Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night is still, crystalline. Empty streets like a hollowed corpse, leaving naught but bare bones behind; darkened windows; the sleeping breath of humanity, so sure of themselves locked behind their walls and doors that were supposed to protect them. 

Barriers of concrete, brick, and wood cannot protect against the inevitable.

He drifts down hallways like a shadow, leaving no signs of his arrival, only of the work he leaves behind.

A pale blade, glowing in the moonlight. One that cannot be seen by mortal eyes; just as he was invisible to their flawed sight, unable to see through the barrier between their reality and the one parallel to them. The spirits and monsters that wander among them. If the veil is ever to lift, it'd be enough to drive them insane.

How fragile. How sad .

Philza raises his blade, the cut swift and certain, guided by the millennia he'd spent fulfilling his duties.

For a moment, the woman in the bed gasps, the remaining ties that bind her to the mortal plane being severed. Then she relaxes, her spirit fading away peacefully. Undisturbed from her sleep.

Her caregivers would find her the next morning. They'd mourn, of course, but they'd heal. It would be better for the woman to pass on rather than remain here and continue suffering.

Philza bows his head, sword slipping back into the sheath at his side with just the faintest whisper.

"May your soul find peace and rest,” he murmurs. A simple blessing.

As quickly as he arrived, he disappears.

It’s nights like these he enjoyed the most, Phil thinks. The moon hangs in the sky like a silver mirror, haloed by the bright shine of constellations. He pauses for a moment, landing at the edge of a rooftop and spreading his wings, letting the faint breeze ruffle through his dark feathers.

He tilts his head back. Simply enjoying the peace of the night. 

A presence tugs at the back of his mind.

"Quiet night." Wilbur.

A snort. The gruffer voice of Technoblade follows, "Course it is. You're not even doing anything."

Phil can feel Wilbur bristle at the slight jab.

"Well, I wasn't asked, was I? You think I want to sit here and be useless?"

The pressure grows, a sure sign that Techno was going to retaliate. Phil clicks his tongue once, a soft reprimand to both. Immediately the two fall silent, their emotions calming to tranquil stillness. Phil smiles. There had once been a time it took much more to get them to get along.

"Neither of you are useless," he speaks aloud. Though they can understand his intent without speaking, he likes the act of talking to them as if they aren't bound in their vessel form.

"Wilbur, you play just as important a role as Techno. You're here to watch my back. And to look out for each other."

"Yeah, I know," Wilbur sighs, having heard this a million times before. "Can't help it if he's annoying as fuck though."

Phil fights a smile. Wil’s tone holds no malice but did it’s job, a ringing impression of annoyance comes from Techno.

Schooling his expression, Phil focuses on the other. "That goes for you too, Techno."

A huff. "Whatever."

This time he doesn't try hiding his grin. The two can fight all they want but Phil knows the truth: they love and care for each other like brothers. 

Phil raises his wings, leaning forward as he pitches off the roof he'd been resting on. For a second his stomach drops, gravity seizing hold of him and threatening to pull him crashing to earth. His wings flick out, spreading to their full length and he flaps, great muscles straining, pushing, to climb higher, higher into the air. And he flies.

He is freedom. He is Death.

He is a god.

In the early hours of the morning, right as the first blush of dawn appeared over the horizon, he saw it.

An out of place glow. A fuzzy, golden figure standing in place on a street corner as if uncertain of which way to turn. 

As his attention turned to it, so did Wil and Techno’s. The former gasps softly.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asks.

Phil nods. “A lost spirit,” he murmurs. “An untainted one at that.”

As the god of death, it was his duty to cut mortals free from their bonds tying them down to earth; to release them to pass over to the other side. To paradise, hell, purgatory. Whatever afterlife they believed in. Those who remained often become consumed or corrupted. The darkness killed them a second, more permanent, and very painful time.

There is no alternative for those spirits other than helping them move on.

Unblemished, however… 

Bound to a god, they could receive new life.

