empty room as the panel slid back into place. 

He turned to the next lever, planning to repeat the process before he heard a voice, muffled but recognizable, come from behind the lava curtain. 

“Sam?”

Sam’s whole body straightened, alert. In the automatic process of checks and rechecks, it had been easy to push the presence of the other two within the prison out of his mind. He hadn’t forgotten they were there, of course, but after so many sleepless hours spent in the timeless black of the vault, their images had become abstracted in his mind, nearly symbolic. The visitor and the prisoner, one to be protected and the other to be guarded. His child and his monster, who lived on the screen in his monitoring room. 

It was easy to forget that they were there, separated only by a curtain of lava and a short distance. 

“Tommy?”

“Sam! Sam, you’re here! Listen- listen to me. Let me out. I don’t like it here.” 

The Warden cannot let the visitor out. The security issue has not been solved yet. 

“Tommy, I can’t let you out, the prison is on lockdown-”

“Fuck off with that! This isn’t- Sam, dad, listen, this-” and here the visitor’s ( Tommy’s) voice gets shaky. Goes soft, as if he could somehow speak in a way that wouldn’t let the prisoner overhear. “I told you- you know about exile . This is worse. Let. Me. Out.”

Sam felt like his chest was being torn apart. If it weren’t for the gas mask, he was sure his breath would stutter. Unbidden, the image of a siren, leading sailors to their deaths with a soft voice came into his mind. He shook it out. Tommy wasn’t a siren, he was just- He was just scared. He couldn’t understand what’s at stake, not right now at least. Once he was out- once he was safe- then he would understand. 

It was the Warden’s responsibility to keep everyone safe. He had to follow protocol.

“Tommy, I’m sorry, but until I find the security issue, I can’t release the lockdown. If I let you out while the prison is compromised - you understand how bad that could be, right?” 

“It already is bad you motherfucker!” Tommy’s voice rose again, reaching a scraping pitch. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you as soon as I’m out, I swear to prime. I know what I signed! I only had to stay in here a week- it’s- it’s been a week!”

Tommy’s voice was desperate, questioning. Sam suddenly realized that he didn’t know - Tommy didn’t actually know if it had been a week or not. How could he, with no clock and no sun to measure with? 

Sam opened his mouth to reassure him that it hadn’t been a week yet, that the Warden was dedicated to following the letter of the protocols, when he realized that he didn’t know either. He had plenty of clocks, but no calendars, and he didn’t see the sun very much anymore. Beyond that, his truncated sleeping schedule had destroyed any accuracy his internal clock may have had.     

But surely it hadn’t been a week yet. If he hadn’t found the security issue yet, then a week couldn’t have passed. 

“Just hang in there a little bit longer, okay Tommy? Just a little longer. I’ll let you out as soon as I fix the security issue.” Sam said. 

“Just let me out Sam. Let me out now.” Anger buried the pleading undercurrent of Tommy’s voice, but Sam could still hear it. 

“Soon Tommy. I promise. I promise I’ll let you out as soon as I can.”  

“Then let me out now! It’s way past ‘as soon as you can’ dickhead just- just let me out!” 

“I’m sorry Tommy.” The Warden said simply, already backing out of the room. He could come back to the levers later, Prime knows there was plenty of other work that needed his attention. 

He wasn’t running away. He just couldn’t focus on what he needed to do with the noise. He needed to move to a quieter room. Just for a second. 

Tom- The visitor yelled after him. The Warden could hardly hear over the pounding static in his ears.  

—

Tommy stared blankly at the lava, his throat sore from yelling. It was clear by now that Sam had left. With the urgency slowly leaving him, all he could focus on was the unpleasant feeling of sweat sliding down the back of his neck. He felt strangely cold, despite the suffocating heat. 

When Dream spoke, it was right by his ear. Tommy nearly jerked straight into the lava, startled. He hadn’t realized how close he had gotten. 

“Are you done screaming then?” 

“Fucking hell! Back up man!” Tommy yelped, shooting back to the far corner of the cell. His chest heaved with the need to put distance between himself and Dream. Dream just tilted his head at him, as if Tommy was the one being weird.

“He’s not gonna let you out, you know. Neither of us. We’re both stuck here.” Dream laughed, stepping closer. “I told you. I don’t know why you’re so against listening to me when I’m usually right.”

The obsidian wall kept digging small holes into the back of Tommy’s shirt. He would have to fix it once he got out. Because he would. 

“You’re a fucking dumbass.” He growled at Dream. “You’re a fucking egomaniac but you don’t know shit. I’m getting out. You’re staying here. You-” and Tommy realized he was yelling, throwing all his anger at Dream’s stupid fucking smug face. “You’re fucking powerless here! You can’t do shit! I could kill you!”

Dream’s eyes widened in amusement and he reared back a little. Tommy didn’t have much time to enjoy the new distance. “Oh? You think you can kill me? Do it then! If I’m so powerless. Why don’t you do it?” Dream mocked.  

“I can.” Tommy insisted. “I can kill you anytime, but I’m gonna be out of here, and you’re gonna rot in this cell-”

“You can’t kill me!” Dream interrupted, triumphant and too loud. Couldn’t he make his stupid fucking speech without yelling? Fuck. “You can’t kill me but I can kill you. So what does that make me huh? Does that make me some sort of god?”  

Dream held his arms out in a wide arc, grinning viciously. He had dropped any pretense of cool rationality, his face filled with off-kilter excitement. 

Tommy felt his heart slamming rapidly against his chest, but at the same time… Dream was being ridiculous. He was talking complete fucking nonsense and it would almost be funny if it wasn’t Dream. Tommy hated himself for being so afraid of someone so fucking stupid. 

“You’re not a fucking god holy shit! You’re boxed like a fucking fish and you think you’re a god? Just because you think I can’t kill you or whatever? Prime, your fuckin ego-”

“But you can’t! You can’t kill me and I can kill you! Does that make you mad? Am I making you upset right now?”

“You’re not gonna fucking kill me! Tommy screamed, any control he had over his anger quickly slipping away, “You stand there all fuckin’ smug but you’re not gonna do shit alright!”

“I could though! I could!” Dream said back, his voice almost giddy. “I could and you can't. Does that make you mad?”  

Tommy was mad. He was almost lightheaded with how angry he was (though maybe that was from the heat of the lava), all the blood rushing to his face. There was a crackle of static from the corner, but Tommy couldn’t hear it over the thrumming in his ears. 

“The only reason you’re even fucking alive right now is because of that stupid revive book! And you-” Tommy laughed suddenly, surprising himself. “And you probably made that shit up, didn’t you?”

Suddenly, Tommy felt like an idiot. He laughed again, the sound grating even to his own ears. “You can’t bring back the fucking dead! You’re just lying to save your own ass! That’s all you ever do!” 

Dream sneered back at him, his face twitching in annoyance. “I’m not lying Tommy. You always do this; you accuse me of being a liar or a manipulator whenever I say something you don’t want to hear.”

“You’re telling me you got a fuckin’ revive book from Schlatt?” Tommy shot back incredulously. “You have got to be fucking kidding me - we all know Schlatt was nothing but an alcoholic bastard, and what, he just had a spare Necronomicon lying around? And yet he’s still fuckin dead. I’ve seen his grave, his corpse is there -”

“Why don’t you go and see him then?”

— 

Even through the grainy camera feed, the Warden could see something shift. 

Dream’s posture straightened, and that was all the warning he got before he darted forward and punched Tommy directly in the stomach, causing him to crumple to the ground. 

Sam grabbed at the microphone, yelling a frantic order into it. It didn’t deter Dream, who shot a leg forward to kick Tommy in the face as he tried to right himself. 

Fuck. Fuck. Bolts of pure panic shot through Sam’s body, as he half ran half stumbled to the exit of the room. 

He needed to go. He needed to go now, he needed to get to them - 

—

Tommy heard something crunch as he hit the obsidian floor with the side of his face. 

He couldn’t think about it though, everything suddenly muted. His ears rang terribly, and - oh fuck, that was my hearing aid - Dream’s foot crashed into the side of his ribs. He gasped, trying in vain to reach a hand around and try to grab Dream’s leg, to do anything. 

Dream just kicked him onto his back, crouching over him and pinning him to the ground with a foot over each arm. Tommy felt the bones in his forearms creak under Dream’s body weight, and he thrashed wildly, his mind nothing but hot fear and the need to get Dream away.

“Stop, stop, Dream get off get off it hurts-” 

Dream just looked at him silently before grabbing a fistful of blond hair and hauling Tommy to his feet by it. Tommy screamed, trying to wrench the fingers off his scalp as his feet fumbled beneath him.

Dream was dragging him over to the wall, and this close Tommy could see his chest rise and fall rapidly, and his hand wasn’t moving no matter how much Tommy dug his nails into his fingers and his ears wouldn’t stop ringing -  

He didn’t want to die here. Dream adjusted his grip. Tommy knew he was begging but he couldn’t hear himself over the rush of his own panic. All Tommy could see was black and blurry obsidian, and all too fast it was rushing towards him, and his feet scrambled pathetically across the floor, and his head was bursting with pain pain pain it hurts -

And suddenly there was nothing.

Chapter Text

The water hit Sam’s boat with a lopsided rhythm. 

He was sailing. His goggles were off, and so was his mask. 

He would put the mask back on later. For safety. He just needed it off for a little bit. It was making his face too sweaty. 

The water kept hitting his boat. It made him sway slightly back and forth. 

He had the oars gripped tightly in each hand. He liked sailing, liked the repetitive motions of it. The predictability. You push the oar in the water, and you go forward. Repeat until you get where you need to go. 

Forward, back. Forward, back. The boat moved forward. 

(He pulled the lever down. He couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the lava. His gut churned.

I’m not too late, he thought. The words stagnated in his head like a bad joke.)

He hit the shore of a small island. Sand scraped against the bottom of his boat. 

(The lava came down slowly, far too slowly.) 

The land was illuminated only by the light of the moon. Still, it was enough to see by. 

(In the distance he could see one figure. The orange of the prison jumper stood out against the black.)

The island was simple. A simple place to rest. He stumbled without direction; his thoughts dull in his head. 

(He locked eyes with the prisoner. With Dream. Even with the distance, even with the netherite bars keeping him in, he could see his sharp grin, nearly blinding.)

He was digging. Digging was another nice, repetitive activity. Put the shovel in the dirt, pull up, and repeat. Repeat, repeat, repeat. As long as you did it right, you should get the same results every time. 

(Dream lifted up a single hand, as if he was casually waving to a friend. It was covered in blood.) 

Sam stared into the hole he had just made. He had nothing to put in it. 

(There was a crumpled shape on the floor by Dream’s legs. It was small and yellow and red red red-)

Sam couldn’t get Tommy’s body out of the cell. 

He had tried, had brought one foot onto the bridge on instinct, when Dream suddenly grabbed the bars of his cell and snarled like a dangerous animal, pushing his face as far as he could into the bars. 

The Warden had stepped off then. He couldn’t afford to approach the prisoner while he was so compromised. After everything, he couldn’t let it all be for nothing. He wouldn’t let Dream win. 

(Dream laughed, a noisy bark of sound. His knuckles were white against the bars, his teeth bared. He was completely unrecognizable from the man Sam once knew. His jumper was stained with blood, Tommy’s blood-)

Tommy was dead. His son was dead. 

A violent shudder racked through Sam, nearly causing him to fall straight into the hole (the grave) he had just dug. 

He had nothing to put in it. 

He had nothing to show for anything he had done. All his efforts had amounted to was a dead son and a madman in a box, a conspirator still on the loose. 

He heaved, reaching desperately for his mask. He could hardly feel the smoke on his tongue, but he knew if he left it off for much longer, he would be risking injury. 

Creepers always went down with their explosions, after all. 

Maybe he could fill the grave in Tommy’s stead, he thought. Then he would be able to apologize to him. 

He shook his head, stumbling to his feet. That wasn’t a real option. He needed to get back to the prison. After everything, he couldn’t abandon his post now. He couldn’t abandon his son like that. 

(He ran. The black walls of the prison seemed to fold in on each other like a twisted labyrinth. It was like someone was remaking the building under his feet. Why did it feel like this? Shouldn’t he know the prison better than anyone else? Why did it feel like he was flying blind, hopelessly lost? 

Maybe it was because he knew he was being a coward. He needed to stay. He needed to do his job. He was the only person who could. At a time like this, he needed to be unmovable, he needed to be sure, he needed…

Fuck, he needed air. He couldn’t breathe. He could taste gunpowder on his tongue, black and bitter. Had his mask broken somewhere along the way without him noticing?)

He needed to get back. He would get back. 

In a moment, though. He just needed to rest for a moment. Tommy needed to rest. 

(There were figures outside the prison. Ranboo and Tubbo, the Warden thinks. He remembers his mouth moving, but not the words he said.)

He sat by the mouth of the grave, taking wood out of his inventory. He was a builder. That was something he could do. With steady hands, he made a chest, placing it in front of him. 

He needed to put something in it. Some part of Tommy, at least. 

This part was harder than the building. Less mechanical, more emotional. Emotions that Sam was trying not to feel too hard, lest he lose control over himself. Lest he made himself useless, unable to do the job only he can do. 

But this was his island. His and Tommy’s. He would be the Warden again once he got off of it.  

So, with fingers shaking much more heavily than they had during the chest’s construction, he reached out and placed a jukebox in the chest. Then like a dam had been opened, he was suddenly emptying everything, his inventory, the island’s resources, his enderchest, into the little box, adding anything he thought Tommy might like. 

Red flowers, a chipped iron sword, diamonds, dyed leather. A worn down lead and a dog collar. Cobblestone. Carrots and golden apples. Potions. A bell. Music discs. 

By the end of it he felt completely exhausted, despite the work not being particularly taxing physically. 

He closed the chest. Placed it gently in the hole. Scooped up dirt with his shovel, then let it drop down. Up, down. Repetitive. 

Now all that was visible was an uneven patch of dirt, out of place from the wild grass that grew around it. The grass would eventually spread, Sam thought. Soon the only way to know the grave was there would be to have dug it yourself.

Sam should build a headstone. 

His mind coward at the thought. As if the headstone was what would make Tommy’s death real. As if the sight of his son in a pool of his own blood would fade away if he simply didn’t remind himself of it. 

Sam’s teeth ground together, the view of the dirt under his feet blurring under his squinted eyes. He didn’t deserve to forget it. Didn’t want to forget it. His worst mistake ought to be branded into him, if it meant he wouldn’t repeat it.  

And Tommy deserved more than an unmarked grave. Tommy deserved so much more than what Sam could give him, but he had to try. 

Sam was a builder. It was all he could do. 

(He stared out at the sea, listlessly. Cold water filled his boots. He wondered blankly what time it was. The sky was still black as ever. 

He needed to go back. The prison pulled at him like an anchor on a ship, a constant pressure. And yet, the island had its own pull. Gentler, but no less insistent. 

He should build a house. Something simple. Then he would go back.) 

Chapter Text

Sam woke with a gasp, the remnants of a nightmare fleeing his mind. He blinked hard, trying to get the image of red against black to soften. 

Once he had gotten his bearings, he looked around, confused. Where was he? Where he expected to see the harsh black walls of the makeshift bedroom he had made himself in the prison, he was instead greeted with light brown planks. 

Oh. He remembered, the island.  

He must have fallen asleep accidentally. Actually, now that he thought about it, he vaguely remembered making the bed, and then deciding that he would just rest his eyes for a moment before he got up and returned to the prison. 

He cursed himself for letting himself get distracted like that. Who knows what he could have missed in the extra hours he was away, not monitoring the prisoner. 

He got to his feet unsteadily, immediately feeling stiffness in most of his body. He had slept in his armor, for Prime’s sake. 

I need a shower he thought. The idea was strangely repulsive to him. What right did he have, to do such mundane things, when his son was dead? He rubbed his arms in discomfort.

What I really need, he corrected himself inside his head, is to go back to the prison. 

He nodded to the empty room, trying to wake himself up, before finally stepping outside. The wooden room was starting to unsettle him. 

He squinted at the sudden sunlight, taking his goggles out of his inventory and hastily putting them on. He usually didn’t bother wearing them outside, but it was so damn bright out. He supposed he had just gotten acclimated to the prison. 

His lonely boat rested on the shore, small waves lapping at the wood. Tommy’s headstone lingered accusatory in his periphery, standing against the horizon. He swallowed and looked away, shuffling towards the shore where…

There was a figure, rowing towards him.  

Sam stiffened, reaching for a weapon in his inventory. This island was not for anyone else to touch, to break like all of Tommy’s previous homes had been. 

It was only when the figure came close enough for Sam to recognize that he let himself relax. It was Quackity, his clothes rumpled as if from sleeping in them. Sam supposed they looked like strange reflections of each other, in that respect. 

It didn’t answer the question of why Quackity was here. Of how he even found this place.

“Quackity?” He asked, once the man had docked.

“Sam!” He replied, grinning a salesman’s grin. His golden tooth reflected the morning light harshly. 

“What are you doing here? How did you even find this place?” Sam asked. Quackity shrugged, brushing off his questions.

“That doesn’t matter. How have you been doing, man? I haven’t seen you around in ages.” 

It was true. It had been days since Sam had seen anyone save for Tommy and the prisoner, and even longer since he had seen Quackity. 

He didn’t know how to answer the question posed to him. He said the first thing that came to mind. 

“I’ve been… farming.”

Quackity kept a facade of easy amusement on his face, but his good eye flickered to a space behind Sam’s shoulders.  

“Farming, huh? Let’s see it then. Why don’t you show me around?” Quackity asked, stepping forward.  

At a loss for what else to do, Sam obeyed. 

Quackity kept up easy conversation as they walked around the island, though Sam could tell that his smile was grafted on. He didn’t call him out on it, however. Selfishly, he wanted to keep talking casually for as long as he could. Wanted to talk about farming and firepits and things that meant nothing with a friend he hadn’t yet failed. 

Just for a little bit longer. He could hear in his own desperate voice, Let me pretend things are okay for a little bit longer.

For a moment the conversation lapsed as they sat together by the fire pit. Sam watched as Quackity tilted his head upwards to watch the smoke filter into the sky, the light reflecting strangely off of his scarred eye, orange and yellow dancing over milky white. Sam hadn’t been there when Quackity lost his first life, and was honestly still pretty foggy on the details. He had never asked about it, not wanting to pry. Maybe he should have.       

Quackity looked tired, he realized. The skin under his eyes were red and raw. 

The moment snapped like a thread when Quackity turned back to look at him, his lips raised slightly in what could almost pass as a smirk, if Quackity had not been so plainly using it to hide his actual feelings.  

“This place is pretty nice, Sam. I know you showed me around, but why don’t you give me a proper tour?” Quackity stood as he said this, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “You know, there was something I saw, on the shore. I was wondering about it.” 

Sam knew immediately what he was talking about, and had to resist the urge to grab Quackity’s arm and make him sit back down. But the man was already walking away, and Sam had no choice but to follow after him. 