He spirals down, landing knees bent in front of the figure. Their head bobs as if in reaction, their body flickering like a small candle flame in the wind. A white, hollow void where eyes should be stares at Phil. Uncomprehending. Lost.

“They’re small,” Techno hummed.

“A teenager, most likely,” Phil agrees. “But size doesn’t indicate potential. Only the soul itself can do that.”

He stretches forth a hand, palm out. It’s been centuries since the last time he’d claimed a soul. The last one he’d chosen was Wilbur. Plucked from the field they’d found him wandering in. 

The words to the ritual are ancient. Older than himself. Old as time, perhaps. Or as long as souls have existed. As long as they’ve been vessels for gods such as himself.

Ancient magicks rippled off his tongue as he spoke the binding. Techno and Wil shudder, the most innate parts of themselves recognizing the power that bound them to Phil’s will; that turned them into vessels to be used.

A hum echoes in his head; a prickling sensation covering his scalp as a new connection opens in the back of his mind.

Memories, emotions, thoughts fly through his mind. Childlike wonder and stubbornness, glowing love and curiosity. The pure and untainted.

There’s a breath between the euphoria and the drop to the deepest black. This is always the worst part. The price for the link god and vessel would share.

Fists. Blood. Pain. Fear.

A tidal wave of darkness threatening to pull him under.

Just at the moment of despair, the moment Phil is certain that he will be overrun by the memories and be torn apart, the darkness faded. He exhales in relief, foreign memories slot away to be examined fully at a later time.

His symbol: dark ebony wings etch into the chest of the lost spirit. Directly over the heart.

Phil opens his hand and calls, the name coming to him naturally between one breath and another.  

“Tommy.”

Tommy responds, a bolt of light summoned to his hand; coalescing into a round object. The light fades and Phil’s holding a compass. Silver backed and weighed - but not heavy. The needle points perfectly towards true north.

Techno’s disappointment is sour. Wilbur’s less so, but more confused.

A simple compass for the god of death.

Philza smiles, if a little sadly. It’s the perfect vessel for Tommy.

The boy is silent. Sleeping. He’d be awake soon though and Phil will have to be there to explain his new life to him when he wakes up.

He bows his head, taking back to the skies. It’s time to return home. 

As he flies, he doesn’t stop the tears pouring from his eyes.

He is certain of two things when he wakes:

He is dead.

His name is Tommy.

Everything else is blank. An empty sheet of paper; white as the robes he finds himself wrapped in.

He sits up slowly, the blanket that had been laid over him bunching up in his lap. Despite being in an unfamiliar room with no memories, he isn’t afraid. Rather, a fuzzy kind of confusion settles over him.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hanging just over the wooden floor. The top of his robes parts, the loose fabric revealing the edge of black on pale skin. 

Tommy pauses, his brow furrowing as he draws the cloth aside. A pair of black wings spread, ready for flight, tattooed on his solar plexus. Sucking in a breath, he ran a finger over it hesitantly.

The wings rise with the movement of his chest. Tiny ripples of dark feathers. So lifelike, it seems they’ll soar away on their own.

The door on the far side of the room clicks open and his hands jerk in surprise, the robes hiding away the strange symbol again.

A man ducks into the room. Dressed in forest greens with a striped bucket hat on. Tommy’s eyes widened as a pair of wings - much like the ones he bore on his chest - stretched out behind him. The man lifts his head, wheat-blonde hair braided behind one ear and gentle blue eyes gaze back at him.

“Hello Tommy,” the man says.

“Hi,” Tommy responds, a confused frown tugging at his lips.

He doesn't know the man - doesn’t know much of anything - yet he feels he can trust this stranger.

The man draws closer, sitting on a chair beside Tommy’s bedside. He smiles, tilting his head slightly. 

“You’re finally awake. It’s good to meet you. Officially, that is.”

“I… Where am I? Who are you?”

The man chuckles. “Of course you have questions. I’m sure this is all very new and strange to you. Just know that I’m here to answer anything you might ask.”