And foolishly, some part of him had hoped that maybe it would be easier. 

But seeing the gravestone again felt like swallowing sharp rocks, nearly worse than the first time, because now he was not in a haze of shock and delirium, now he was awake, and it was real, and it hadn’t all been a strange awful nightmare, and he could feel his own mouth moving, trying to speak over the droning of his own thoughts. 

“...I didn’t know what else to do.” He said, hearing his words slur together. Quackity looked at him thoughtfully, patiently waiting for him to finish. “I just… I felt really guilty about what happened, w-with Tommy and I… I needed to give him a place to rest. I needed…” 

Sam’s words puttered off anticlimactically. He simply didn’t know what to say, looking up at the gravestone, and Quackity standing next to it. There was a framed disc in the center of the wood, and a jukebox on the ground. He didn’t remember putting them there, but he supposed he must have, sometime during the haze that was last night. 

“Sam.” Quackity said shortly. “Look at me.” 

Sam obeyed, meeting Quackity’s eyes. There was determination there, hard as flint. Beyond that, however, was a yawning grief the younger man couldn’t quite disguise. 

Of course. Sam thought, Quackity’s close with Tommy too. Was close with Tommy.

The shapeshifter crossed his arms in front of his chest, glancing at the headstone before looking back at Sam. 

“This wasn’t your fault Sam.” He said bluntly. As if it was that simple. As if he could simply undo Sam’s guilt, brush away all his failures.

Sam could only shake his head helplessly. “You don’t understand, Q, you weren’t there, you didn’t see him-” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Quackity repeated, cutting Sam off without raising his voice. He took a step towards Sam, gesturing at the gravestone behind him. “ You didn’t do this. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

A choked sound vibrated through Sam’s throat. He shook his head again, whole body shuddering. He needed to pull himself together. He didn’t want to break down in front of Quackity, but it felt inevitable. His structure was already collapsing, and all he could do was hope he wouldn’t be crushed under the rubble. 

It wasn’t your fault. 

Sam wanted so badly to be able to believe that. To have the guilt bearing down on him eased, if only just a little. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Tommy was his responsibility, his son, and he had failed him. 

Sam’s shoulder jumped at the feeling of a hand settling on it. He focused again on Quackity, who was looking at him with an understanding he didn’t deserve. 

Sam broke eye contact, shrugging off the hand. “It was my responsibility-” Quackity opened his mouth to interrupt, but this time Sam was faster. “I’m the Warden. It happened in my prison and,” He shuddered, holding himself with four arms, “and he was my son. Fuck, Quackity, he was my son-”

“Hey, hey…” Quackity said softly, gathering Sam into his arms somewhat awkwardly. Sam didn’t push away the contact this time, though he didn’t move to embrace Quackity in return. He simply let his weight rest against Quackity’s shoulder, let him cradle the back of his head like he was a child. 

“Why don’t we drop it for now, alright?” Quackity said. “Show me your beach. It looked pretty nice from what I could see.”

Sam nodded against Quackity’s shoulder, feeling pathetic. Feeling useless. He wrenched himself away from the other man, and led him silently to the shore. 

—

A batch of turtles seemed to have found the island during the night, and they jostled around each other under the surface of the water. Quackity gazed at them with a small smile, and Sam felt the urge to speak. To beat back the dreaded silence. 

“They must love this place, with the light keeping the monsters away.” 

Quackity chucked. “I bet.” 

The two men looked down at the turtles for a moment more. Quackity continued: “Look, Sam. I know you. You’ve always been like this, this kind, caring person. It’s just who you are.” 

Quackity had turned to face Sam fully. Sam kept his eyes firmly fixed on the green sea-creatures.

“And I mean, like, look at this-!” Sam watched Quackity gesture to the pathetic little farm just around the curve of the shore, keeping him in his peripheral. “The Sam I know would build a farm way bigger and more efficient. This is clearly tearing you apart and I’m not going to watch you blame yourself for something that isn’t your fault.” 

“Quackity…” Sam appreciated what Quackity was trying to do, really, but he just couldn’t understand. He wasn’t there. It wasn’t his responsibility. It wasn’t his son. 

“Sam.” Quackity repeated, soft but insistent. “Tommy’s death wasn’t your fault.” 

It was the first time Quackity had mentioned him by name. Sam found himself unprepared to hear it, unprepared to hear the name spoken with such weight, such grief. Because Quackity is also grieving, he too suffers the consequences of Sam’s failings, and yet he still…  

“Dream killed him. Not you.” Quackity said. “You just did your job. You just did what you were supposed to do.” 

Sam stared at the tops of Quackity’s expensive black shoes. “But he’s still dead.” He croaked out. “I did do what I was supposed to, but he’s still-”

“Dead.” Quackity finished. Sam flinched, his head snapping back up from the ground. “Tommy’s still dead. And who’s fault is that?”

“I-”

“Who killed Tommy, Sam?”

“Dream.” Sam said, voice barely above a whisper.   

Quackity smiled then, wide and awful and angry. “Right. Dream killed Tommy. So why aren’t you angry at him?”

“I am.” Sam growled back, feeling smoke bubbling in his lungs. How dare Quackity even suggest that? “Of course I am, I had to see him- to see him fucking laugh over my son’s corpse, you think I’m not angry?”

Smoke curled in the space in between them, flowing out from Sam’s mask. Quackity didn’t flinch, nor did his expression change. “I don’t know Sam. The only person I’ve seen you blame so far is yourself.” 

“That’s-” Sam’s voice puttered out. “It is- it is my fault. It was my responsibility.”

Quackity titled his head. “Then why are you angry at Dream? Since apparently it’s not his fault.” 

Sam went quiet at that. Small waves lapped at the shore surrounding them. 

“Dream killed him.” Sam said softly, helplessly. “I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t get there in time. He just kept laughing.” 

“It’s true,” Quackity said, contemplatively. “You couldn’t have done anything. But there is something you can do now. It doesn’t…” Quackity huffed, seemingly thinking of how to order his words, “Punishing yourself for past actions isn’t going to do anything. It isn’t going to help. We need to move forward. And Dream…”

Suddenly, the flat of a sword is being pushed into Sam’s chest. He nearly staggered back, before realizing it was an offer, not a threat. 

“Dream isn’t gonna stop, Sam. You think after doing this,” Quackity spat, “after killing Tommy, that he’s going to stop hurting people? No. The only way he’ll stop is if we make him stop, and the only way to do that,” Quackity flipped the hilt towards Sam, “Is if we shove a sword through his goddamn neck.”  

Sam thought about it. Thought about cornering Dream in his cell, Tommy’s blood still staining his clothes. Wondered if he would beg for his life, wondered if he would laugh-

He shut his eyes tight. “It’s not going to happen again, Quackity. He’s in the cell, he’s-”

“And for what!” Quackity said. “Even in there, he’s still causing problems. He’s still hurting people, he’s still killing people!”

A small body crumpled in the corner, red dripping down through the bars. His own voice, yelling, unable to do anything, unable to stop him-

“You’re right.” Sam said, and the words felt right in his mouth. Just. “We can stop him. He can’t hurt anyone else if he’s dead.” 

Quackity grinned, pushing the sword towards him again. Sam shook his head, muttering: “I have a proper amory in the prison.”

Quackity laughed. “Of course! Let’s go, let’s fucking kill him, he’s just waiting for us in there, eh?” 

Sam was already walking towards his boat. He should have returned to the prison hours ago, he should have never left. He was almost embarrassed that he needed Quackity’s prompting to realize the proper thing to do. 

The boat wobbled in his haste to get in it. Quackity was right behind him, his presence reassuring. Sam heard himself speaking, but was too focused on the rhythm of the oars cutting through the water to give his own words much thought. 

“Tommy died there, in the prison, my prison, but I didn’t want him to die. Dream wanted him to die, he wanted to hurt him, just like he always has, he wanted to hurt me, wanted to take my fucking family away from me-”

“He’s not going to be able to take anything else.” Quackity said from behind him. He spoke with finality, voice edged with hatred. “We’re going to stop him. We’re going to fucking end him.”

The view of the prison coming over the horizon could not come soon enough. “You can hold him down.” Sam said, and the viciousness felt good on his tongue. “I’ll cut his head off.”  

Sam thought about it again, and the image was better this time. Dream’s head rolling off his body, eyes wide with fear and regret. 

The boat scraped the shore. The prison loomed above them. 

Sam wondered what Dream was doing inside, if he could somehow feel the hatred directed towards him. If he could sense his own impending death.

Probably not. Sam thought, leading Quackity through the nether portal. Tommy’s right. He’s too egotistical to realize that he’s going to die just like the rest of us.  

Sam couldn’t help replaying the scene at the attachment hall, when Dream had lost his first two lives. The genuine shock in his face when he realized Tommy wasn’t going to fall for his line about being friends, that he wasn’t going to stop bringing the axe down on his face. As if the mere possibility of Tommy winning against him, killing him, was inconceivable. 

Sam remembered how Dream’s voice had begun to fill with panic. How he had to bargain for his life, resorting to dangling the possibility of Wilbur’s revival in front of Tommy - 

Sam stopped cold in his tracks, staring at the prison rule book. Dread and shame bubbled up within him, and his skin prickled as if he had been caught doing something wrong. 

Except it was only him and Quackity in the room, and what they were doing was - 

“We can’t do this.” Sam said plainly, looking up at Quackity to read his reaction. 

The man had been shifting from foot to foot, clearly trying to control his nervous energy. When Sam spoke, he went still, his eyebrows creasing over his narrowed eyes.

“Sam, you can’t back down now, we just talked about this-”

“I’m not going to betray Tommy!” Sam yelled, surprised at his own volume. 

“What are you talking about? This is exactly what-” 

“Tommy’s trusting me to keep Dream alive!” 

“Tommy’s-” Quackity cut himself off with a harsh gasp, biting his lip and turning away. Sam’s heaving breathing was the only sound in the large room. He straightened. 

“The only reason we put him in here in the first place is that we need him alive. Tommy needs him alive. For the revive book. I can’t betray that.” Sam said.   

Quackity scoffed derisively. “Sam. You can’t be serious. You know he doesn’t deserve to live after what he did.”

Sam put his head in his hands, leaning heavily on the desk. Exhaustion pressed into his back. “It’s not about that. We can’t kill him. Tommy’s trusting me.”

“Tommy would want you to kill the bastard-”

“Don’t speak for my family.” Sam hissed. 

Quackity looked at him for a long time, considering. Eventually, he sighed. “Fine, Sam. I’m sorry. Maybe I got ahead of myself.”

Sam didn’t respond, but he lifted his face from his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He hadn’t even put his goggles on, he realized. 

“You don’t have to do this, Sam.” Quackity said, and Sam bit back the instinctual response of yes I do. He didn’t actually know what Quackity was referring to, until he followed it with, “You don’t have to kill Dream. But someone’s going to give that bastard what he deserves, and if you won’t, then I will.” 

Sam appreciated the sentiment. “Of course. But we can’t kill him.” He said dully. Holding the conversation was becoming increasingly difficult. He needed to get back to work.

“...It’s been a long day.” Quackity said after a moment, putting a hand on The Warden’s shoulder. “Do you want me to wait for you outside?”

The Warden shook his head. He needed to get back to work.

Quackity hummed his acceptance. “Just… don’t destroy yourself over this. Las Nevadas needs you, remember.”

The Warden caught one last glimpse of red-rimmed eyes before Quackity turned around and strode out of the prison. He wondered what he was really asking for. 

Chapter Text

The Warden worked. 

There was a lot of work to do, especially accounting for his absence. He did not call in the other guards, and he did not respond to any messages that did not pertain to the prison. 

The prison was all he needed to know. There was nothing for him outside. 

(No matter that there were people who wanted to see him. They could see him once the work was done.) 

The work was familiar. The prison was a constant, black walls and redstone ever consistent, the same as the day they were built. The Warden checked and rechecked the machinery, patrolled the roof and the halls, avoided-

He was avoiding the camera room. 

He wasn’t trying to. And of course, he would check the cameras as part of his rounds. After he checked the roof again. And there was a small flaw in one of the machine parts in the early stages of the security process, and he would have to fix that first. There was simply a lot of work to do, so the Warden had to make decisions based on priority. That was all there was to it. 

Coward.

He wondered if Tommy’s corpse was still there, or if Dream had thrown it into the lava as soon as he was alone. He didn’t know which would be worse, if he had to see the body again, limp and drained of life, or if there would simply be an empty space where Tommy once was, if all that remained of him were the dried bloodstains on his murderer’s clothes. 

The Warden stopped wondering. He needed to get back to work. 

The prison was familiar. Its black walls cradled him in a strange, oppressive embrace. The machinery slid over and under his fingers like a second skin, the redstone was an extension of himself. 

The Warden worked. The Warden was good at the work, but-

But he still had not checked the cameras. 

He needed to. He knew he needed to, but there was so much more he could do instead. 

He could list at least a hundred other things he could do before going to the camera room, all important for the functioning of the prison, all within the Warden’s responsibilities-

He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He was being a coward. He was letting himself slip, letting himself choose the comfortable option. The Warden couldn’t slip. The Warden had to be stoic and strong and he couldn’t lie to himself, couldn’t run away from his responsibilities.

He turned his body in the direction of the camera room. If he didn’t want to move, if his body was going to try and choke him with useless fear, he would just have to force his way past it. 

He straightened his back. Disregarded the taste of blood in his mouth. Took a step forward, then another, until he was walking in the direction he should have gone from the start. He kept his expression even, though it was invisible under his gas mask and goggles. 

The prison purred beneath his feet.    

—

Strangely enough, the first thing the Warden’s eyes went to when he finally entered the camera room was the crumpled cot he had brought in when the visitor had first gotten trapped. Its sheets were undone and messy, and he had the feeling that if it weren’t for his gas mask, he would be smelling it. His arms twitched with the need to fix it, make it tidy again, return it to its previous state. 

“You know, I haven’t cried once, the whole time I’ve been here. Even after all the shit.”

Sam whipped his head up, feeling like he had been electrocuted. That’s Tommy’s voice. He was already in front of the monitor, the cot lying forgotten in the corner once again. 

I’m hallucinating. He thought. I’m going crazy. 

Because there was Tommy, hunched over himself and clearly exhausted, but alive. Still talking, arguing with Dream, whose clothes were still stained with old blood. 

It happened, then. It wasn’t a nightmare, Dream really…

But maybe he survived. Sam thought nauseously. Maybe he survived and I just left him there. 

Sam’s fingers shook. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. No, that’s not possible. I know what I saw. No one could have lost that much blood and made it out.

Sam’s gas mask was malfunctioning, he was sure of it. It shouldn’t be so hard to breathe.

Was he not on his last life? 

That was equally impossible , Sam thought, eyes still glued to the screen. Even though Tommy usually hid his old death scars under his clothes, Sam had seen the beginnings of a cruel sword slash beginning at his shoulder, trailing under his shirt to his chest. He had seen the small arrow wound in the center of his throat.  

A ghost then? That would make sense, wouldn’t it? Wilbur got one, after all. 

The Tommy on the screen didn’t look like a ghost. He didn’t have the desaturated, hazy quality that Ghostbur had, but maybe something was wrong with the camera. Maybe Tommy’s ghost was different for some reason.

Sam realized numbly that he was walking backwards out of the room. Then he was back in the hallway. Then he was running, his heart slamming against his rib cage. 

He felt as though his thoughts were melting in the heat, hazy with gunpowder. But the prison was familiar. He knew exactly where he was going. 

—

Tommy had never noticed how goddamn rough obsidian was before this. 

The prison wall against his back was torturous, his thin shirt doing little to protect against the uneven rock digging into him. Even the smallest inconsistencies felt like sharp fingernails scratching against his skin.   

Not that he would move away from the wall, of course. He sure as hell wasn’t showing Dream his back. 

Not that it would make a difference, his traitorous mind whispered, if he wanted to hurt you, he could just grab you again-

Tommy clenched his jaw, trying to extinguish the thought. Dream wasn’t going to do that again. Probably. Hopefully. 

Who the fuck was he kidding. Dream had already ‘joked’ about sending him back to that void, and who would stop him? Sam was gone, and Wilbur-

He swallowed a sound that wanted to escape his throat. Dream was across the room, seemingly absorbed in his journal, but Tommy knew he was listening for any sign of fear that he could dig his nails into. 

Shouldn’t he have gotten enough of it by now? Tommy thought hysterically, what’s so special about making me afraid anyway? What did I do?

Sam had said that Tommy didn’t do anything, and that Dream just wanted to hurt him for the sake of it. Except Sam clearly wasn’t a very trustworthy source, so who fucking knew.

Tommy needed to say something. Anything, it didn’t matter, he just needed to hear something other than his own thoughts and the awful noises of the prison. They had only gotten worse after his time spent in the void, every sound sharper and more grating after having gotten used to the muffled nothingness of death, not to mention-

“Have you been having trouble hearing, Tommy?” 

Tommy squinted up at the man looming over him, his silhouette blurry against the harsh light of the lava. He was holding up a small, delicate object between his thumb and pointer finger. 

Immediately, Tommy’s hands flew to his ears. Sure enough, the familiar presence of his hearing aids was missing. He hadn’t even noticed in his panic, had just assumed that everything sounded wrong because of his trip to limbo. 

“Give that back!” Tommy cried, doing his best to sound assertive.

“Sure.” Surprisingly, Dream tossed the item back to him without a fuss. “Pretty sure it’s broken though. I mean, the other one was completely smashed, no saving that. I’d just throw it away, if I were you.” 

Unfortunately, Dream was right. The machine was clearly busted. Tommy put it in his pocket anyway. 

Needless to say, his hearing was even more fucked up than it had been to start with. Every sound seemed to vary wildly, sometimes things would be too loud, and other times way too soft. 

It was confusing, and annoying, and he wanted it to go away, and there was a stupid fucking thumping sound that made Tommy want to cover his ears but-

“Tommy!” 

And this time, Tommy did make a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a yelp because that was Sam’s voice.

“Sam!” Tommy screamed back, somehow not loudly enough to drown out Dream’s annoyed sigh. “Sam, I’m still in here! Let me out!” 

“How are you-? It doesn’t matter, stand in the corner!”

Tommy ran over immediately, his whole body buzzing. He could still feel Dream’s eyes track his movements, but it didn’t matter, because he was getting out, he was getting out!

He looked up at the ceiling, chest heaving, hands pressing against the walls. For a split second he considered the possibility that maybe Sam was lying, or trying to trick him, and then there was a click and a burst of light Tommy had to close his eyes against.

When he opened them, he was outside the cell.

His breath rushed out of him all at once, and he had to struggle to stay upright, resisting the urge to collapse onto the ground. 

He was out. 

“Fuck you Dream!” He yelled triumphantly, voice tinged with exhausted mania. “Fuck you! I’m out! I got out! Eat shit you stupid green bastard!” Tommy’s voice cracked at the end, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was out.

“Tommy…” He whipped around at the sound of Sam’s voice. He had nearly forgotten about him in the rush of relief that came from escaping that damn cell. “How are you alive?”

Instantly, manic excitement transformed into cold rage. How dare Sam ask him that? How dare he sound so shaken, when it was Tommy who went through hell? How dare he?

“You left me in there.” Tommy said, ignoring Sam’s question completely, “You just left me in there to die! You- you let me die, Sam!” 

Sam made a choked noise, and Tommy squashed the bit of sympathy trying to rise within him. “But… you’re alive. You’re alive Tommy. I don’t understand.”

Sam’s tone was close to wonder, two arms raised at the elbow as if he wanted to touch Tommy, but couldn’t quite muster up the courage to. Tommy was grateful for the distance. He didn’t want to feel anyone’s hands on him right now. 

“I am alive.” Tommy said, more to himself than to Sam, “But you let me die. You let him fuckin-” He cut himself off, clenching his fists. “I want to get out. Is the stupid security thing dealt with? I want to leave the prison.”

That seemed to jolt Sam out of whatever trance he was in, and he half-stumbled over to the levers, murmuring. “Yes, yes, I’ll get you out. I’ll get you out.”  

Tommy looked away, biting his lip. He was pretty sure Sam wasn’t talking to him, and it was hard to look at him. His emotions coiled like a massive knot in his chest, and it was hard to think past the need to just go home. He wanted to sleep in his own bed, in a room big enough for him to breathe in. He wanted to see Fran again, and-

Tommy realized with sudden horror that the image of home his mind had conjured up was Sam’s house.    

“Tommy, are you… are you alright?” Sam’s voice came from behind him.

“What the fuck do you think?” Tommy snapped, and oh, his mouth was bleeding. Must have bitten down too hard. The steady pulse of pain in his mouth was really distracting now that he had noticed it. 

“Sorry. It’s just that… nevermind. Follow me.” Sam gestured down the next hall, and Tommy rushed behind him. Sam kept glancing back to look at him, and he wouldn’t stop raising his arms before putting them back down. It was annoying. Tommy didn’t want to think about it. His mouth still hurt.   

The hallway was way too thin. He didn’t think about how his breath came out in short puffs, didn’t think about how obvious his fear was. Neither of them spoke as Tommy watched Sam’s back for any sudden movements. 

He didn’t make any. The security was just as thorough as it had been on the way in, and then they were finally back in the prison lobby.

The wide, bright, open prison lobby. Tommy nearly sobbed at the contrast, nearly fell to his knees in relief. But he could feel Sam’s eyes on him, so he merely wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing as hard as he dared.   

He heard Sam’s footsteps behind him, presumably moving back behind his desk. The nether portal glowed a soft purple, his last barrier before he was truly out of the prison. 

For some reason, Tommy couldn’t make himself move. He simply stood, staring at the portal, frozen in place. Sam seemed to take it as an invitation. 

“Tommy, I…”

“Shut up.” Tommy said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to fucking talk to you. I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.” 

That seemed to be the trick to getting Tommy’s legs to move. He didn’t turn back to look at Sam, and when he reached the portal, the barrier churned his stomach. 

He didn’t hear whatever it was Sam said in response, the words muffled by the sound of the portal and his own dysfunctional ears. It sounded like it could have been ‘I’m sorry.’

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.   

Chapter Text

Tommy was alive. 

There was no way to deny it, no other explanation made sense. He wasn’t a ghost. That much was obvious. He took up space in a way Ghostbur could never quite manage, and he was solid and saturated and alive. 

And injured. Scarred in a brand new way. 

(Because of Dream. Because of you .)   

He hadn’t meant to stare. He knew Tommy would’ve hated it if he could see Sam’s eyes track over his face and body from behind his goggles, knew the boy was private about his scars. He didn’t like feeling gawked at, feeling pitied. 

Sam wasn’t doing that. He would never do that. But Tommy wouldn’t be able to understand that, so soon out of the cell. 

So it was a good thing he had the goggles. 

The first thing Sam had noticed, once the initial shock of he’s alive and he’s here and this is real had worn off slightly, was the missing horn. Tommy’s horns were small, nothing like Tubbo’s large curling ram horns or Ranboo’s curved enderman’s horns which added at least half a foot to his already ridiculous height. Rather, Tommy’s horns were two cherry red spikes that just barely reached above his curls, except that now there was only one. 

At least, only one that was whole. 

The other had been chipped off nearly to the bottom. All that remained was the jagged base of it, nearly buried under blond hair. 

Sam had the shuddering thought that the rest of it was probably still in the cell with the prisoner. Knowing him, he probably kept it as a souvenir. 

Sam shook against the desk. The horn wasn’t even the worst part. Or maybe it was. Sam was having trouble getting his thoughts in order.

Tommy had a large scar on his forehead, covering nearly half of his forehead, the half with the broken horn. He couldn’t move his face the same, on that side. His eye wouldn’t open all the way. The edge of his mouth dragged down to his jaw, though that may have been because he was scowling. 

Tommy had a streak of white in his hair, standing out stark against the blond. His hearing aids were missing. 

Taken together, his injuries painted a picture Sam didn’t want to see. His mind put the pieces together anyways, analytical as always. 

Dream must have crushed his head. He didn’t want to think about it. He must have slammed his face against the wall in the time it took me to get to the cell. Hard enough to break his horn. Hard enough to break his skull open- 

Sam shuddered, nearly collapsing against the wood. He felt sick, frozen in place. He needed to get back to work, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t seem to make himself breathe, even. His vision swam.

Ah, he realized dully, I’m having a panic attack. 

And wasn’t that something? He wasn’t even the one who- who died. He had no right to this fear, and yet it crawled up his throat, choking and sharp.

He ripped off his mask and brought his arm to his mouth. Dug his teeth in, hard enough to break skin. He needed to calm down. Needed to make himself calm down. The taste of his blood was bitter and familiar, and for a moment the pain was all he could focus on, his thoughts finally fading into white noise. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, crumpled against the desk. It was hard to tell time in the prison. 

Eventually, he lowered his arm from his face, his fur now matted with blood. He put his mask back on. 

He needed to get back to work. 

—

This time around, the Warden had no trouble checking the cameras. 

Dream was sitting at his desk, silently flipping through one of his journals. His clothes still had spots of dried blood on them. 

It was hard to describe the feeling that coagulated within the Warden’s stomach while he looked at the prisoner. A mix of anger, resentment, exhaustion, fear and regret. 

There was no melancholy anymore, however. No quiet moments remembering that peaceful time when he and the prisoner were friends. The prisoner was only the prisoner. All Dream would ever be to him now was his son’s murderer. 

He remembered Quackity’s words on the island. Remembered how it felt to hold a sword in his hand, to imagine Dream’s head rolling away from his body-

The Warden growled, pushing away from the screen he had been glaring at. He knew he couldn’t kill the prisoner, but his hands ached with the desire to punish him in some way, to not let him get away with hurting Sam’s family.  

If Tommy even considered him family anymore. 

And that thought made all his anger shrivel within him, replaced with a familiar crawling grief. And that wouldn’t do. Anger was one thing, but grief would compromise him, compromise the Warden. 

He needed to focus on the prison. Focus on the prisoner. That was his job. That was his responsibility.

…

Except that there was one other thing. One other thought that kept buzzing around his head like a persistent bug. 

Tommy was missing his hearing aids. 

He didn’t notice at first, too preoccupied with everything else. It certainly wasn’t the most eye-catching difference, but once he realized, he kept thinking about the absence. 

Did they break during- when he was in the cell? Did Dream steal them? Did he throw them away to spite me? 

The Warden was reminded suddenly of the prisoner repeatedly burning his clock. 

He pushed the memory out of his mind. It wasn’t the same situation. 

But the issue remained. However it happened, Tommy no longer had his hearing aids. 

And I have more important things to worry about, the Warden thought, but the sentiment soured on his tongue. He went through his rounds, checking and rechecking, taking care of the machines that depended on him. Still the thought remained, buzzing in the back of his head. 

Tommy doesn’t have his hearing aids. Tommy doesn’t have his hearing aids.

The Warden drew his hand along the blackstone as he walked. Smooth and cool and steady. He checked the cameras, then checked them again. Dream had hardly moved. 

He opened one of the chests he kept extra supplies in. He listened to the audio from the cell, but Dream did not speak. He needed to finish a quick errand, so he left the prison, only for about 30 minutes. He came back as quickly as he could. He had a lot of work to do, after all.  

—

Tommy very deliberately did not meet the eyes of the statue someone had built of him on top of his house. Fuckin’ creepy was what it was, seeing himself all wide-eyed with angel wings. He was an imp for fucks sake, he hadn’t ever looked like that, and he certainly didn’t now. He wasn’t dead, for one. 

He would have to take it down at some point, but right now he just wanted to sleep in his own bed. His time outside had caused a pounding migraine to build up behind his eyes. 

He paused at the flowers someone had planted around his house. He wondered who had planted them, if they had mourned. Then he shuddered, trying to change his train of thought. You didn’t need to mourn someone who was still alive. Flowers were for graves, and Tommy’s house wasn’t a grave, because he wasn’t dead. 

He considered uprooting the plants, before dragging his eyes away. He could do it tomorrow. 

He nearly stumbled as he opened the door, catching himself on the frame with a shout. There was… a small box, sitting innocuously on the ground in front of the door. He hadn’t noticed it, had nearly tripped over the damn thing. He glared down at it. What now? Was someone trying to prank him or something?

Well he wasn’t falling for it. He pushed the box to the side with his foot before finally, finally, getting inside his house and slamming the door behind him. Which may not have been the best idea, considering how damn loud the resulting noise was. 

Whatever. What mattered was that he was home. 

And his home looked the same as he had left it. Messy and cozy and his, and for the first time since this long, long day had started, he didn’t fight the tears coming to his eyes. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, crying silently. It was hard to keep track of time, now that he was out of limbo. The fact that he had apparently only been… gone, for two days still made his head spin. It was just too much. 

Eventually his tears stopped, and he rubbed a rough hand over his face. He thought about trying to go to sleep, but the idea made him feel sick. Which was stupid, because sleep wasn’t really like death at all, and Prime knew he was tired, but…

Whatever. He didn’t want to go to sleep, so he wouldn’t. Because he was a big man who was in charge of his own life. 

He thought about the box outside his door. Maybe he could open it, just to see what it was. Even if it was a prank, it would at least be something to do. 

The air was cool and dark when he stepped outside. There was no one around, which for once, was a comfort. The box hadn’t moved. The stars were brighter than he remembered them being. 

He rushed inside, box in hand, before that fact could unsettle him proper. 

It really was quite small, fitting easily into one hand and kept closed with a single string. If he hadn’t nearly tripped on it, he likely wouldn’t have even noticed it.  

He sat heavily on the edge of his bed and wondered if opening it was a good idea. Then he decided he didn’t care if it was a good idea or not, and ripped the top off with little fanfare. Inside was…

Inside was a pair of new hearing aids. 

Tommy inhaled sharply, dropping the box on his bed and scooting away like it was poisoned. He stared at the offending items without comprehension. Without realizing, he slowly took his remaining broken aid out of his pocket. 

He glanced between them, comparing. They were identical, aside from the fact that the new ones obviously weren’t broken. Of course they’re identical, Tommy thought, there’s only one person on this server who makes them.

This was too much. He shoved his broken aid into the box with the new ones, slammed the lid back on, and threw the whole thing under his bed. He wasn’t going to engage with whatever it was Sam thought he was doing, whether he was trying to trick Tommy or bribe him or apologize-

Tommy groaned, covering his face with his hands. He was already emotionally fucking exhausted after dealing with Tubbo and Jack all day, and now this-

He didn’t know how to handle this. 

He wanted someone to tell him what he should do. He wanted a brother or a sister or a father or someone, but apparently everyone who ever considered him family was just cursed to be fucking awful.

Tommy laid down flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Everything was moving too fast, compared to the sluggish pace of limbo. It felt like his thoughts were bouncing around in his head, too quick for him to actually make sense of. 

It was too much. He could feel his body begin to drag him into sleep, and he didn’t fight it this time. Maybe he would feel better once he woke up. At the very least, he wouldn’t be able to wander into the ocean from his locked house. 

New hearing aids would be really useful. Tommy thought, and then he fell asleep on top of his covers, still in his clothes. 

Chapter Text

The Warden had finished with the errand that had brought him out of the prison and was just returning when he was interrupted by a voice. 

“Hey, Sam.”

It was Quackity. The Warden considered just ignoring him, but after a beat decided that would be a bad idea. 

He turned around. “Hello, Quackity.” 

The man nodded at him. “It’s good to see you. How’ve you been? Keeping busy?”

The Warden nodded back, hoping that he wouldn’t have to put up with too much small talk. “Yeah. The prison takes up most of my time.”

“I’m sure. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. I think it’s time for me to visit.”

That caught the Warden’s attention, and he was suddenly much more engaged in the conversation. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” 

Quackity lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, a perfect facsimile of nonchalance. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

The Warden crossed his arms in front of himself. “Really, Quackity. With the recent security threat, I’m not sure if I’m willing to take the risk of allowing visitors for the time being. I’m considering just barring them completely, if I’m being honest. What do you even want from the prisoner? You should know I won’t let you in for a whim.” 

Quackity’s eyes narrowed and he dropped the air of casualness he had been putting on. “Obviously It’s not on a whim. I want to see Dream. I’m not letting him get away with what he’s done.” 

The Warden’s eyes narrowed behind his goggles. “You can’t kill him, Quackity.”

“So what, he can just do whatever he wants? What was the point of us imprisoning him in the first place then?”

“What do you mean what was the point? The prison’s inescapable, he’ll rot in there. We need him alive, you know that.” Because the prisoner was the reason Tommy died, but he was also the reason he came back to life. As long as the prisoner was a prisoner instead of a corpse, there would always be a second chance. 

“Do we need him alive? Or do we just need the revive book?” Quackity snapped back. That made the Warden pause.

“Is there a difference? He’s got the only one, as far as we know. It’s not like he’ll just give it away.” 

“Let me talk to him, Sam.” Quackity’s gaze was cool, determined. Cruel. “I bet I can convince him.”  

—

Tommy woke up sprawled against one of his chests in his basement. 

At least I didn’t have any nightmares. He thought, peeling his face from the wood. All of his joints felt stiff, and when he got up, several pops rang out in the empty room. 

He dragged a hand through his hair, flinching when his hand came back with dried blood crusted on his fingertips. 

Oh fuck. He realized, I’m still covered in blood, aren’t I? I never washed it off before I went to sleep. 

That thought banished any sluggishness still clinging to him, and Tommy was left feeling terribly awake. He walked determinedly to his bathroom, avoided his mirror, and filled his bath with blisteringly hot water. The noises the water made as it was drained out of his bucket were grating, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be clean.  

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Enough for the water to turn lukewarm by the time he got out. 

He put new clothes on. Wondered what he would do with his old clothes, the ones he… died in. The thought of keeping them made him feel sick, but the thought of burning them or something somehow made him feel worse. He decided to just leave them on his bathroom floor for now. 

He walked back out of his bathroom and then he…stopped. What the hell should he do now? The plan before was to finish the hotel but that was out. Not that he couldn’t take Jack Manifold of course, he just wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at right now. 

But surely he had to do something, right? He couldn’t just stay in his house all day. He supposed he could try to find Tubbo again, but he had a whole husband to contend with now, and would he even want to hang out? Last time he had just stared at him. 

Tommy didn’t want to be stared at. 

But it was more than that, more than just finding someone to pass the time with. He needed something to do, some purpose to give himself to so he didn’t have to just sit here and think and think about what had just happened to him. 

Tommy thought about the hearing aids under his bed. Two new and one broken, all shoved together. He wondered when Sam had made them. Imagined the hybrid walking up to his doorstep, waiting until he was sure there was no one there before leaving the package for Tommy to find. Wondered what the man had thought about the statues and the flowers.

Tommy didn’t want to think about Sam. He wasn’t sure if there was anything he wanted to think about. 

“This sucks.” He said out loud to himself. His voice was a muffled, nearly unrecognizable croak. "This fucking sucks.” 

He felt paralyzed, jittery. Like his body desperately needed to move but just couldn’t. Some flies or something must have gotten into his house, because he kept hearing buzzing and he hadn’t had time to really think before, while he was in the middle of it, but now he could, and it was a mess, it was such a fucking mess, he didn’t know what to do-

He had died. Dream had fucking killed him, had beaten him to death, and he never made it out of the cell did he? Because he was a corpse, and corpses don’t get to build hotels or have families or escape, and oh Prime there were hands on him, it hurts it hurts it hurts-

With a gasping breath Tommy realized that his claws were digging into his arms, and he jerked them away with a muffled yelp. He kept his hands in front of him while he fought to catch his breath, as if they would move on their own as soon as they were out of his sight. His vision was blurring slightly, but he could deal with that. He just needed to calm down. 

He could calm down. He knew how to calm down. 

It took a while though. A while of just standing there listening to his own heavy breathing, which sounded like it was coming through a thick blanket. But eventually the adrenaline faded and Tommy was able to let his arms drop limp at his sides. Then he walked to his bedroom, and sat heavily on the floor next to his bed.

Fuck it. 

He was so tired, and the sounds were still fucked up, and he wanted something to feel normal. So he grabbed the box from under the bed and wrenched it open, taking out the two new aids and determinedly not thinking about who made them, thinking only about how he’d like to unfuck his hearing thank you very much. That was all. 

He put the box back under his bed. His old broken aid was still inside. 

—

The Warden did not leave the prison when he dreamt. Sometimes this made it hard to tell if he was awake or asleep. 

Usually he could figure it out pretty quickly though. His subconscious did not know the minutia of the machinery as well as his waking mind.   

Sometimes it was easy, because he was doing something ridiculous or impossible. Sometimes his feet would slowly sink into the obsidian while he did his patrols. Sometimes red vines would curl around levers and buttons, hungry and grasping. 

Sometimes, he would be in the cell with the prisoner. 

The prisoner’s clothes were always soaked in fresh blood in his dreams, despite the fact that they had long since been replaced in reality. Sometimes, he would just sit silently while the Warden watched him. More often, he would talk on and on in long rambling sentences, stewing in threats and monologues. Sometimes, the Warden would attack him. Sometimes, the prisoner would attack the Warden. 

Often, the Warden would sit and watch Quackity torture the prisoner. Sometimes the roles would be moved around, and the prisoner would be torturing Quackity instead. Sometimes they were all being tortured by some unseen figure. 

Sometimes Tommy was in the cell with them.

These were the dreams the Warden hated the most, or perhaps feared would be more accurate. 

Sometimes Tommy was dead, sometimes he wasn’t. He never spoke.  

The Warden never dreamt long, on account of that he did not sleep long. There was always more work to do. 