Tommy nods.

“Good. Now, let’s start with what you remember.”

He pauses, expression open and patient and Tommy realises that he was waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat. “Um… My name is Tommy and… I’m dead?”

It settles unnaturally in his gut. Impossible, but a truth he knows with every fiber of his body. Does he even have a body? He… feels it with his whole soul?

He presses at his memories, wondering if there was a barrier there. Something he can break through to remember .

Nothing.

His mind skips, tripping over nothing. Empty. All he knows is this room and his name.

Tommy’s breath hitches. “What happened to me?” his voice rises. 

“It’s ok.” The man's there, a hand on his shoulder. Warm. Grounding. “Take your time. It can be a bit of a shock, I know. Just breathe.”

Tommy inhales; air filling his lungs until it could no more. He releases it all at once. He bends his fingers, gripping his robes, scratching the flesh underneath.

He’s here. This is real.

“We’ll take it slowly, alright? My name is Philza, but you can just call me Phil.”

“Phil,” Tommy echoes and the name just is right. “Who are you?”

The corners of Phil’s eyes crinkle. With what emotion, Tommy can’t read. “I’m the god of death. And you, Tommy, are my shinki.”

Tommy’s lips part in question, but Phil presses a hand to his chest. Tommy jerks in surprise but freezes a moment later.

It’s there. A connection, so subtle he hadn’t recognized it before, but bound to him; his entire essence. Phil moves back. The wings over his heart glow, pulsing with every beat of his heart. Tommy stares at it in fascination as slowly it returns to its former state.

“I’ve bound your soul to me,” Phil says quietly. “As a shinki, you will serve me; and in return, I will serve you. You are my vessel, and I, your wielder, but don’t mistake that for servitude. I belong to you, just as surely as you belong to me.”

Tommy’s head spins. He touches the tattoo of wings, disappointed as it doesn’t glow for him as well. He lifts his head, “I- I don’t understand.”

Phil’s eyes are gentle as clear blue skies and calm waters. “No,” he agrees. “You don’t understand. Not yet. But you will. Someday.”

A pile of clothes are handed to Tommy. “Change. It’s time for you to meet the others.”

“Others?”

The door is shut behind Phil and Tommy doesn’t get an answer. With no other clear options available, he does as he is told.

It’s like a palace - is essentially a palace, Phil informs him with mirth in his eyes as Tommy stares in awe with every new hallway and room they pass through.

A pocketspace, mortals might call it. A small dimension only accessible by the gods and their shinki. And that’s another fact that makes Tommy sway on his feet. Because there are other gods besides Phil. Dozens of them, each with at least one shinki of their own.

Bound - claimed - spirits just like him.

And he was going to meet some right now.

Nervousness spikes at his stomach in front of another grand door. (Why are there so many of those anyway?) Phil turns and gives him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, they’re excited to meet you.”

The anxiety eases slightly. Tommy trusts Phil to not lie, but he still chews on his lip as the doors swing open and they enter.

The two occupants are not what he was expecting. 

But really, Tommy isn’t sure if he was expecting anything .

They’re both young men, perhaps in their early twenties. The first has eye-catching long hair braided much like Phil. His eyes are narrow, a nearly angry tilt to his facial expressions, and Tommy swallows. This guy doesn’t look like someone he’d want to mess with. All hard muscle and hard, calloused hands. Subtly, he angles himself behind Phil.

The other glaces up from where he was strumming a guitar. Brown hair falls in waves. He gives a wide, beaming smile upon seeing Phil. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes Tommy feel more comfortable. They haven’t spoken yet, but Tommy instantly knows they’ll get along.

“Tommy, I’d like to introduce you to Wilbur and Technoblade.” 

Phil indicates who is who; Wilbur waves, pulling himself off the couch eagerly. Technoblade nods.

Tommy does something impulsive. 

“What the fuck kind of name is Technoblade?”