—

The Jittery feeling was back, as Tommy stared down the massive black shape on the horizon. The prison was so huge it blocked out an entire section of the sky, and so it was almost impossible to avoid noticing even when you weren’t close to it like Tommy was. 

Tommy had come here to brainstorm, he guessed, though he was unsure if that was the right word for it. Maybe it was better to say that he felt like he should come here, or that coming here was the next step in… whatever it was that Tommy’s life had turned into at this point. He didn’t know. He just knew that he couldn’t stay at his house, and that seeking out people to talk to felt like an unbearable task.  

So. He was back here, staring at the prison he had just escaped from, because he still needed closure and he hadn’t gotten it. Except it wasn’t just that, it was bigger than that, bigger than just himself…

He didn’t know what Dream was doing in there. It was the same problem that originally drove him to visit in the first place, except worse, because now he knew for sure that the prison wouldn’t protect him. The prison wouldn’t protect anyone from Dream. It couldn’t.

God, he was such an idiot. If he had only killed Dream back in the attachment hall, then none of this would’ve happened. Tommy would have his hotel, the prison would be sitting empty right now, and Sam wouldn’t have to be the warden. Why did he listen to Dream? Why did he believe him? Why did he think he could have his brother back, that things could maybe go back to the way they were, just a little bit?

It was impossible. He couldn’t go back. Still, he couldn’t stop staring at the prison. 

He’s still in there. The thought kept repeating in his head. Tommy wasn’t sure if he was thinking about Dream, Sam, or himself. Maybe they were all trapped. 

Water lapped lazily at the shore nearby. The sound was soothing, more regular now that he had new aids. Tommy couldn’t help tugging at an earlobe at the thought. 

Sam must have left the prison at some point, to give me these. He can still get out. 

Tommy shook his head. He left me to die. I can’t start missing him just because of some stupid bribe. 

But he still needed to do something. He needed to do something about Dream. Because he was the only one who could. It was always him, he was always the only one. 

Tommy was shaking again, his thoughts flying by at a mile a minute. He had nearly killed Dream once. He just needed to finish the job this time. And then… 

And then Tommy guessed it didn’t really matter what happened after. Because then everyone would be safe, and it would finally be over, this thing with Dream. Tubbo and Ranboo wouldn’t have to worry about being used as leverage in one of Dream’s games. Sam could go home to Fran. Wilbur would stay in limbo. Maybe Tommy would join him. 

The thought wasn’t as scary as it could’ve been. Part of Tommy felt like he was still there. 

But that didn’t matter right now. Right now he needed to make a plan. He could probably get Tubbo and Ranboo on board, even if they had seemingly moved on from him. That was alright. Tommy just needed allies right now.  

He just needed to do this one last thing. And then he would be done. He would be done. 

Chapter Text

Tommy had finally mustered the courage to message Tubbo, only to find that there was already a message waiting for him on his communicator. It was from Ponk. 

[We should talk] 

That was all it said. Hesitantly, he responded:

[ok??? What about]

There was no response for a while. Tommy was about to forget about it and go back to messaging Tubbo, when a new message finally came through.

[easier to talk about in person. Can we meet?]

Tommy briefly considered the possibility of this being a trap, or some sort of prank. But… Ponk had been supportive recently, and this was the first time someone had tried to talk to him normally, instead of badgering him about death and revival. 

Unless that was what Ponk wanted to talk about. Tommy hoped not. 

[ok. Prime path?]

[sure]

Tommy put his communicator back in his pocket. He could message Tubbo after he dealt with this. 

—

Tommy found Ponk sitting at the edge of the Prime Path, looking the most exhausted he had ever seen them. Tommy approached hesitantly, not sure what he should say or do. 

“Ponk?” 

They looked up, staying seated. “Hey, Tommy.”

Tommy slowly sat down next to them. “What did you want to talk about?” 

Ponk stared at him for a long time, while Tommy fidgeted. He was about to call her out on it, ask if there was something on his face or something, when Ponk finally spoke:

“Do you notice anything different about me, Tommy?”

“Uh…” Something different? What was this about? Tommy had initially been too nervous to really take in Ponk’s appearance, but now he scrutinized their face and body more closely. 

It didn’t take long for Tommy to notice what Ponk was alluding to. While the sleeves of her hoodie could hide the difference from a distance, on closer inspection it was clear what had happened. Ponk had lost an arm. 

“Oh shit! What happened?” 

Ponk’s eyes, the only part of her face not covered, were cold. “Sam cut it off.”

For a terrible moment, Tommy’s entire mind went silent. Then his thoughts returned in a cacophonous wave, angry and scared and confused. 

“What?” He asked quietly. 

Ponk finally averted his gaze, softening slightly. “It was because of some stupid prank involving the prison. It was… it was like he was a different person. He wouldn’t listen to reason. H-he just…”

Ponk raised his eyes again. This time, they were filled with a frantic concern. “I’m not sure what happened to you in the prison. Between you and Sam. But I thought you of all people deserved to know what happened. If you’re not already… you need to be careful around Sam. He’s different. He changed.” 

“He made me new hearing aids.” Tommy said. Then he balked. He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to say anything really, but it was too late now. Ponk looked equally surprised at the words, and Tommy figured he at least owed them an explanation. 

“Uh, I mean. When I got back. To my house. They were there.” He tugged on the edge of one ear self-consciously, feeling incredibly stupid. Ponk got his goddamn arm cut off, and all Tommy can talk about is some dumb gadget Sam made him? Who does that? He avoided Ponk’s eyes, his face burning. “Sorry. That doesn’t negate the arm thing, obviously. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.” 

“Tommy.” Ponk said gently, covering Tommy’s hand with her own. Which was ridiculous, really. If Tommy had gotten his arm chopped off by someone, and then some dumbass had decided to bring up something completely stupid and unrelated about the person who had done the chopping, he would start stabbing shit. But Ponk just looked sympathetic.      

“I think it’s alright if you don’t know how to feel about him.” Ponk said. “Prime knows I don’t. I’m not here to tell you what you should feel, or what you should do. I just thought you should know. And…” Ponk squeezed his hand, just slightly. “I wanted to tell someone. Someone who knew him. Who loved him.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” Tommy choked out. “Makes sense. Thanks for telling me.” 

Ponk stood up, patting Tommy’s shoulder as they went. “Don’t be a stranger, Tommy. Seriously. We were both screwed over by the same guy, so we should stick together, right?”

Tommy nodded. There were questions under his tongue, but he didn’t dare ask them. They weren’t questions for Ponk, anyway. He watched as she gave his shoulder one last squeeze before walking down the Prime path. 

Tommy kept his eyes on her back, until she disappeared into the horizon. 

—

It was hard to tell if they were making progress with the prisoner. 

Quackity had visited a few times now, enough for him and the Warden to have a routine. The Warden knew when to expect him, and how long he would spend in the cell. He kept these times in his mind, and integrated them into his patrol schedule. Quackity would come out covered in blood, and they would occasionally have a short debrief if he had learned anything new. 

He hadn’t, really. Mostly he learned better ways to hurt the prisoner. 

But patience was necessary in these things. If they hurt the prisoner enough, eventually they would get results. People were not so different from machines. Sometimes you had to take them apart to get what you needed. 

Not that the Warden enjoyed hurting people. No, he only had to remember the sick feeling that had pounded against his ribs as arm separated from body to know that. Hurting people made his flesh crawl, made him feel like a bad man, a sick man. But it was necessary. It was his responsibility. He was the only one who could do this. 

(Seeing Dream in pain did not make him feel sick. Maybe because he deserved it.) 

Chapter Text

The small room of the watchtower Tommy had built by the prison was cramped, which wasn’t ideal. The fact that Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo all had to fit in together didn’t help, but Tommy knew to his bones that being in the room alone would not make it any bigger. 

He felt rather than saw his companions shuffle awkwardly behind him. They had agreed to help (Ranboo being the more enthusiastic one, surprisingly), but Tommy could feel their confusion and hesitation press against him like a fourth person. 

He didn’t look back at them though, no matter how much he wanted to. He kept his eyes on the prison. 

Still, he was quietly grateful when Ranboo broke the awkward silence.

“Uh…” The hybrid muttered, “Not that I’m not on board, but what exactly is the plan here?” 

“We’re staking out the prison.” Tommy said. “Obviously.” 

“What, like, for weaknesses?” Tubbo said, his shoulder pressing against Tommy’s. “Feel like it would be easier to do that from the inside. Or at least,” Tubbo nodded his head towards the window, crossing into Tommy’s peripheral vision, “from somewhere closer.” 

“Well yeah, maybe.” Tommy grumbled. “But then we’d raise suspicion.” 

“I think we’re already raising suspicion, big man.” 

“We’d raise more suspicion, then.”

Tubbo raised his arms as much as he could with the low ceiling, in a ‘there’s no pleasing you’ motion. Tommy flipped him off. 

The resulting silence lasted five seconds, max. 

“Okay, but like… what’s the plan for after we finish staking out the prison?” Ranboo asked. 

Tommy kind of wanted to strangle him. “The plan is we get to it when we get to it!” Tommy said, finally turning around to face the peanut gallery. “Have some patience man! I’m not going back to the prison yet, I just got out!”

Ranboo must have read into his words or his face, because he just nodded, startled, rather than arguing further. The weight of Tubbo’s shoulder was warm against him. 

The silence lasted much longer this time. It wasn’t unbearable by any means, but Tommy still wished someone would fill it. The sky gradually darkened through the window. 

Of course it was Tommy who eventually opened his mouth. Noise seemed to be hardwired into him. 

“Anyway, this way we can see when Sam or the other guards leave. We can memorize their schedules, or something.” 

Tubbo looked at him skeptically. “Doesn’t Sam like, almost never leave the prison though? I think I’ve seen him maybe once in the last three weeks.”

“He leaves the prison.” Tommy said, a touch too defensive. 

“Well, yeah, I mean he’d have to leave eventually. I don’t think he has a schedule or anything though.” 

“Well that’s why we’re here, innit? So we can find that out?”

Tubbo considered that, before nodding. “Hm. I guess that makes sense.” 

Tommy felt the weight of Ranboo’s gaze on him for just a second, before it vanished. The stars were coming out. They had been here for a while. 

“It’s a nice night.” Ranboo said softly behind him.

“Yeah.” Tubbo answered. “I know this is a stakeout and all, but it kinda feels like we’re stargazing.” 

The watchtower was too small for three people. No matter how Tommy positioned himself, he would always be touching either Tubbo or Ranboo. The windows of the prison glowed against the darkening sky. 

“Yeah.” Tommy said. “A little bit.”  

—

The watchtower was taken down quickly, after its one use. It had served its purpose. As much as Tommy hated to concede it, Ranboo was right: he needed an actual plan to get into the prison.

It was nearly dawn by the time Tommy started the walk back towards his house. Tubbo and Ranboo were long gone, having left to put their new child to bed.

That was yet another thing that Tommy couldn’t wrap his mind around. Tubbo and Ranboo’s child. When did that happen? And Why? Weren’t they still too young for something like that? 

How old was Wilbur when he took us in? Tommy couldn’t really remember. The Wilbur of his memories was always the prototypical Adult, the one who always knew what to do. It was hard to imagine him ever being a child. 

How do you know when you’re not a child anymore? Tommy wondered. Did Wilbur know? Did he feel it happen? 

Tommy wasn’t sure if he counted as a child anymore. Ponk said he was, way back when, and Sam must have thought so too, because you can’t adopt adults. But Tubbo and Ranboo were the same age as him, and they were having their own children, which seemed like something adults did. 

Tommy wondered what it would be like to have a child. To have someone who depended on you like that. What motivated people to make that kind of decision? Or was it not a decision at all, or just something that sort of happened? 

Tommy still didn’t understand why Sam wanted him as a son. Or even why Wilbur wanted him as a brother.

Tommy finally shook himself out of his reverie, only to realize that the house he was in front of was not his own. 

“God dammit.” He whispered to himself. He was in front of Sam’s stupidly big and showoff-y door. He hadn’t meant to come here, he just hadn’t really been paying attention to where he was going. He was tired and distracted, and had stupidly trusted his own feet to take him home. 

Maybe they had. He thought, and then immediately wanted to claw the thought out of his head. He didn’t miss Sam. He didn’t want to spend time in Sam’s house, or sleep in the room he had made up for him, or pretend that Sam’s house could be home. Those thoughts were dangerous, he knew where they led. 

But there was no one around. And maybe Tommy did want to see Fran again, after all, the poor dog was innocent in all of this. It would be unfair of Tommy to hold anything against Fran. So maybe it would be okay.

And maybe Sam would be inside. Maybe he would be taking a break from the prison, and he would see Tommy, and somehow it would be like nothing had changed. Sam would tell him he could stay as long as he liked, and that nothing could hurt him here. Tommy wouldn’t even care if it was true or not. It would just be nice to hear. 

There was no way Sam was actually at home, though. Which was for the best. Since Tommy didn’t want to see him and Sam… probably didn’t want to see Tommy either. He was assuming. Tommy didn’t know what he would do if Sam did want to see him.  

Whatever. He was here for the dog. 

Which was why when he stepped into the house and Fran was the only one to greet him, excited and affectionate, he didn’t feel a single mote of disappointment. 

…

..

.

In a one-time familiar bed, Tommy dreamt of Limbo.

In specific: the moment in which Wilbur called his name for the first time.

In the space of two syllables a hope had grown so crushing in his chest it washed everything else away.

In the time between hearing Wilbur’s voice and listening to the words he was saying, Tommy felt lit up from the inside, like a fuse finally finding heat. 

But his brother was quick to extinguish it. For the rest of his stay in Limbo, he felt a coldness he couldn’t describe in words. 

In a moment of almost-waking, Tommy wondered if that was what it meant to be family.  

Chapter Text

The Warden had no idea what Ghostbur would ever want with the prisoner. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Looking at Ghostbur’s guileless expression, it was clear he didn’t remember who the prisoner really was. He simply wanted to visit a friend. 

That naivete, plus the fact that he was a ghost and therefore couldn’t be harmed by the prisoner, were the only reasons the Warden was even considering letting Ghostbur visit in the first place. The only people who had been in the prison at all recently were the Warden, the prisoner, and Quackity, and ideally the Warden would like to keep it that way. What they had now was working. The Warden didn’t want to change the routine. 

But logically, he knew he needed to start allowing visitors again eventually. It would raise suspicion if the only person allowed in was Quackity, and the Warden didn’t want to put the other man at risk.  

And Ghostbur was, by all accounts, a low-risk visitor. The Warden couldn’t imagine that the amnestic had some sort of scheme, and if the prisoner said anything unpleasant to him, he would forget it by the time he left. 

So the Warden began guiding him through the protocols. The ghost got through them okay, though he seemed a bit nervous. The Warden had to resist the urge to comfort the ghost, as the prison was likely the most foreboding building he could remember being in. It couldn’t be helped. The prison was what it was, and the Warden wasn’t going to stray from the protocols to sooth the mind of someone who would just forget whatever made him uncomfortable anyways. 

(Still, it was easy to imagine slipping into his old habits. It would be as simple as letting a dry joke fall from his mouth, or letting his posture relax. Allow himself to really pay attention to how Ghostbur’s head would occasionally whip around to look behind him, as if expecting a shadow to be sneaking up on him from the prison’s depths. Allow himself to fill the silence left by Ghostbur’s stumbling speech.)

The Warden did not do these things. He led the visitor through the prison’s security, speaking only when he had to. 

A small part of him, a part he was not particularly proud of, wondered what it would feel like to simply forget everything that hurt. 

—

Tommy swore under his breath as the lava slowly receded. The pits of his shirt were sticky with sweat, and the unpleasant texture was distracting as hell. Every goddamn thing was distracting in this place; the glare of the lava, the cramped hallways, Ghostbur’s inability to lie, and above all Sam’s refusal to ease up for even a second.

Every time Sam got through another deadpan explanation of one protocol or another, Tommy was sure he was caught. But they had somehow made it to the final room, the lava lowering to slowly reveal his tormentor, which meant they had somehow made it through. 

Sam was still talking to Ghostbur, but their words faded into static as Tommy’s eyes found Dream. There was a curious gleam in his eyes as he watched Ghostbur, and even though Tommy knew he was invisible, it still felt like Dream was watching him, too. 

Tommy straightened his back. He couldn’t afford to be unsettled. He couldn’t afford to hesitate. He had to end this now. 

He stepped on the platform behind Ghostbur as it began to move. His eyes never left Dream’s face. 

—

Ghostbur didn’t understand what had gone wrong. 

This feeling of bewilderment was not uncommon for the ghost, but this time he felt like he really truly did not know what was going on. 

Everything had been going well! Or at least, he thought so. The prison was kind of scary, but Sam seemed to know what he was doing, and Dream seemed like he was happy to see him. Plus, nobody had noticed Tommy! He couldn’t quite remember why that was important, but he knew it was.

But now, everything was going crazy. Sam and Tommy were yelling at each other, which made Ghostbur sad, since he knew they were friends. Ghostbur didn’t think friends should yell at each other. 

Ghostbur reached a hand out, wondering if he could say something to defuse the situation. But the two didn’t seem like they were in the mood to listen, and Ghostbur knew that people didn’t always want to listen to him. 

Maybe if Wilbur was here instead, Ghostbur thought, worrying his lip beneath his teeth. He would know what to do. 

Or maybe, Ghostbur thought, suddenly lighting up with an idea, maybe Dream would know what to do! Dream had been a leader before, and he had been good at it, Ghostbur was sure. Plus, he wasn’t yelling, which meant he wasn’t angry like Sam and Tommy. 

When Ghostbur looked at him, Dream was already looking back. He looked excited, so Ghostbur smiled at him. He was about to open his mouth to ask a question, when he suddenly felt a pressure on the neck of his sweater, dragging him backwards against the netherite bars which separated Dream from everyone else. 

He gasped, more out of surprise than any need to breathe. 

“You’re going to help me out, alright Ghostbur?” Dream murmured, quiet enough that only Ghostbur could hear him. 

Ghostbur nodded hesitantly. He wanted to ask Dream to let go of his sweater, but something about his expression made him stay quiet. He had thought he was starting to get a handle on the situation, but now he was thrown right back into confusion. 

Ghostbur didn’t understand what was going on. He wished Friend was here. 

—

“Let me out or I’m killing Ghostbur!” 

The Warden winced at Dream’s shout, his head pounding. The room was already too goddamn loud, and now the prisoner was butting in with half-baked demands? The Warden snarled, tasting smoke. Across the lava, Ghostbur was standing looking bewildered, the prisoner’s hand grabbing the back of his sweater. 

Tommy- the intruder was still yelling. The Warden needed to get control of the situation, needed to get the intruder out and then needed to re-secure the prison. He needed to stay calm, but he was having a hard time with that. 

Tommy was not meant to be here. Ghostbur shouldn’t even be here, and the Warden was an idiot for letting him visit in the first place. The Warden should not let his personal life interfere with his work, but he couldn’t help the way shock and betrayal burned like a live wire under his skin.  

Tommy of all people. For Prime’s sake.

“Look, now Ghostbur’s stuck over there!” The Warden yelled in frustration. It felt good to yell, like finally taking the lid off an over boiling pot. Tommy tried to cut in but the Warden was faster, “For fuck’s sake, just stay still and be quiet. Let me deal with this.” 

Tommy did neither, trying to push past the Warden’s body to get a better view of the prisoner. “Bring the platform back! Sam you bastard, help him!” 

The Warden grabbed Tommy by the arms in order to wrench him off the Warden’s armor. Tight enough to restrain but not to hurt. This close, it was impossible to avoid looking at Tommy’s face. 

The eye that could still open all the way was as wide as it could go, while the other stared listlessly at the ground. He was pale as a sheet, with the exception of a blotchy flush covering the ridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks. If Sam wasn’t so familiar with the way the heat of the prison affected the body, he would assume the boy had a fever. 

“Let me go!” He shouted. He sounded desperate. He sounded afraid. Sam loosened his grip without consciously deciding to do so. 

Tommy immediately got away from him, running to the edge of the room. The Warden tamped down an urge to grab him again, this time to get him away from the lava. 

“Tommy! Get away from the edge!”

“I’m gonna kill him! I’m gonna bring back Wilbur!” Dream shouted.

Sam’s headache crested in a sharp point of pain. It was so goddamn loud. Tommy was screaming something back at Dream, or maybe at him, but Sam could hardly parse the words. 

“Be quiet! Everyone be quiet!” The Warden yelled, but it only added to the din of noise. Ghostbur was yelling too, now, and Sam swore he couldn’t hear himself think. 

He clutched his head, pulling on his hair to try and ground himself. It wasn’t really working. Fuck. He needed to calm down. He needed to get in control of the situation again. He could feel himself losing time, his brain trying to get out from under him, and he needed that to stop happening right now.

When he looked back up, Ghostbur was gone, and Tommy was crying. 

“Ghostbur…” Tommy said, staring across the lava. The Warden stared with him, watching the Prisoner’s glinting eyes. Even though the Warden had wanted quiet, the sudden silence made his stomach swoop as if he had missed the last step on a staircase. 

He took only a moment to collect himself. “Tommy. Get out.” 

Tommy’s face scrunched up in anger and dismay as he turned towards him. “Fuck you. Fuck- you let him die! You just let him die!”

“He’s a ghost.” The Warden growled back. “He’s already dead.” 

Tommy’s good eye widened again, shiny and red. “How can you say that! You- Why would you-” 

“Tommy.” The Warden repeated, tone insistent. He needed this interaction to end, needed to get Tommy out. “Get out of the prison. I’ll lead you to the door. If I find you near here again, I’ll-” his words fumbled. “Don’t come near here again.” 

Tommy stared at him. “But you-” He swallowed. “Whatever. Alright. I’ll leave. I need to find out if-” He shook his head, swaying on his feet. “Fuck you, Sam.”

That’s fair. A small voice in Sam’s head said. The Warden ignored it. He led the intruder out of the prison, and then it was just him and the prisoner once more. 

Chapter Text

The strangest thing was that after watching Ghostbur die and seeing his revived brother once again in the flesh, Tommy still went home to the same house. 

It felt like more should be different. Usually when Tommy felt this way, it was because his home had been replaced by a crater, or he was sleeping in a pit or a tent or- just something. 

But no. He was just lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, like he had done countless times before. The evening felt totally ordinary, and yet Wilbur was alive. 

Tommy didn’t know what to think about it. At first, he thought he knew. His feelings were pretty simple actually: He didn’t want Wilbur to be revived, because Wilbur was a scary asshole. 

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been scared. Wilbur had come back with some of his flesh still rotting, mangy flightless wings on his back, smiling like a guillotine. He didn’t look anything like the gentle man in Tommy’s childhood memories. 

And yet. Tommy’s brother was alive. And that meant something, even if Tommy didn’t know what.  

…

Tommy should check on him. 

He should, right? Who knew what he was doing, out there in the world he had claimed as his own. Tommy had followed him around for a bit, sure, but then he had just left him to his own devices. Shouldn’t Tommy be with him? Shouldn’t Tommy always be with him?

Tommy curled into himself on the bed, drawing the covers over himself. Prime, he knew this would happen. It didn’t matter how long he had been away from Wilbur, or how many terrible memories he had of him. As soon as the man came back, Tommy wanted to follow him.

Maybe ‘want’ was the wrong word. Tommy just felt like he should follow him, no matter what. 

He couldn’t even hate him, not really. There was never a moment, not in Pogtopia and not in Limbo, when Tommy hated Wilbur. Tommy didn’t even hate Sam, for fuck’s sake. 

God damn it. God damn it. Was this what family was? This wrenching feeling? If it was, then Tommy didn’t want any part of it. 

(And fuck if that wasn’t the biggest lie anyone told today.) 

Tommy got out of bed and started pacing, tossing his blanket to the floor in a heap. He was exhausted, but simultaneously overwhelmed by a restless, jittery feeling. 

What was Wilbur doing right now? Had Sam fallen asleep by now, or was he still working? Were either of them thinking about him right now, or did this wired feeling only go one way? 

Tommy didn’t even know if he wanted them to be thinking about him. Didn’t know what that would even mean. 

Tommy startled, nearly jumping out of his skin when his communicator started buzzing from the corner. Who the fuck was messaging him this late? Didn’t they know he was in the middle of an incredibly important emotional breakdown? 

It was Wilbur, because of course Wilbur was still awake in the middle of the night.  

[Working on a project. Could use your help, if you’re still awake.]

Tommy scoffed, feeling strangely choked up. Of course Wilbur still made sure all his messages were grammatically correct, even after all this time. 

Still, Tommy was more unsettled than anything. 

[what project??? What r u doing???]

[Nothing dangerous, I promise. Don’t worry about it.]

Stupid cryptic bastard. Tommy mashed more question marks into his communicator.

[Seriously, I just need to get some stone. You don’t have to come if you really don’t want to.]

Tommy stared at the screen. Did he want to go? He supposed that didn’t really matter in the end. He knew pretty much as soon as Wilbur messaged him that he would go wherever he asked.  

Fuck it. At least he had an excuse to get out of the house. 

—

Tommy found Wilbur in the middle of carving up stone out the side of a cliff face and was briefly relieved that he appeared to have been telling the truth in his messages. The moonlight lit up the back of his head oddly, and Tommy couldn’t help remembering Pogtopia, with the way the gray wall towered over the both of them. 

There wasn’t much time to reminisce though. Wilbur had heard him approach and was already turning around.  

Tommy had to fight the urge to shrink in on himself when his brother met his eye. Wilbur had not come out of revival as gracefully as he had, which was saying something as Tommy had come out of revival missing a horn and with half his face paralyzed. But Tommy was at least in one piece, whereas Wilbur looked like he had to be stitched back together. Half of his face looked like it was made out of dead flesh, almost zombie-like, and a long scar ran down from the top of his hairline to disappear into the neck of his sweater. 

Not to mention the wings. Phil had always said he was a late-bloomer, and apparently he was right, as Wilbur’s wings didn’t come in until he was already dead and in Limbo. Needless to say, wings weren’t designed to grow on the back of a dead man, much less one wrenched back into the realm of the living. All that was left of them at this point was a loose collection of dark feathers and bone, barely growing past his shoulders.  

Tommy wondered if Wilbur was half-blind now, like he was. He wondered if the sweater somehow came from Ghostbur. He did not ask these questions. 

“What’s all this for then? I showed up, so can you stop being cryptic?” Tommy said, arms crossed in front of him.  

Wilbur rolled his eyes, exhaling something that could have been a chuckle, if Tommy was feeling generous. “When did you get so cynical? Can’t I just want to hang out with my little brother?” 

The tone of Wilbur’s voice made Tommy uneasy. It felt like he was being mocked, though he wasn’t sure why. He fought a sudden urge to take a step back.

“You said you wanted help with something, not that you wanted to ‘hang out’, or whatever. What do you need all this fucking stone for?”  

Wilbur’s lips thinned in displeasure. “Forget about the stone Tommy! It’s not about the stone. You trust me, right?”

Tommy looked away, silent.

“Tommy…” Wilbur said. Then he laughed, suddenly. It was an ugly sound. “Well, I guess that’s fair. It’s been a long time.” 

Wilbur’s eyes were distant when Tommy met them. He wanted to say something to make him come back to himself but couldn’t begin to figure out what. Wilbur spoke again, before it could matter too much. 

“So! We have to make up for lost time, don’t we?” Wilbur said, throwing an arm over Tommy’s shoulders. He didn’t smell like gunpowder and smoke, the way he did in Pogtopia. Rather, Tommy was nearly overwhelmed by the scent of disinfectant, like Wilbur had been obsessively cleaning himself before he wandered out here. The contrast was off putting. 

Tommy wanted to squirm out of his hold, but he also didn’t want to move. Some strands of Wilbur’s hair brushed against his forehead. “I know you like to have a project to work on, Tommy. So I thought- you could help me out! I mean, unless you think you can’t get the stone. Then I suppose I could find someone else-”

“I can get the damn stone!” Tommy bit out. Wilbur looked pleased as he released him from his hold, continuing to chatter to himself. Tommy watched him pace, still in the old jacket he wore in the ravine. It was more patch than original fabric at this point, just barely held together with black thread and stubbornness. 

Tommy wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t think he was, at least. He could tell Wilbur was trying (and succeeding) to get under his skin, taking advantage of the fact that Wilbur still knew all the right buttons to push, all the right words to say to get Tommy to listen. But it was just stone. And it would probably be better if Tommy stayed with him anyway, rather than leaving him to his own devices. 

And Tommy could get the stone. He would prove it to Wilbur. 

“Oy! Are you gonna keep rambling or are you gonna show me what to do? Do you just want to mine out the wall, or…?” 

Wilbur grinned widely at him. The sight was familiar, even as his lips tugged at the stitching on his cheek. 

—

Tommy was (obviously) amazing at gathering stone, but it didn’t take long for Wilbur to get bored of his ‘project’ and drag Tommy out for a late-night walk around the server. Tommy was frustrated that Wilbur had apparently just been wasting his time, but was privately relieved. He knew Wilbur had the power to drag him into another conflict, and he wasn’t sure he could survive another. So it didn’t matter if Wilbur didn’t actually need the stone Tommy had worked to get. Really.

Tommy didn’t let himself think about it for long. The server was strange and peaceful in the dark, the shapes of buildings and trees familiar even in shadow. He let himself be led by Wilbur’s aimless wandering, the walk still better than spending the night staring at the ceiling in his bed.   

It didn’t take long before they made it to L’manberg, as if pulled by a string. In the dark, you couldn’t see the vines. It just looked like a pit. 

Wilbur chucked softly beside him, speaking in a whisper. “Home sweet home. It’s just how I left it.” 

Tommy didn’t try to stop the scoff rising from his throat, nearly choking on sudden bitterness. “Prime Wilbur, you’re so goddamn full of yourself. You didn’t do this.” 

“No?” Wilbur said, tilting his head back to look at Tommy. “Because it may have been a long time ago, but I’m not an amnestic like that idiot ghost. I seem to remember-”

“No!” Tommy shouted. “You don’t remember! You don’t know shit about what’s been happening because you’ve been gone! We rebuilt after you, we rebuilt and it still-”

Tommy cut himself off. Wilbur was giving him his full attention, working eyebrow raised. Then he grinned. It pulled on his stitches.

“So, someone else finished it off then? Figures. I mean, you really should have just let it stay dead the first time, I did blow it up for a reason, after all. But who ended up doing the honors? Eret? Techno? What- did Schlatt get a ghost?” 

Tommy just stared at Wilbur while the man waited for an answer. He hated this. Hated the way Wilbur was grinning, like he wanted to go and shake the hand of whoever destroyed the only home that truly felt like theirs. Hated too how Wilbur’s attention felt like sunlight coming out of the clouds to scorch him.  

“It was Dream and Techno, if you must know.” Tommy spat. “...And Phil.” 

The last name, at least, made Wilbur stop grinning. For a second Tommy thought it had snapped him out of it, that now Wilbur would remember that the loss of L’manberg wasn’t something to celebrate. Maybe he could understand how Tommy had felt, looking up at that terrible grid and seeing the crows.   

Then the grin returned, worse than before. It was one of Wilbur’s angry grins, which was more of a baring of teeth than anything. For a moment, Tommy felt ravine walls closing in on him. 

“Like son like father, huh?” He said lowly. The night sky suddenly felt less comforting. “I guess it runs in the family.” He put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, leaning into his space. Tommy wanted to jerk away, but he was frozen. He felt really cold, suddenly.

“What about you, Tommy? I’m sure you’ve been busy while I’ve been away. Been keeping up the family name?”

Tommy slowly realized that his heart was pounding in his chest. It suddenly became very hard to meet Wilbur’s eyes, even as he felt the taller man staring at him. 

Tommy opened and closed his mouth, feeling his breath rush out of him. It was too dark, and he felt like his body was drifting away from him. The smell of tobacco was overwhelming, and Wilbur’s nails were digging into his shoulder, fuck, he was too close-

“Fuck off!” Tommy yelled, wrenching himself back into the present. I’m alive, he thought frantically, I’m not dead. Wilbur was stumbling away from him, and it was only then that Tommy realized he had shoved him. 

“Tommy-”

“No! Shut up! I d-don’t want to talk about this-” fuck, he couldn’t breathe, “I don’t want to talk about this with you! Y-you always-” Wilbur was staring at him, why was he still staring at him? Couldn’t he tell Tommy didn’t want to be seen like this? “A-always do this, why do you always- and Sam too, it’s always- always the same- fuck- I just-” 

Tommy couldn’t get any more words out, just stood and shook as he tried to regulate his breathing. Wilbur stood wide-eyed with his arms half outstretched, feeling the old impulse to hold his brother, but being unable to move from his spot. 

Eventually, Tommy was able to calm himself down. The two brothers stood in uncomfortable silence. 

“Sorry.” Tommy mumbled to the ground, cheeks red with embarrassment. “I… I think I’m going to go home for the night.” 

Wilbur's arms dropped back to his side, and he opened his mouth. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, and Tommy was already turning around before he could think of anything. 

Chapter Text

It had been a couple days, and still Wilbur kept thinking back to his last conversation with Tommy. 

In this particular moment, he was thinking about his last conversation while pacing in Phil’s bathroom, skin red and raw from a shower that was likely too long and too hot. He passed by a mirror made completely unusable from the steam.

Phil wasn’t home. He could, hypothetically, leave the bathroom, or at least open the door to let some of the steam out. He didn’t. The damp heat settled uncomfortably against his skin. 

He hasn’t confronted Phil about L’manberg in the days since he learned about his involvement, or even brought it up at all, though he thought about it. What would he even say? Despite what he said to Tommy, congratulating Phil on the destruction felt… strange. The idea sat uncomfortable in his mind, for reasons he didn’t care to examine. Of course, telling him off about it or demanding an explanation was even more out of the question. Wilbur was a lot of things, but he tried not to be a hypocrite. 

It was becoming hard to breathe in the bathroom. Fuck, Wilbur really needed to move out. 

—

Las Nevadas was everything Wilbur could’ve hoped for, and being denied access to it was, Wilbur could admit to himself, perhaps even better. He felt alive, scraping together building materials, Tommy behind him, the specter of a goal looming over them. 

(Tommy looking pained, glancing between Wilbur and Quackity. That comment he had made on the top of the needle, thrown out so casually it was painfully familiar.) 

Tommy had wandered off by the time the van was nearing completion, something Wilbur couldn’t get too annoyed at, considering how late it was getting. Wilbur really should be heading back as well, but he hated the idea of leaving mid-project, and he wasn’t really that tired yet. It was good to work again, to do something. 

All the lights were still on in Las Nevadas, so it was easy to see. Wilbur bet Quackity was still awake as well. 

He sighed. Before all the excitement that happened today, Wilbur had actually hoped to ask Quackity about something unrelated to politics. Quackity seemed the type to be knowledgeable about how alliances and relationships had shifted while Wilbur was away, and there was one thing Tommy had mentioned during their… conversation a few days ago that had stuck with Wilbur.  

What had happened between Tommy and Sam? 

He had only said the man’s name once, though it was uttered with the same weight Tommy used to talk about him. Wilbur was pretty sure he could count the number of conversations the two had prior to his death on one hand, so clearly whatever changed had happened while he was away.  

(Or, an ever-present guilty corner of his mind whispers, maybe you just weren’t paying attention. What would you know about who Tommy was close with? Maybe there was a time when you knew everything there was to know about each other, but that time passed long before the sword went through your gut.)    

He brushed the thought to the side. He knew he was occupied during the elections and what followed, but he would have noticed Tommy hanging about with Sam. He would have.

So, whatever happened must have happened while he was dead. 

And he wouldn’t care so much, really, except that Sam seemed to be a fairly influential figure in this new world he had woken up in. The architect of the massive prison taking up the skyline, and the keeper of the big bad Dream, if the talk of the server was to be believed. 

If Tommy had made some sort of… alliance with him, and then cut it off, there was a significant chance that whatever happened affected the broader politics of the server. Sure, it was possible it was nothing more than interpersonal drama, but… it was Tommy. Tommy was like him. Neither of their dramas could stay truly interpersonal, in the end. 

So, he had wanted to ask Quackity about it. The man clearly had an eye for politics, though the thought was more bitter now than it had been in the morning. Wilbur was going to be reasonable and polite, and it was going to have nothing to do with any broader plans, just two old friends making conversation, catching up. 

Needless to say, he had gotten sidetracked. Nonetheless, looking up at the ever-burning lights of his neighboring country, he wondered if a conversation could still be on the table. 

(A liability, Quackity had called him. The word had struck something deep inside him, something that simultaneously gnashed its teeth in anger and cheered at what felt like the first honest word he had heard since coming back.)

Honesty was something he needed right now. He didn’t quite expect to be looking for it from Quackity of all people but, well. The notion didn’t feel as strange as it should. 

He might have to wait a few days for things to cool off though, he thought, looking at the currently unstocked van. All things in good time, or whatever it was people said. He was sure he could keep busy. 

—

The last time Quackity had seen Sam was in the prison. In fact, these days the only place Quackity saw Sam was in the prison. 

Their conversations were short. A few brusque words exchanged while passing through the security systems, sharp nods replacing hellos and goodbyes. The last full conversation they had must’ve been back on Sam’s island, Quackity thinks, when he has time to think about Sam at all.  

He does not often have time to think about Sam. Maybe if he did, he would be worried about the man. But he doesn’t, so he isn’t. 

And now, he had to deal with this whole Wilbur situation. He ground his teeth together. He had actually been somewhat optimistic when word reached him that the man had been brought back to life, but it had only turned into another headache. He really needed to stop expecting anything else from people. 