He slams a hand over his mouth, eyes darting to Phil, waiting for a reprimand. He’d been thinking it, sure, but never meant to say it aloud. Saying stupid shit like that was one way to get hurt.

(He doesn’t wonder why he thinks this.)

The room is silent. Technoblade lifts a brow lazily, hardly bothered by his outburst. Phil’s shoulders start shaking, his lips wobbling as he holds back laughter.

Wilbur is the only one not shy with his glee. He cackles, loud and long, as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his life. So long he gets winded and has to bend over on his knees to steady himself.

Tommy stands there awkwardly, nerves and face twisted as he glances between all three of them. 

Finally, Wilbur’s laughter settles. He claps a hand to Tommy’s shoulder, a breathless smile on his lips. “I love this guy already! Don’t mind Techno, there. He has no sense of humour.”

“I do too,” Technoblade argues with a huff. “Do I need to remind you who pranked you by untuning your guitar?”

Wilbur points an accusing finger at him. “That wasn’t a prank! That was just pure evil! Do you know how long it took me to retune the whole thing? I’m surprised you didn’t break any of the strings.”

They’re arguing now, trading insults like fine swordplay. Tommy watches from the sidelines, wide-eyed and fascinated with every word.

Something soft rubs against his arm and he glances down, finally jarred from the display before him to see one of Phil’s wings wrapping around him slightly. The black feathers shimmer like oil under the lights above, beautiful and voidlike. An entire universe trapped within its barbs.

The god of death leans down to the once-lost spirit, now his, and whispers:

“Welcome to our family, Tommy. Welcome home.”

Chapter Text

There’s a lot Tommy has to learn.

“So, what, are we invisible or some shit?”

Phil shakes his head. “No. Not quite. It just takes a little extra effort to get mortals to notice us.” As if to demonstrate, he leans out, tapping a waitress as she passes by their table. 

The same waitress that had given them their drinks half an hour ago and never returned to take their order.

She jerks, nearly dropping the cups she’s carrying and turns wide eyes towards their booth.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I’ll be with you in just a minute. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s alright, mate,” Phil smiles. 

She dashes off, hurriedly passing out the drinks to a group a few tables down, then returns, her face bright red in embarrassment.

“Sorry again,” she says sheepishly. “I must’ve lost track of the time or gotten busy…” Her eyes glaze over in confusion before blinking. “So, what would you like to have?”

They order. Tommy’s eyes continue to follow her until she disappears back into the kitchen.

“Is she going to forget again?” his brow furrows.

“Probably,” Wil remarks next to him. “But most restaurants mark orders with what table it’s for, so she’ll get a reminder, and we’ll still get our meal.”

“I…” That wasn’t what I was worried about, Tommy thinks. He frowns. “This is fucked up.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Techno says without empathy.

Tommy scowls at him. “What if I don’t want to get used to it?” he snaps back.

Techno’s jaw pulses, and Tommy knows the oldest shinki wants to say something, to snap back. Tommy had always been good at pushing buttons and Techno has violence crawling under his skin. All it would take is-

Phil places a hand on Techno’s shoulder and immediately the tension is defused. The shinki grunts, looking away as if the cafe’s decorations are the most fascinating thing in the world.

“It’s just the way it is,” Phil explains softly. “We exist on the other side of the border. Mortals do not, and it makes us difficult to perceive.”

Tommy swallows, a heaviness in his soul weighing him down. “Other side? Border? What do you mean by that?”

Phil’s eyes are ancient. Weary from millennia that Tommy has never seen and could never comprehend. “I mean spirits, Tommy. Gods, shinki, monsters. The supernatural, you might call it. The hidden things. All that and more. That’s where we work.”

“What kind of work?” he ventures to ask. Though he already felt like he knew the answer.

“We help people to move on.” Wilbur stirs the ice water in his glass with a straw. “You know, to die. It might seem morbid, but we’re actually helping people. Sometimes they’ve been suffering for a long time or their ties are too strong to the moral world. They could potentially affect the physical world and cause problems.”