He sunk into an ornate chair by the large lounge bar, pouring a gin and tonic into one of the nice glasses Sam had gotten him as a house-warming gift back when Las Nevadas had just been a spark in his mind.

Prime. He needed to unwind. He silently flipped through his mental calendar, trying to figure out what revisions he would need to make in order to account for whatever ideas of ‘competition’ Wilbur got in his head. It was shaping up to be another long night. He took a sip of his drink. 

—

(It was only after the passing of hours and the consumption of more drinks that Quackity let himself truly think about Sam. About how they had not spoken, really, for weeks. Longer, since they had a conversation which was actually pleasant. The man looked rough, each time Quackity saw him, and he knew he looked the same. They did not talk about it, though they both must have noticed. 

The image of Tommy, too, stuck in his mind. Following Wilbur like a lost shadow, looking frayed at the edges. 

Quackity did not know what to do about these thoughts, these images. He simply went to sleep.)

Chapter Text

It was some time later, after Tubbo had started working at the newly named Tubburger, that Quackity saw Wilbur hanging around the border of his country. It was way too early in the morning for anyone to have to deal with Wilbur Soot, but no one on this server ever got what they wanted, apparently. 

The man didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish, smiling big and guileless as the rising sun reflected off his red sunglasses. 

Well, Wilbur wasn’t the only one who could lean into the ‘charming and polite’ schtick. Quackity smiled back at him.

“Can I help you, Wilbur?”

Wilbur waved him off. “Oh, no need to trouble yourself. I just wanted to check in on my neighbor, you know? See how you were doing.” 

Quackity’s smile tightened but didn’t falter. “I’m doing just fine Wilbur. If that’s all, consider me ‘checked on’. Aren’t there thing’s you’re working on? I’m sure you can find something better to do with your time than talking with me.” 

Wilbur smiled annoyingly wider. Damn, his face really had gotten fucked up after coming back to life. “Nonsense! How could I not have time for my rival? And anyways - this isn’t even about that, really. Is it so wrong to want to have a conversation? We can even have it on neutral ground, if it makes a difference to you.” 

It didn’t, not really. Despite whatever ideas of ‘rivalry’ Wilbur had gotten into his head, Quackity had never actually banned him from Las Nevadas. He just didn’t want to hand the ex-terrorist political power on a silver platter, though he doubted Wilbur would ever appreciate the distinction. 

He also had no real interest in having a conversation with the man. But the whole situation was sus as hell, and Quackity had learned that it was always better to have information than not.  

“We can talk in the restaurant.” Quackity said mildly. “I mean - assuming that’s not a problem for you?”

This time, it was Wilbur’s smile that went tight at the edges. Hah - Tubbo’s recruitment must have really gotten to him. He’d be lying if he said the sight wasn’t satisfying. Regardless, Wilbur nodded, quickly regaining his lost composure. 

‘Neutral ground.’ What a joke. If they were going to have a ‘conversation’, Quackity would make sure it happened on his home turf. He just hoped it didn’t take up as much time as their last ‘conversation’ did. He had a country to run, after all. 

—

Wilbur resisted the urge to sneer at the Tubburger sign, because he was a mature and well-adjusted adult. And also because he refused to give Quackity the satisfaction. 

And, because this meeting wasn’t about their rivalry, he reminded himself. 

(At least Tubbo wasn’t working today, he thought. Not because Wilbur didn’t want to face him, mind you, just because it might be a little awkward.) 

He watched the salmon swimming lazily in their tank as he sat down. Quackity sat across from him, the picture of silent composure. How annoying. Wilbur knew Quackity wasn’t as calm as he pretended to be, and while Wilbur could admire his control, he had seen the bite Quackity held under the practice smiles and - 

And this wasn’t about the rivalry. Wilbur just wanted to have a conversation. 

“So.” Wilbur started, “This place looks a lot different than how I left it.”

Quackity raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you’re not around for two years.” 

  Two years. Fucking hell. Wilbur knew that time moved differently in Limbo, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to that fact. Didn’t think it would ever feel real. 

He pushed forward. “To be honest, I haven’t really put everything together yet. All these… new politics. I was wondering if you could fill me in on the basics. Not for anything to do with our… competition, of course. Just a quick history lesson.” 

Quackity’s second eyebrow joined his first. “ That’s what this is about? You want a history lesson? And you just assumed I’d drop everything to give you one?”

Wilbur smiled. “Well,” he said, “You’re here, aren’t you?” 

Quackity narrowed his eyes, annoyance radiating off him so obviously Wilbur could almost feel it. He smiled through gritted teeth. “You know Wilbur, if you want historical information so bad, you’d be better off asking Eret. They’re the one with the museum after all.”  

Oh, Wilbur knew all about Eret’s museum. He also knew exactly what Quackity was playing at, by bringing them up. Well, Wilbur was sure as hell not going to fold. 

“Oh, I’ve seen the museum already. It’s… sufficient, I suppose, but rote knowledge about locations and events wasn’t really what I was thinking. I mean, you Quackity, you’re a statesman! Surely you know politics are all moving parts. Alliances aren’t what they once were, and I’m completely out of the loop. I mean, what if I were to accidentally step on some toes, just out of ignorance? Surely you’d want to prevent that, even with our… disagreements.”  

“So, you’re telling me you want to avoid conflict then?” Quackity asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism. 

“Of course.” Wilbur replied, not bothering to hide the fact that he was blatantly ignoring Quackity’s skepticism. 

“And you think I’m going to help you… why?” 

“Would you rather I get Phil’s opinion instead? Or Techno’s?”

“Prime, whatever Wilbur, just make it quick. What is it you want to know? I’m sure you’ve at least managed to figure some stuff out on your own.” 

“Of course.” Wilbur replied nonchalantly. Most things Wilbur could make educated guesses about, at least. Time spent with other server members had given him a fair bit of information as well. Really, there was only one subject he was curious about, but it never hurt to be indirect in conversations like these. “But people are tight lipped about certain things on this server. I mean, when I first came back, I thought that crater where L’manberg used to be was my doing! Can you believe that?” 

“Sure.” Quackity said. “You’ve always had an ego on you.” 

Wilbur felt his eyelid twitch. He didn’t take the bait. “Well. The point is that there’s still a lot I don’t know. I mean, that prison for one. The damn thing takes up the whole horizon, and people barely talk about it. Besides the fact that Dream’s in there, of course. I mean, I don’t even know who built it!” 

That wasn’t actually true. Well, the part about no one ever wanting to talk about the prison was true, or at least no one wanted to talk about it with Wilbur. He knew Sam built it though. He just wanted to see what Quackity thought about that fact.

Quackity paused, considering. “You got plans with the prison now or something? You know it’s not taking visitors anymore, right?”

Wilbur hadn’t known that, actually. Tommy had certainly told him not to visit, but he wasn’t sure if that was an actual rule or just a Tommy thing. He filed the information away for later.  

“I told you; this has nothing to do with any plans. I just want the basic stuff, the stuff everybody knows. What, is the builder’s identity a big secret or something?” 

Quackity didn’t look convinced, but he answered anyway. “No. It’s not a secret. Sam built it.”  

“Ah! I suppose that makes sense. I remember him being quite the builder. Did he do it all on his own? Or was it part of some… collaboration. Don’t tell me he’s started his own nation too.” 

Quackity rolled his eyes. “No, the prison wasn’t built as part of a country. It was a unanimous thing. Well, the decision to put Dream in there was, at least. The building itself was…” And here, Quackity smirked. It was mean and sharp. “Actually, Dream commissioned it. Isn’t that funny?” 

The laugh that came out of Wilbur felt like it had been punched out, all surprise and no mirth. Destroyed by his own creation, he thought, how funny. The sudden jolt of empathy he felt was nearly uncontrollable. For the first time in this conversation, in maybe any conversation he had ever had with Quackity, he felt the urge to avoid the other man’s gaze. 

“Well,” he said. His gaze did not falter. “It’s certainly ironic.” 

He couldn’t get sidetracked. He came into this conversation with a goal, and if he wanted to get information about Dream, there were far better sources. This was about Sam, and all the potential power the man held. Power which may be quite pertinent for Wilbur to know about, if he was indeed in some sort of conflict with Tommy. 

“Still, a unanimous decision? On this server? That’s quite impressive. Is there no one out there vying for control over the prison? Surely Sam’s made himself some enemies from all this.” 

Quackity shrugged, unconcerned. “Not really. No one but him knows how to run the damn thing anyway. I suppose The Eggpire doesn’t like him, but they don’t really like anyone. And at the moment it doesn’t look like they’re quite ambitious enough to go for the prison.” Wilbur decided to file away whatever The Eggpire was in the ‘we’ll unpack that later’ corner of his brain along with Dream, and didn’t interrupt. “Besides, the man’s pretty reclusive these days. Hard to make enemies when people barely see him. He’s not nearly as involved in politics as he could be.” 

The last sentence had a sour edge to it, and for a moment Wilbur considered the pros and cons of prying. In the end, he decided he understood Quackity well enough to work it out on his own. 

But this was something at least. If Tommy and Sam did have some… feud, it didn’t look like it was at war-making levels yet. Which was good! Obviously. It meant that really, it probably wasn’t even Wilbur’s business, and he could just let Tommy work it out on his own. He was an adult, after all. Well, Wilbur was pretty sure he was an adult. Ages weren’t exactly the easiest thing to keep track of, at this point. 

And he was still supposed to be talking to Quackity, wasn’t he. He should get back on that. Probably about something other than Sam or the Prison, since Quackity had clearly been suspicious about the whole ‘history lesson’ premise from the start. 

At least there were plenty of topics to choose from. 

“What the fuck is an Eggpire?”

—

Wilbur returned to the van far more tired than someone who had gone outside a grand total of once to have what amounted to a single moderately-long conversation should be. The morning had just barely ended, and despite the temptation of the bedroll stuffed in the back, Wilbur refused to go to sleep when the sun was still shining.  

Instead, he grabbed a cold steak from the fridge and chewed on it absentmindedly, rearranging his kitchen set up while he thought about what he had just learned. 

Logically, he knew the whole ‘Evil Mind-Controlling Egg Cult’ should be what interested him most. Not that it didn’t interest him, because really, what the fuck, but he couldn’t seem to get his mind to focus on it. 

No, his brain kept going back to the Sam thing. Which was stupid, because all evidence pointed it to being some irreverent interpersonal disagreement. None of his business. 

Except, wasn’t it his business? Wasn’t Tommy’s business his business? Not that he had to know everything about Tommy, he didn’t mean it like that but -

Shouldn’t he at least have an idea? That was how it always was. When he was alive, at least. And he was alive now, so why was there this gap? This void of knowledge - an entire relationship - completely unknown to him. 

Wilbur knew he was being ridiculous. He wasn’t blind to it; he was capable of being rational. He knew he had been gone a long time. Long enough to miss things, though somehow not long enough to feel real. But somehow, he and Tommy had fallen right back into their same rhythm, or some version of it, except now there was this gap and it wasn’t like Tommy was lying to him but he also wasn’t really talking to him, neither of them were talking to each other - not like they used to - and why would they? Everything was different and what was even the point of coming back if he was basically still fucking dead -  

“Fuck!” He yelped, yanking his hand away from the stove top. He didn’t even remember turning it on. He should really have his panic attacks in less flammable locations. He quickly turned the stove off, dousing his hand in sink water. 

He took some deep breaths, trying to bring his head back down to earth. There was no reason for him to be getting this upset about this. He could just… ask Tommy, if it was going to bother him this much. Get his info straight from the source. Then he’d know, and it would stop being an issue, and he could focus on the much more exciting rivalry that had just begun to really spark.

Yes. He would talk to Tommy, and if Tommy didn’t want to tell him, then - 

Well. Wilbur wasn’t actually sure what he would do. Tommy not talking to him - not answering him when asked a direct question - it had never even registered as a possibility before, and still didn’t really sink in as one, but - 

Well, it was a possibility now, wasn’t it. If Wilbur was being honest with himself, it was more like a probability. 

Still, he should at least try, right? That was the whole point of the second chance, wasn’t it? For him to try again?   

But he had tried trying again, with Tubbo and Quackity, and it always seemed to, no pun intended, blow up in his face. And things with Tommy were so volatile right now - he had gotten him to agree to join the burger van but only by the skin of his teeth, and half of their conversations were shouting matches these days. 

Maybe it truly would be better just to leave it alone. But Wilbur knew himself - had spent thirteen Prime forsaken years learning everything there was to know about himself - and he knew he just wasn’t built for that. It was like a wound he couldn’t help digging his fingers into. 

But the problem remained - What if Tommy didn’t want to talk to him? There was another thing Wilbur knew about himself: If Wilbur had lost Tommy, had lost that trust which always seemed to remain despite Wilbur never once deserving it, he would rather not know. Ignorance was bliss, or something. Things were fine as they were.    

So, he couldn’t ask Tommy, but he couldn’t leave it alone. Two unmovable facts about himself. 

But maybe he was approaching the issue incorrectly. Perhaps his scope was too limited. 

There was someone else he could ask, wasn’t there? 

Chapter Text

The Warden had settled into something of a routine. 

He would patrol the prison in wide laps, checking machines and cameras in a revolving order. At this point he had let some of the guards take back their posts, but their shifts were limited and inconsistent. The responsibility of the prison’s maintenance still fell to him. Even if the guards had full shifts, they did not understand the machinery like he did. 

Quackity came at the same time every day. The guards were never working, when he came. It was only ever the three of them. 

The Warden no longer listened to what the Prisoner had to say. It was useless, he had learned. He had no time for begging or taunts. There was only one thing he wanted to hear from the prisoner, and every day, he would wait to see if Quackity had heard it. 

And every day, Quackity would come out of the cell, shake his head silently and leave without a word. If the stench of blood hung around him, The Warden could not tell through his mask.    

The Warden would not let this bother him. He knew true progress was incremental. He knew the value of patience. He knew they were getting closer, slowly but surely. They had to be. 

The Warden tried not to leave the prison unless he absolutely had to. Outside of quick and infrequent meetings with Quackity, he had only been out for any length of time once in recent memory. He had set up an automated feeding system for Fran, so he could be sure she would be safe.

With that in place, there was no need for him to leave. He had furnished a room in the prison more fully, setting up a bed and a small chest of essentials. 

With visitors banned, the only other people he interacted with were the guards, Quackity, and the Prisoner. That was fine. It ensured that his routine was not interrupted. Each day had a rhythm to it, so strong and consistent he could almost hear it, like a constant hum blocking out all other thoughts.  

It was a good set up. The Warden was efficient and productive. He did not get distracted, and he did not think about unnecessary things. He worked with a steady certainty that he was working towards something. He was doing something good. 

—

The routine finally broke on the evening of an otherwise unremarkable day. 

The sun had begun its descent, but enough light still filtered from the sky to light up the field outside the prison, illuminating a figure lingering by the entrance. 

(Of course, The Warden would have been able to see the figure even if it was pitch black. His night vision was good, even in the rare cases that he wasn’t wearing his goggles. These days he was more accustomed to seeing in the dark than in daylight.) 

The event on its own was not necessarily a cause for alarm. It was not unusual for people to hang around the prison on occasion. It was a big, imposing building, not to mention an impressive piece of engineering. The Warden was aware that many server members, especially the new ones that seemed to keep cropping up, saw it as a sort of monument.  

Except sightseers would never stay long. Once their curiosity was satisfied, they would wander back to wherever they came from. There was no reason for them to hang around for long. Even the newest among them knew that no one was allowed inside. 

And yet, the prison’s current visitor did not leave, and rather continued to aimlessly walk about under The Warden’s watchful eye. They weren’t even trying to be subtle. They didn’t strike Sam as someone genuinely trying to break in, or if they were, they were incredibly incompetent. 

The Warden held out hope for as long as he could that the visitor would eventually lose interest and leave. If the silhouette was who the Warden suspected (and, judging by the distinctive trench coat the figure was wearing, it was unlikely to be anyone else), any confrontation between them would likely be more trouble than it was worth. 

The Warden had heard from Quackity that the ex-president of L’manburg had returned from death both fickle and impulsive, though with a great capacity for stubbornness. He had hoped the man’s fickleness would win over his stubbornness, but it appeared that he would not be so fortunate tonight. 

Still, he did not trust his guards to deal with whatever issues Wilbur would inevitably bring with him, so it was only after they had begun their shift for the night that The Warden went out to meet the man himself. 

—

After what must have been over an hour of trying to get Sam’s attention, Wilbur was seriously considering leaving and coming back with more TNT. The miniscule amount he had brought with him would not nearly be enough to even make a dent in the fucking fortress that was the prison, but any locked building could be opened with enough of the stuff. 

Seriously, what the fuck was Sam playing at? It was clear the man had noticed him, since Wilbur had seen him peering over the ceiling of the prison a couple times. He couldn’t tell for sure with those goggles Sam had on, but he even thought they had made eye contact a few times. 

And yet, every time Sam would just glance at him and then head back in the prison. Wilbur had even tried going in through the portal that seemed to serve as a door to the place, but it only led him to a small room. 

So, he was locked out. Which would normally be fine since Wilbur didn’t have any interest in the interior of the prison (for now, at least), but since Sam wouldn’t come out to actually talk to him, it was quickly becoming frustrating. Frustrating enough for Wilbur to start considering a more explosive plan B. 

He was saved from that plan (or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Sam was saved from that plan) when the illustrious warden finally left the prison to meet him.    

He looked pissed, as much as Wilbur could tell with the man’s face nearly entirely covered, which Wilbur thought was a bit unfair. Wilbur was the one left out here to wait Prime knows how long just to have a simple conversation, after all. 

But whatever. He was out here now, and Wilbur was mature enough to let go of any previous annoyance. He put on his biggest grin, the one that always seemed to disarm people. Something to do with the stitches, Wilbur guessed.   

“Sam! So glad you could make time for me. That prison must be keeping you real busy, huh? The sun’s practically set already. At this rate, I’m gonna have to fumble my way home in the dark!”

(Okay, so maybe he couldn’t let go of all of his annoyance. He had been standing out here for hours for Prime’s sake!) 

“Wilbur.” Sam said flatly, sparing him no sympathy. “What is your business here. The prison does not allow visitors.” 

Yeesh, Wilbur thought to himself. It wasn’t like he knew Sam particularly well before his death, but he could’ve sworn the man had at least a sliver of humor to his name. He certainly didn’t remember him being this joyless to talk to.  

“Oh, no need to get so defensive, I know all about the whole ‘no visitors’ rule.” Wilbur continued undeterred, waving a hand, “I don’t have any business with the prison. I wanted to talk with you.” 

The only sign that Sam was caught off guard by this was a slight pause in his movements. Even then, it was hard to say for sure. Wilbur would never admit it out loud, but the whole ‘mask plus extreme stoicism’ thing Sam had going on was starting to unnerve him a bit. He wasn’t used to not being able to get any kind of read on another person. Even Dream was more expressive.

“If it’s an urgent matter, then make it quick.” Sam’s voice didn’t give him any clues as to what he was thinking either, other than the obvious fact that he was annoyed. “If not, then I’d prefer you didn’t take up my time while I’m working.”

“Oh come on Sam. Surely you don’t think I’d wait around here so long if it wasn’t important.” 

“What is it then.”

Wilbur paused, considering what his approach should be. He had been working on the assumption that he’d be able to broach the topic in a more roundabout way, like he had with Quackity. Unfortunately, that strategy had relied on his naive hope that Sam would be able to hold a conversation like a normal person.

Clearly, he should have taken Quackity’s comment about Sam’s reclusiveness as a warning.  

But stopping now simply wasn’t an option. Not after being made to wait so long. Besides, perhaps a more direct method would be best in this situation. 

“I was just curious. Did something happen between you and Tommy?” 

That at least got a visible reaction, though only a slight tensing of the shoulders. Sam was quick to quell it however, and when he spoke again, his voice was flat. 

“Tommy is banned from the prison. That is all.” 

Okay, not particularly helpful information. “Isn’t everyone banned from the prison? Except you and Dream, I suppose. Don’t tell me Tommy’s double banned or something, I’m sure whatever he did wasn’t that bad.” 

Sam scrutinized him in silence. Wilbur didn’t look away from his goggles. 

“What’s the point of this?” Sam deflected, finally breaking the tension. “Why are you really here? Why are you asking these questions?”

Wilbur replied with an exaggerated shrug. “Can’t a man worry about his little brother?”

“Did he say something to you that made you worry?” 

The question felt more like a test than a genuine inquiry. Judging by Sam’s tone and posture, he didn’t believe Wilbur was capable of worrying about anyone but himself. It made Wilbur feel at once defensive and uneasy, but all he could do was push forwards.  

“Maybe, maybe not.” 

They fell into another silence. When Sam broke it, his voice was gruff. It was possibly the most emotion he had displayed in the entire conversation. “Tommy can say what he wants. But I’m not sure what gave you the idea that I’d want to talk with you. I have no intention of- going after him , or whatever paranoid little idea you’ve gotten into your head. Is that all you needed?”

“Well, seeing as you haven’t actually answered my question-”

“If you have questions, you should ask Tommy. You’re brothers, aren’t you? I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that you’re worried about him.” Despite his tone not changing, Wilbur could practically feel the sarcasm rolling off the other man. Wilbur ground his teeth together. This would not be for nothing damn it, not after he had spent hours standing around this depressing fucking building-

“Now if that is all, I have very important work I need to attend to. I’ve wasted enough of my time out here.” 

“Wait! Sam-” Wilbur had barely reached his arm out before Sam disappeared through the nether portal. This time, he knew the man would not be coming out again, no matter how long Wilbur waited. 

“Fuck!” Wilbur shouted. “Fucking bastard!” He kicked at the obsidian wall, only to recoil at the new pain in his foot. He felt the familiar tendrils of anger coursing through him, lighting up his nerves. Any exhaustion he might have felt from being awake so long was quickly extinguished. 

“Who the fuck does he think he is!” He growled to himself, stomping away from the prison. “He thinks I wasted his time? Leaving me to wait out there and then not even answering a simple question- acting like I’m the paranoid one when he’s the one being sketchy as hell. Bastard.” 

Wilbur could feel his heart beating against his ribs almost violently. He still wasn’t quite used to the sensation and grabbed at the front of his sweater absentmindedly. 

“‘Just ask Tommy’ he says, well, maybe I will ask Tommy. At the very least, I need to make sure he knows how much of a fucking prick you are.”

By the time Wilbur caught his breath, he realized that his feet had taken him back to the burger van. His first impulse was to turn on his heel and head straight for Tommy’s house, needing to vent his frustration and prove that he was very much capable of talking to his own fucking brother thank you very much, no matter what Sam’s stupid smug tone of voice wanted to imply. 

But the sky was pitch black, and Wilbur didn’t even know what time it was but he knew if he came banging on Tommy’s door right now he’d look like a maniac. He wasn’t completely lacking in self-awareness.  

Tomorrow then. Tomorrow he would meet up with Tommy, and he would ask him straight out what he meant about Sam, and then Tommy would tell him and they would have a reasonable talk like adults. Because Sam didn’t know anything about him and Tommy. 

Unfortunately for Wilbur, coming to that conclusion did not do anything to settle the manic energy that was nearly overwhelming at this point, so trying to sleep would almost definitely be a pointless endeavor. Instead he paced the van, throwing some burgers on the grill that turned out almost completely burned. That didn’t matter though. It was more about the fire than the food.

By the time Wilbur collapsed into the messy pile of blankets he called his bed, the sun had begun to rise. In perhaps the first stroke of luck he had experienced that day, he had remembered to turn the grills off before falling into a dreamless sleep. 

Chapter Text

He was sinking. 

Or maybe he was floating? It was hard for Tommy to tell. He just knew he was drifting, gently, and that his eyes were closed. 

It was quiet. Peaceful. He let himself drift. 

The water was warm. Was he in water? He supposed he would have to be, what else do people float in? 

…No. There was something he was forgetting. Another place. Another place that made him float. 

His eyes shot open, but it made no difference. It was pitch black either way, there was nothing solid to hold onto, no landmarks or light, just nothing nothing nothing

“I-I’m cold…” he heard. Was that his voice? Did he really sound like that? It didn’t feel like it belonged to him. But who else could it be? He was alone.

“Help…” It was his voice but it wasn’t his. He was cold but the water was warm, pressing into him on all sides, suffocating, please, please, just let me out I’ll be good I’ll be good please I’m sorry just help me you said you’d help me you promised please I don’t want to be alone I’m sorry please let me go home I just want-

Tommy woke with a silent gasp, shuddering. Fuck. It was too dark in here. He fumbled for a torch with shaking fingers, though the light did little to help him settle. Everything was too muffled. He hurried to put his aids in, but they barely helped. He felt distant from his senses.  

He was in his room. It looked the same as it always did. The thought of staying inside it was suddenly unbearable. 

He stumbled out the front door, shivering under the night breeze. It was the middle of the night, predictably, but at least the moon was big and bright. He rubbed his arms. He was perhaps slightly underdressed for nighttime weather, but he didn’t mind the cold. It wasn’t like the cold of- the cold of his dream. It was a living chill. 

He only got to enjoy standing alone in the cold for a few moments before a sudden movement caused him to nearly jump out of his skin. He jerked his head around, searching for the source of the sound. Fucking hell, was someone trying to break into his house again? It better not be Connor trying to steal his shit, Tommy swore to Prime. 

“Connor!” He shouted, fishing a weapon out of his inventory. “Or whoever you are! I’m not dead you fucking dickhead, my house isn’t up for grabs!” 

The shuffling sounds got louder, Tommy now being able to tell that they were coming from behind his house. He ran to confront the intruder, brandishing his sword with practiced ease, only to nearly drop it when he saw a flash of green. 

For a single second, his mind is thrown into pure panic. No. No, he couldn’t have escaped I would have known about it he can’t get out he can’t-

He stumbled back a step, nearly tripping, and only then did his eyes fully focus on what he was seeing. The green that had nearly sent him into a panic was not from Dream’s hoodie, but instead only Sam’s fur. The relief that filled him was so heady that he momentarily forgot that he didn’t want Sam creeping around his house either. 

“Prime, man. You scared the shit out of me. What the fuck are you doing out here?”

Now that Tommy had a chance to actually look at Sam, he noticed he looked… not scared per se, but… caught. Like he had really been banking on Tommy not noticing him. It makes his hackles rise immediately. 

Sam took a small step back. “I was just leaving. Sorry.” 

“Oh no you fuckin’ don’t.” Tommy growled through grit teeth. “You’re acting sketchy as hell. You know that right? Please tell me you’re self-aware enough to know that.” 

Sam’s discomfort was obvious, despite the fact that his expression was hidden behind his gas mask and goggles. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look. I wasn’t doing anything. I was just…” Sam cut himself off with a sigh, his whole body sagging. “This was a mistake. I need to get back to the prison. Sorry if I woke you up.” 

“You didn’t.” Tommy said simply. “You also didn’t answer my question.” 

Sam shifted his weight, looking seconds from just turning tail and running away. Tommy didn’t actually have a plan for what he would do if Sam did run; sure, he still had his sword in his hand, but it wasn’t like he was going to attack him. Probably. Not if he wasn’t provoked at least. 

Luckily, Sam saved him the trouble of making that particular decision and stayed put. Not that he seemed happy about it. Seriously, dude was acting like staying and talking with Tommy was somehow shaving years off his life or something. 

“Look, Tommy. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I really didn’t come to… steal from you, or spy on you or anything like that. I didn’t want to bother you at all actually, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice me.” 

Obviously, Tommy almost said. He waited impatiently for Sam to get to the point. 

“I just… I wanted to check on you.” Sam said. 

Tommy waited for him to continue. To follow up with something like: ‘to make sure you weren’t causing any trouble’, or ‘so I could know if you were planning anything,’ but the words never came. Sam just stood in silence, awkward as ever. 

“...You wanted to ‘check on me’?” Tommy parroted, disbelief coloring his voice. “...Why?”

Sam shrugged sharply, clearly annoyed by Tommy’s continued questioning. “I don’t know,” he hissed. “To make sure you weren’t dead? Or in some sort of danger? I never know where you are anymore and it’s-” Sam fumbled for words, “stressful.” 

A bunch of emotions hit Tommy at once. He had no idea what his face must’ve looked like and hoped Sam couldn’t make it out well in the dark. Eventually, the roulette wheel of feelings settled on the most convenient option: anger. 

“Stressful.” Tommy said flatly. “ You’re stressing out about me, even though it was you who told me to not come near you-”

“I never said you couldn’t come near me.” Sam protested. “Just that you weren’t allowed by the prison-” 

“What’s the difference?” Tommy shouted, unable to control the volume of his voice. “You never fucking leave it! Why are you acting like I’m the one avoiding you! And- and even if I was avoiding you, I’d have good reason to! T-the last time I saw you, you let Ghostbur die! You let me die! You were supposed to care about me!” 

Tommy’s voice was shaking by the time he got to the end of his sentence, and he hated it. Hated how he never felt like he had control over his own words, his own voice. He knew he talked too much, too loudly, and still, he never seemed to be able to make himself understood. 

His anger didn’t even have the courtesy to stick around very long, quickly cooling into a resigned nervousness as he waited for Sam’s response. Prime, he shouldn’t even care about what Sam had to say, and yet here he was, breathing harshly into the otherwise quiet night. He stared hard at the ground, eyes burning. He didn’t want to know what Sam looked like. 

“Tommy, I… I do care about you. You know that. It’s just- you have to understand, I have to prioritize the prison. Everyone- every thing is depending on me. I-I didn’t…” he swallowed audibly. “I didn’t want you to die.” 

The worst part was that Sam sounded like he meant it. His voice was all quiet and choked up, like Tommy’s death was actually something that weighed on him, kept him up at night. Tommy didn’t lift his eyes from the ground. 

“Then why did you let him kill me? Why didn’t you let me out?” Tommy asked, halfway between accusing and pleading. His voice came out smaller than he wanted. He wished he could bring back his anger, but all he felt was tired. 

“I wanted to. Prime Tommy, I tried, when I realized what was going on, but I couldn’t- I wasn’t fast enough-”

“Why didn’t you let me out before?” Tommy interrupted, finally looking Sam in the face. He still couldn’t see his expression, but one of his arms was half outstretched, as if he was about to put a hand on his shoulder, except that it stayed frozen in the space between them. “I asked you- I asked you so many times. You could have just let me out.” 

Sam’s hand dropped back to his side. “No, Tommy.” His voice was soft, but steady. “I couldn’t take that risk. You of all people should understand why.” 

Tommy didn’t respond to that. There was nothing to say. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really. 

He blinked hard. Changed gears. “You should kill him.” He said, because he had to try, while Sam was here, talking to him. “You should have just let me kill him, but you didn’t, and now you’re the only one who can because no one else can go to the prison, so-” 

“I can’t kill Dream, Tommy. You know that.”   

“Do I?” Tommy scoffed. “Do I know that? Because you can. You should. You just don’t want to-”

“Of course I want to.” Sam hissed, the sound like a lit fuse. “You really think I don’t want him dead? After all the shit he said to me? After what he did to you? It’s not about what I want. The server needs the revive book, so as long as he’s the only one who has it-” 

“The revive book isn’t worth it.” Tommy stressed. This whole conversation had been a wash, and all Tommy really wanted to do was get back in bed, but if there was a chance he could convince Sam of this one thing, if he could just get him to believe him on this, then maybe… “He’s not going to use it for anything good. He’s just going to hurt people. He can’t… No one can be allowed to play with life and death like that. It’s not worth it.” 

Sam was quiet as Tommy stared at him, hoping that with his eyes alone he could make him understand the importance of his words. 

“I can’t believe that Tommy, I’m sorry.” Sam said softly. “Dream deserves to die. I know that. But I can’t give up on the revive book. You were… you were dead. And then you came back. That’s worth something, isn’t it?” 

Tommy shook his head, once again dropping his eyes to the ground. He was coming dangerously close to crying in front of Sam, and that simply wasn’t an option. 

“It’s not worth it.” He repeated, even though he knew it was useless. “Please, Sam. Please listen to me.” 

“...I need to get back to the prison.” Sam said. He didn’t move. Neither did Tommy, though he ached to. His feet remained rooted to the ground. He didn’t lift his eyes to look at Sam, not even when he heard his footsteps.

It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder, his whole body jolting at the sensation, that he realized the footsteps had been getting closer, rather than leaving.

“I’m going to fix this, Tommy. I promise. It’s all going to be okay. Just wait a little bit longer, alright?” 

Tommy didn’t know how to even begin to respond to that. But Sam was gone before he could open his mouth, so maybe he didn’t have to.   

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, Tommy had trouble getting back to sleep after his weird conversation with Sam. Not that he had been sleeping well anyway, as insomnia had been pretty much constant for him since… well for a long time, anyway. It left him feeling strung out once light began to peak over the horizon, though not in a way which was unfamiliar. 

He was considering just not leaving his house today at all, but before he could properly settle into a day of listlessness and overthinking, there was a series of sharp knocks on his door. 

Goddammit. Tommy could already feel a headache building behind his eyebrows. At least whoever was outside was polite enough to knock, instead of just breaking in. 

Ignoring the paranoid ramblings in the back of his mind warning him that it was Dream knocking, freshly escaped and waiting to torture him, he forced himself out of bed to go tell whoever was outside to fuck off and leave him to his misery. 

His mood did not improve upon seeing that it was Wilbur, arm frozen mid-knock. The man was quick to plaster an innocent smile on his face, as if Tommy believed that for a second. 

“What do you want, Wilbur.” He asked flatly. His brother’s smile didn’t even falter, practiced as it was. 

“Good morning to you too, Tommy.” Wilbur said, smoothly avoiding the question. “Sleep well?” 

Tommy just stared at him. He hadn’t spent any time admiring himself in the mirror today, but he knew he looked like shit. There was no way Wilbur didn’t notice the bags under his eyes, or the mess that was his hair, or any of the other thousand details that made it very clear that Tommy had not ‘slept well’. 

It wasn’t like Wilbur was any more put together. The red sunglasses he had taken to wearing hid his eyebags at least, but the unbrushed hair and ugly stitching were obvious as ever. Tommy truly had no idea what Wilbur was trying to accomplish with his posturing.  

“Yeah.” Tommy answered flatly. “I slept amazing, big man. Best sleep of my life.” He smiled, sharp and wry. “Why are you here?”  

Wilbur huffed, smile twitching at the edges. “Must you always assume the worst of me?” He winced. “Don’t answer that. Look, I really don’t want anything from you, I just want to… touch base, you know? See how you’re doing.” 

Tommy wanted to say: we’ve been hanging out near constantly since you got back, and you haven’t once been interested in how I’ve been doing. He didn’t say that. Really, a part of him couldn’t help growing hopeful at the prospect of Wilbur simply worrying over his wellbeing, or just wanting to talk with him. That hope couldn’t overpower his doubt, however.  

He sighed. Despite everything, he wouldn’t push Wilbur away, either. “Whatever. I guess I should probably get out of the house anyway. D’you wanna take a walk?”

Wilbur’s smile sat a bit more genuinely on his face at Tommy’s acceptance, and Tommy bit down on the urge to smile back. “Sure! You can lead the way. I left Ranboo in charge of the van, so my schedule’s clear.” 

“You got Ranboo to work with you?” Tommy asked, incredulous as he stepped out of his doorway. “You didn’t pressure him into anything, did you?” 

“Of course not!” Wilbur answered, seeming genuinely offended. “He’s a perfectly willing employee.” 

Tommy just nodded silently, stepping onto the Prime Path. It wasn’t worth engaging any further with this, and he could just ask Ranboo about it later. 

He heard Wilbur’s footsteps join his on the path, and it wasn’t long before he caught up. Tommy could tell he was thinking hard about what he should say, and how he should say it, because he kept glancing at him from under his sunglasses and furrowing his brows and making the classic ‘I want to ask a weird question but I don’t know how to do it without sounding weird’ face that Wilbur got sometimes.  

Tommy decided to cut to the chase. “Wilbur.” He said, breaking the man out of his thoughts, “Do you want to ask me something?”

Wilbur at least looked sheepish from being called out, but barreled on regardless. “Yeah, actually.” He scratched the back of his neck. “How well do you know Sam?”

The question was so unexpected it nearly made Tommy stumble, and he was sure Wilbur noticed. Why the hell was he asking about Sam of all people? Were they fighting? Did Sam say something to him? Was Wilbur trying to break Dream out of prison? Was he hoping he could pry information about the warden’s weaknesses out of Tommy, all while under the guise of a simple conversation-

“Uh, Tommy? Are you alright?” 

Tommy realized he had stopped in place, and Wilbur was now staring at him with naked curiosity. Tommy made a conscious effort to relax his jaw before he spoke. 

“Why do you want to know about Sam?” 

Wilbur shrugged with a blatantly forced nonchalance. “No particular reason. I just thought-” 

“No.” Tommy cut in. “Don’t ‘no particular reason’ me, bastard.” and here his tone turned harsh, his hands making exaggerated air quotes. “You don’t just ask about random server members. You’re fuckin’ plotting something.”  

Wilbur’s eyes rolled skyward. “C’mon Tommy. I was stuck at a train station for 13 years; I’ve missed a lot. Can’t I just be curious?” 

“Not curious about Sam.” Tommy said. “Is it something to do with the prison? If you’re planning to break- to break Dream out, then I’ll fucking fight you, I swear to Prime. You can’t- I won’t let you-” 

Tommy couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice, and hated how goddamn obvious he was being. Wilbur took mercy on him and cut him off before Tommy could work himself up more than he already had. 

“I don’t want to break into the prison, Tommy, calm down.” Wilbur’s face betrayed nothing. Tommy couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. He started walking again, Tommy following him. “I just… Well, I had an interesting run-in with the man recently. It got me thinking about him. Really, it’s just curiosity.” 