“Oh. That… makes sense.” He taps on the table. “Seems being the god of death is more complicated than I thought,” he jokes.

It’s not even that funny, but Phil still laughs. “You’re right about that,” the god agrees. “So I’m even more grateful to have you three to help me.”

He’s only been with them for less than two days and already Tommy feels like he’s heard this same speech a thousand different times. He rolls his eyes, ignoring the heat in his ears, the happiness at being wanted and needed.

It shouldn’t be such a big deal to him, yet it is.

Wilbur coos, “Aww, are you getting embarrassed?”

“I’m not fucking embarressed!” he shouts back, a dozen excuses and insults flooding off his tongue. It only makes Wilbur tease him more.

He catches Phil smiling at them. The gentle smile of a parent. He’s not sure where the thought comes from but he rears back from it like he’s been burned.

He’s known these people for hardly 24 hours, yet it feels like they’ve been together as long as he remembers.

He ducks his head in shame. 

He’s never more glad than when their food finally arrives.

Tommy stands in a store, a pair of expensive sneakers in his hands and has an idea .

Maybe there could be some upsides to not being noticed by mortals.

A grin spreads across his face as he solidifies his decision. 

(He does not see Phil flinch where he stands on the other side of the store. But Techno, ever present at the god’s side,  does, and his eyes narrow.)

Tommy’s shoes are off a second later and he’s beginning to pull on the other pair when a hand clasps his shoulder, squeezing tightly. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”

All his glee falls through his stomach and into a pit below. Tommy whips around, surprise and fear coloring his face.

“H-hey big man,” he grins nervously. “What are you talking about-”

“Yes you do.” His grip tightens and Tommy hisses. “You were planning to steal those, weren’t you?”

“I…” he stutters. “No. Of course not.”

Techno’s eyes narrow further and Tommy gulps. So far Technoblade has been stiffly polite, extending kindness where expected, but nothing more. Now, though, he looks genuinely angry and something in Tommy shrinks in terror even as he pushes forward brashly.

“Even if I was,” he continues. “Which I wasn’t -” Lie “-why does it matter? It’s like Phil said, mortals don’t notice us unless we push to get their attention. It’s not like they’re gonna care if I walk out of here with some shoes.”

Phil is a god. He cannot wave his hands and conjure anything they want out of thin air, but shouldn’t it be his right - their right, by extension - to take what they want?

“It does matter,” Techno shakes his head.

“Who are you to tell me what to do anyway?” His voice was too loud. It bounded off the white concrete walls and heads were turning in their direction. “You’re not the boss of me. Bitch,” he tacks on, getting a rush of adrenaline.

He was going to be hit for that. A smack across the face. A punch to the stomach. What areas does he need to protect?

Tommy stands tall and proud, jaw clenched in preparation for the hit. He ignores the way his knees shake, the instinct to flinch away. Curl up into a small ball on the ground and ride out the pain-

Pain?

The thought throws him off guard.

Techno is grinding his teeth together in frustration. Hardly a breath passed between them. Both held eye contact, neither willing to back down.

Bright blue against pit black.

Techno opens his mouth to yell back. Tommy tenses-

Phil appears at his shoulder. “Is this what you want Tommy? I’ll pay for it.”

“I…”

The tension shatters. Tommy almost feels embarrassed and shuffles from foot to foot as Phil continues to ask him questions.

“Do they fit you ok? Try lacing them up and walk around a bit to make sure they feel comfortable.”

Tommy stares at him. “Uh, sure. I guess.”

Wilbur rounds the corner of another aisle, a worried look on his face. Phil pats his arm reassuringly, brushing soft feathers against Techno’s arm.

He does as Phil told him to, tucking the shoes back in the box afterwards.

“You like them?”

He nods, head down.

Tommy shoves his hands in his pockets. The cashier scans the box and Phil hands over the money. They collect the bag holding what will be Tommy’s new clothes and leave.

As they walk, Phil stays at his side and extends a wing, wrapping it partially around Tommy’s shoulder.