“Any chance you’re gonna tell me what this ‘run in’ was about? Did you two talk? What did you talk about?” 

Wilbur shrugged. “It wasn’t really that important. I don’t even remember what was said, exactly. The conversation itself isn’t- it just made me think about him again. He certainly has a much bigger job than I remember.” 

This time, it was much easier for Tommy to tell that he was being lied to. Or at least, that Wilbur was avoiding telling him the important parts of his story. Clearly, they had talked about something, and the not knowing was making Tommy’s skin feel too tight over his body. 

“You’re so full of shit Wilbur. I’m not going to just- You can’t trick me into giving you information about the prison. I won’t. I can’t-” 

“I don’t care about the damn prison!” Wilbur spun around, nearly shouting. Tommy almost ran into him due to his sudden stop but managed to plant his feet in the wood of the Prime Path. He looked up at his brother with wide, startled eyes. 

“What happened between you and Sam?” Wilbur asked, the facade of pleasantries abandoned. “Something did. He won’t tell me anything, no surprise, and I know you don’t exactly trust me but-” he took a breath, running an agitated hand through his hair. “But I clearly missed something. A lot of things, obviously, but this is the one thing no one will fucking talk to me about.” 

Once it was clear Wilbur had finished his tirade, Tommy’s first impulse was to start laughing hysterically. It was only through immense power of will that he was able to stop manic giggles from leaving his throat. Never in a million years would Tommy have guessed that this would be the thing Wilbur would latch on to, but at the same time, it was somehow also completely unsurprising. Of course Wilbur would somehow sense Tommy’s emotional attachment to Sam, and of course he would immediately try to pry his way into Tommy’s business. 

“It’s none of your business what happened between me and Sam.” Tommy started, once he could manage to think over the buzzing filling his head. “How did you even- Nothing even happened. You don’t know anything about it.” 

Wilbur threw his hands up in exasperation. “That’s the problem! I don’t know anything. That’s why I’m asking you. At least tell me if he’s dangerous.” 

“Danger-” And here, Tommy did laugh, unable to stop himself. “Dream is dangerous. He is the most dangerous person on this server and every time I tell you that you call him a hero! You don’t give a shit about who I think is dangerous. Why are you actually asking me this?” 

For the first time since he had knocked on Tommy’s door this morning, Wilbur looked genuinely caught off guard. They both stopped walking again, and Tommy dearly hoped no one else was walking the Prime Path right now. 

“Tommy…” Wilbur said, after a silent moment of consideration, “I know Dream is dangerous. I’ve always known that. But he’s, I mean, he brought me back to life! Brought us back to life. And he’s trapped in that prison, anyway. He’s not an immediate danger. Not like Sam might be, if there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite Wilbur.” Tommy said. “You never tell me anything, or you just make stuff up, but then you want me to tell you everything! Even though you never listen to me!”

Tommy really hoped there was nobody nearby, because his voice was getting higher and higher. Fuck, and his eyes were stinging too, and he knew he sounded like a child, and he didn’t even know why this was setting him off so much. Wilbur had just asked a question. 

“I listen to you!” Wilbur said, looking like he couldn’t decide between being guilty or offended, “I’m trying to listen to you now, if you would just talk to me!” 

“I want to talk to you!” Tommy shouted, and oh, he was definitely crying now, wasn’t he, great, “I want to talk to you, but I can never just talk to you anymore. It always has to be about something else, and you never-” he interrupted himself with a sharp inhale, and Prime, he hated this, why was he crying now of all times? He didn’t even care. Wilbur was just asking a question. It didn’t matter. “Prime. Nevermind. I’m being stupid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Wilbur said quickly, his hands raised as if to grab Tommy’s shoulders. The gesture is familiar. Tommy privately wishes people would just make up their minds on whether or not they wanted to touch him. “Maybe… maybe we should go somewhere else. Less public. I mean, if,” and Wilbur sounded strangely uncertain, in a way he hardly ever sounded, “if you still want to talk. Right now.” 

Tommy nodded sharply, turning his face away from Wilbur. It was hard to look at him sometimes. Even more so in the rare moments like these where his face suddenly went soft and apologetic. He was too much like Ghostbur at these times, rare as they were. 

But he did still want to talk to him. And if he didn’t do it now then, well, who knew what would happen tomorrow. Everything was balanced on a knife’s edge. 

“Yeah, okay.” Tommy said, looking at Wilbur’s chin instead of his eyes. “We can keep talking. Lead the way.” 

Wilbur turned to walk, and Tommy followed him, just like he always did.  

—

They ended up on some nondescript hill a bit away from civilization. Tommy sat with his knees brought up to his chest, Wilbur quiet beside him. He was kind of shifting around, like he was hoping Tommy would speak first, but Tommy couldn’t be bothered. He watched the flowers in front of him sway in the wind while he waited for his sometimes-brother to say something. 

Said brother cleared his throat. “So. You uh. You feeling a bit better now, Toms?”

Tommy shrugged, the nickname making his chest ache. “Sure. I guess. Do you still want to talk about Sam?” 

“Well-” Wilbur started. He clearly still wanted to talk about Sam. “I mean. Not if you’re going to- Not if it’s going to upset you that much again.” 

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t surprised that Wilbur wasn’t addressing the actual content of his little outburst, but he was glad he was at least given the option to shut the topic down. He knew the chances of Wilbur telling him the real reason he was asking about Sam were practically nonexistent, but he also knew (hoped) that Wilbur wouldn’t want to hurt him on purpose. 

For as wary as he was of Wilbur, he probably wasn’t actively trying to break Dream out of prison. Even if he was, Tommy would be the last person he went to for help with that particular project. Even at his most oblivious, Wilbur was not stupid enough to seriously think Tommy would be down for that. 

There still remained the larger issue, however, which was that talking about Sam felt a bit like picking at an open wound. It was too soon, or maybe too late, and the whole thing had begun and ended with only two people other than Sam and Tommy ever knowing about it, and was it really safe to include Wilbur into that circle? 

But Tommy wanted to talk. Tommy liked talking, and he especially liked talking with Wilbur, whenever Wilbur wasn’t being the worst. If talking about Sam was picking at a wound, not talking about him felt like letting that same wound fester.  

He opened his mouth and closed it with a click. He could feel Wilbur looking at him. 

“...I won’t get upset again.” Tommy said. “Well, actually, that depends on how much of a prick you are. But we can talk about Sam.” He paused. “I still want you to tell me why you’re asking though. The real reason.” 

Wilbur looked away. His hands were clenching and unclenching restlessly into the dirt. 

“I did tell you.” Wilbur said. “Pretty much. I had a conversation with Sam and it… made me think about some things. I know something happened between the two of you. When I was dead. But I have no idea what it was about, and no one talks about whatever it was. If it was important, I have no way of knowing. That ghost’s memories are pretty much useless.”

“Don’t talk about Ghostbur that way.” Tommy cut in on instinct.

“Yeah, yeah.” Wilbur said. He looked at the sky then, blowing out a big breath of air. “I know that I’m… thinking about it too much. More than I need to be. I mean I know that I’m- I know.” He said vaguely. “But it’s like a blind spot. It’s distracting, thinking about it. I know at least a little bit about everything else, even if I don’t know everything. But then there’s this one thing…” 

Tommy flopped down onto the grass, laughing softly. “You don’t know anything about anything, big dubs.” He said. He folded his arms across his stomach. “It’s really not… it’s not that important. I mean. It’s not something you have to worry about.” 

“No?” Tommy heard Wilbur say. His whole field of vision was taken up by the sky.

“No.” Tommy answered. He swallowed. “If I tell you… If I tell you, you have to promise not to interrupt. Just let me get it out. Okay?” 

There was a pause, and Tommy wondered if Wilbur was nodding, but didn’t move to look at him. “Yeah.” Wilbur said eventually. “Yeah, alright.” 

Tommy kept his eyes on the sky. Nothing but blue and white and the painful bright of the sun in his periphery. 

“Sam is… he offered, or we tried to-” Tommy started, before shaking his head. That wasn’t right. It didn’t come out right. He tried again. “He adopted me. Like- he was my dad, for a little bit. Or maybe he still is? It’s hard to tell. It’s not like- I can’t exactly compare it to anything.” 

Even without looking at Wilbur, Tommy could tell he was aching to say something. The fact that he didn’t was something Tommy was intensely grateful for. 

“And then he… well, we had some disagreements over the prison. Disagreements involving me and Ghostbur getting fucking killed, because he’s a bastard.” Tommy said.

He wanted to know how Wilbur was reacting to this, but he kept looking at the sky. Blue and white. “But I still don’t think he’s dangerous. Well, he is, but not dangerous like Dream’s dangerous. He has reasons for what he does, stupid reasons, but he doesn’t just want people to suffer. I don’t think he does. He still…” Tommy didn’t want to tell Wilbur about his meeting with Sam last night, so he just let his words trail off.  

He still didn’t know what to think about his conversation with Sam last night. He didn’t know what to think about the hearing aids he was wearing, either. He didn’t know what to think about Sam, full stop. 

Wilbur, on the other hand, clearly had his own thoughts. “...How did that even happen? Sam adopting you, I mean. You two barely knew each other before.” 

Tommy could’ve guessed Wilbur would immediately have follow up questions, but that didn’t make him any more prepared for them. Somewhere in his head, Tommy had imagined he would say his piece, Wilbur would nod mysteriously and then the conversation would end and they would never speak of it again. Still, true to his word, Wilbur hadn’t interrupted him, so maybe Tommy owed him this much. 

He sat up, brushing grass out of his hair. Wilbur looked at him, and Tommy looked back. 

“It just kind of happened, I guess. We were building my hotel together. He was…” Tommy shrugged. “He said he wanted to adopt me. I wanted to let him. And then…” He looked away from Wilbur but didn’t lay back down. “Then it got all fucked up, I guess.” 

Saying it out loud, here, next to Wilbur, made it all feel horribly real. 

Wilbur didn’t have a response. It was almost nice, if you ignored the circumstance, to just sit quietly together. Tommy wished he would say something.   

When Wilbur finally did say something, his voice was strange. Tommy couldn’t quite place the tone. 

“Huh.” He said. “I guess that answers that. You really haven’t changed, have you Tommy?” 

Tommy didn’t know if that was meant to be complimentary or insulting. He felt relieved and disappointed all at once. “No.” He said, “I guess not.”        

Chapter Text

The addition of another prisoner did not change The Warden’s routine as much as he had initially anticipated. 

He still spent most of his time inside the vault, only leaving when absolutely necessary. 

He still studied the cameras anytime he wasn’t patrolling the prison itself, noting when he could what the prisoners talked about, how they held themselves, if he could read any plans in their pixelated expressions. 

(He still didn’t know how Techno had smuggled in a bell of all things. He wanted to confiscate it, but he couldn’t think of any method of taking it from them that wasn’t more risk than it was worth.) 

The Warden himself was sleeping less than ever. Still, he felt good. He had done a good thing, surely. The server was safer now. 

—

Wilbur did not come back to hang around the prison after their initial conversation, thankfully. If he had noticed Technoblade’s sudden absence, he was not bothering him about it. He didn’t quite know what the relationship was between Wilbur and Technoblade, just that it existed. He could only hope it wasn’t significant enough for Wilbur to be a problem. 

According to Quackity, if anyone had noticed Technoblade’s disappearance, they were keeping quiet about it. 

Quackity had told him this during a meeting in Las Navadas, the only reason The Warden ever left the prison these days. 

(“It’ll be suspicious,” Quackity had said, when The Warden asked if they could have any necessary meetings in the prison. “If I’m seen constantly coming and going out of there. Especially since visitors aren’t allowed. It’s bad enough the bastard’s always getting blood on my shirts.”) 

It was a necessary compromise, but that didn’t mean The Warden had to like it. It was nerve wracking to be away from the prison for any length of time, despite Quackity’s skill of keeping things short and to the point. 

This meant he was in no mood to stop and chat as he reached the outskirts of Las Nevadas on his way back. 

Unfortunately, by the time the large decorated van came into view and he put together who it likely belonged to, it was too late. 

Wilbur was leaning like a lanky, ragged scarecrow against the side of the van, smoking. Despite The Warden’s effort to subtly change direction, his presence was immediately noticed. 

Wilbur wasn’t wearing his glasses, so The Warden could see clearly how his bad eye drooped over dead skin. His gaze was no less piercing for the loss, and he bared his teeth in a grin. 

“Sam!” He exclaimed, pushing himself off the side of the van and dropping his cigarette underfoot. “How funny I should run into you. I was just thinking about you, you know. It must be fate.” 

“I don’t think so.” The Warden answered, already trying to escape the conversation. “I was just returning to the prison. We don’t have anything to talk about.” 

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “No? But what if I want to talk to you?”

“Then that’s too bad, Wilbur. I don’t have time to talk.” 

“Why don’t I walk you back to the prison? Then we can talk, and I won’t waste any of your valuable time. Everybody’s happy, right?” 

Wilbur was still smiling, but The Warden wasn’t stupid. He knew there was some sort of ploy here, some game Wilbur was playing. He didn’t like it.

“Aren’t you busy?” The Warden asked, nodding at the open window of the old van.

“No.” Wilbur said without missing a beat. “We’re closed right now.” 

The Warden felt the beginnings of a headache beat behind his eyebrows. He sighed into his mask. “Fine.” He said. “We can walk together. But I’m not letting you into the prison, and I’m not staying to chat. I’ve wasted enough time here already.” 

“And I wouldn’t dream of taking any more of it.” Wilbur said, chipper. He set off in the direction of the prison before The Warden could reply. 

His strides were long, at least, so they should make good time. The Warden had forgotten just how tall Wilbur was. His ghost had always been curling in on himself, making himself smaller. Post-revival, Wilbur made no such effort, and seemed to revel in taking up space. 

“So, Sam.” Wilbur started, digging his sunglasses out of his coat pocket. “I guess I should say thank you.”

“Oh?” The Warden said, trying to mask any trepidation he felt under bland curiosity. He really hoped this wasn’t about Technoblade. “Anything in particular you’re thanking me for?”  

“Well, I was just thinking. If it weren’t for you, I might not be alive right now. I mean, you’re basically Dream’s keeper, right?” 

“I guess you could put it like that.” The Warden said unenthusiastically. 

“If he had been killed before bringing me back, we wouldn’t be talking right now.” Wilbur continued. “I’d still be in that train station. With Dream there too, I suppose.”  

Wilbur’s nearly wistful tone made trepidation flare within The Warden. “The prison does not allow visitors. That hasn’t changed, Wilbur.”

Wilbur shook his head. “I remember. I’m not gonna break any of your rules. That’s not what this is about.” 

The Warden scrutinized Wilbur. He had no idea what the man was thinking, which was extremely frustrating. He wished he could just say what he meant. 

“What is this about then?”

“I told you. I wanted to thank you. I thought it would be appropriate. After all, we’re sort of family members now, aren’t we?” Wilbur said, chewing on the word ‘family’ like it tasted foul.   

For a single moment, The Warden had no earthly clue what Wilbur was talking about. Then, he realized: 

“You’ve spoken with Tommy?” He said flatly.

“I decided to take your advice.” Wilbur replied airily. 

“And now, what? You want to intimidate me? I have to be honest Wilbur, It’s still not clear where you’re going with this.” The Warden said.        

“You’re so untrusting, Sam.” Wilbur said. “Can’t we talk like normal people? I just want to get to know you better. How have you been? How’s fatherhood been treating you?”  

Wilbur’s tone was nauseatingly saccharine. His wiry frame loomed over The Warden, tight with tension. 

The Warden faced the horizon but kept Wilbur in his periphery. The familiar shape of the prison grew steadily in front of him. 

“I could ask you the same.” He said. “How’s Fundy doing?” 

Sam surprised himself at how spiteful the question came out. He surprised Wilbur too, it seemed, the man’s steps stuttering beside him.

“That’s-” Wilbur started, and for a moment the veneer was gone, all of the ex-presidents ugly hurt and old anger coming out in the word, before his tone smoothed out again. “I’m asking about you, Sam.” 

“I thought we were just talking.” Sam shot back. “Or are you the only one allowed to ask invasive questions?” 

“Invasive? It’s not-” Wilbur cut himself off with an incredulous groan. “You’re being unreasonable Sam. I have a right to be worried-”

“Do you?” Sam hissed. “Because I don’t remember you being a great influence on Tommy either. If anything, I should be the one worrying.” 

Sam knew he was getting too emotional, too invested. He had not allowed himself to think about Tommy in days, and now it was all spilling out under Wilbur’s prodding. He took some vicious satisfaction in the fact that he was not the only one compromised, his words clearly having struck a nerve with Wilbur. 

“I know he died in your prison.” Wilbur said, tone poisonous. Sam barely held back a flinch. “How about you tell me how that happened?” 

Sam’s throat was choked with soot. He was not a violent man, not really, but at that moment he wanted to strangle Wilbur Soot with his bare hands. The prison’s gate loomed ahead of them, not yet close enough for him to escape into it. 

He did not attack Wilbur, but he couldn’t stop words from leaving his throat, low and sharp. 

“He had already died twice before I met him. Under your watch. How old was he, when you let him get in a duel with Dream? Did you just stand and watch while he got shot in the throat?”    

He had barely gotten the sentence out before Wilbur was snarling, grabbing at the scruff of his throat. “Don’t talk about shit you don’t understand, you have no right-”

Sam shoved him off, hard, and he stumbled to the ground in a heap. Sam was so angry it felt like he was physically burning, but more than that he felt wild, like a cornered animal. Desperate. 

He wanted to hurt Wilbur. Badly. Wanted to get down in the dirt with him and punch him until he stopped moving. 

The image came so suddenly and viscerally into his mind that he found himself taking an unsteady step backwards. He was disturbed by his own thoughts, unsettled at his inability to control his own emotions. 

Wilbur’s face was screwed up in anger and surprise as he got back to his feet. He opened his mouth but Sam cut him off before he could speak. 

“Wilbur, if you keep talking I might actually kill you.” 

Something about Sam’s posture or tone must have clued Wilbur in that he wasn’t bluffing, because the man closed his mouth with a snap, still looking wired and incredulous. His hands were shaking in fists at his side.  

“I have a job to do, Wilbur.” Sam spoke, feeling like he was running on autopilot. Or, like he was a derailed train, barreling forward on inertia alone. “People are depending on me to make good choices. Responsible ones. Difficult ones. Of course you can’t understand that.” 

Sam’s chest was heaving. Wilbur was much the same, looking seconds away from lunging at him. But he stayed quiet. 

“I am going to leave.” Sam continued, feeling distant from his body, “and you are not going to follow me. I don’t want to see you around here again.”

If Wilbur broke his silence to respond to that, Sam didn’t hear it. He already had his back turned to the man, walking as fast as he could into the prison’s waiting mouth. 

—