“You know if you want something, you can just ask and I can get it for you, right? We have ways of getting money. You don’t need to steal.”

Tommy huffs, turning away, not wanting to be reprimanded again. Especially not by Phil. He kicks at the sidewalk, nearly hitting the back of Techno’s foot.

“Whatever,” he mutters.

“Tommy, I’m serious. We don’t steal. I’ll give you an allowance if you want, but you don’t just take things.”

“Ok, ok. Fine.”

Phil is staring at the side of his face with those too old and too kind eyes and Tommy refuses to look. He keeps his head down.

“Ok. Thank you, Tommy. I’m trusting you on this.”

Damn, does Phil have to tug his heartstrings like this?

Tommy sighs. “I won’t take shit anymore. I promise,” he says sincerely, then adds, “But only because I don’t need Technoblade on my fucking back about it.”

Phil laughs, “Of course, of course.” 

They walk in silence for a moment and Tommy wonders if he could get away with running ahead to walk with Wilbur when Phil speaks up again.

“Speaking of Techno-”

Tommy doesn’t hold back a groan.

“I know you don’t get along yet-”

“Yet? Who said I want to ‘get along’ with him at all?”

“Tommy.” Phil gives him a look and Tommy’s mouth clicks shut. He scowls. “Listen,” Phil sighs, “this may be hard to believe, but Techno does care about you.”

“Uh huh,” Tommy jerks his head in a nod, an obvious air of skepticism following the movement.

“He does,” Phil insists. “He… just has a hard time showing it. He’s still trying to figure out where you fit.”

Tommy stared at the ground, stretching his legs just a bit further to avoid walking on the cracks in the sidewalk. “ Fit . Right.” He scoffed, “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

That’s easy to say, but Tommy has seen the way Techno glares at him. Like he’s a nuisance.

“He just wants to help you,” Phil is saying, a soft look in his eyes as he stares at Techno’s back as he takes long strides ahead of them. “Sometimes he has a hard time communicating; coming across as rude and blunt. If he didn’t like you, he’d just tell you to your face.” Phil smiles. “But he won’t.”

Tommy’s mouth twisted. He glared at Techno suspiciously, as if waiting for the shinki to whip around and vent secret hatred. 

Nothing. 

Techno pulls open the door for the next store, holding it with his foot as Wil waltzes inside. Phil gives him a quick thanks as he was the next to enter. Tommy paused, meeting Techno’s eyes.

They simmer in silence for a moment. Tommy sways on his feet, wondering if it was better to just rush past and avoid this confrontation; put it off until it was no longer inevitable.

He sighed. No, he can’t do that. He inhaled, opening his mouth to say something-

“Sorry,” Techno says. His nose furrows in a wince and he tacks on, “About earlier. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I just don’t like stealing.” 

The last bit had been more mumbled, but Tommy managed to catch it. His eyes widen in surprise. 

For such a tough guy, getting a heartfelt apology from Techo was the last thing he expected.

He stood there in shock. Techno’s head had dipped slightly into a bow. The narrow slant of his eyes that Tommy had previously mistaken for anger, was clearly just worry, and - was that a hint of shame?

“I… ok,” he answered automatically. He blinks, realizing that wasn’t a good response as soon as it's out of his mouth. “I meant, thanks. Sorry I was an ass, then. You were right; I shouldn’t steal shit.”

“Thanks.”

Tommy exhales; a big puff from his cheeks. “Yeah. Um… glad we figured that out.”

“Can we...” Techno frowns. “Start over? I don’t think I gave the best first impression.”

“Sure. I think we can do that.”

A hand extends and Tommy takes it.

“Technoblade.”

“Tommy.”

“What kind of name is Tommy?”

“Oh fuck off.”

Techno grins and Tommy can’t help but match, his lips stretching without his consent.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“And you are an annoying child.”

“Hey!”

Techno laughs. He stops holding the door and it slams into Tommy. He squawks indignantly, catching it with his hip, then runs after Techno with a splutter.

Phil watches the two bicker back and forth; Wil quickly joins them, turning it into a frenzy.

It felt right; seeing them all together. Happy, laughing. Playing and teasing like brothers.

He hopes he can remember these moments forever.

“Are you ready?”

He’s not. It’s big and terrifying, but also exciting, and his heart pounds with anticipation.

Tommy nods. “Yeah, of course,” he says, brash and confident, ignoring the shaking in his knees.

Wil pats him on the back. “Don’t worry. Just follow our lead and you’ll do fine.”

“Right.” His throat bobs.

Techno stands at Phil’s side, cool and collected. He stares down his nose at Tommy and he hates it - hates how it makes him feel smaller than he is. Tommy is crushed beneath the weight of his gaze; the centuries Techno holds over him and he is paralyzed.

Techno smiles - the corners barely upturning - and the spell breaks, the older shinki turning to Phil, “We should get going,” he says, a hint of impatience in his voice.

Phil smiles. “We haven’t run out of time yet, but, yes, I believe we should be going.” He holds out his hand and calls, “ Technoblade. ”

Phil’s mark burns on Techno’s shoulder, a white-hot flash before his entire being transforms into light, rearranging into his vessel form. Again, Tommy is struck with wonder as it completes.

The eldest shinki took on the form of a sword. European; double edged and sharpened to perfection; rubies adorned the hilt, as dark as blood. A beautiful and fearsome weapon.

Wilbur is next. He gives Tommy a wink as the mark on the back of his hand lights up. He is a bow, lovingly carved with gold decorating the edges and a deep blue wrapped grip.

They’re both amazing. And it makes Tommy more self conscious about his vessel form.

“Tommy,” Phil calls last.

There’s a tug from the mark on his chest, a split second of resistance as Tommy stiffens, then he answers . A flash of light and he was being held in Phil’s hand. He didn’t have eyes, but he was aware of everything around him. His mind unfolded, blossoming to allow for the connection between him and the others.

If he was still flesh and blood Tommy would’ve shivered at the sensation. They were all linked, one to another, a circle with no beginning and no end. Wil’s and Techno’s presences are close, nearly overlapping with his own.

“Hello,” Wilbur greets cheerfully. “Are you doing ok?”

He isn’t sure. He reaches out, intending to respond but overreaches, not used to how little force the connection needs.

His emotions flood the link between them all. Confusion and nervousness and terror all mixing together, dark and palpable.

“It’s all right, mate. We’re not asking anything big from you. Just observe tonight.” Phil’s voice is a steady rock to cling to. 

A feeling of calm confidence comes from Techno. It’s enough that Tommy finds his rogue emotions settling. If he could breathe, he’d inhale deeply. Together, the others are able to respark a little confidence in him.

Phil clips his chain to his robes, tucking Tommy into his pocket next to his breast. Tommy’s needle spins idly, uncertain.

Phil spreads his wings and they take off.

The night passes smoothly. Tommy watches as again and again Phil raises Technoblade and cuts the strings tying mortals down, giving them release from this world so they might move onto the next. Occasionally, they saw glimpses of darker spirits: twisted beings, monstrous; and Phil takes hold of Wilbur, drawing his string back until a golden arrow appears between his fingers. They fly true and the monsters fade away into shadow.

“What are they?” Tommy asks with a wince as another arrow splits a dark spirit, its limbs elongated and unnaturally bent, a dozen mouths opening in one last terrible scream. 

“They’re called Phantoms,” Technoblade says, “Manifestations of the darkness of humanity. If left unchecked, they’ll continue to grow in size until they’re impossible to defeat. It’s better to destroy them now, while they’re still small.”

“You call that small?” 

It had towered over streetlamps at its full height, scuttling over low buildings like a spider, terrible whispers hissed between sharp teeth.

“Yes,” Techno says. “You’ll know an actual big one when you see it.”

Tommy doesn’t believe him, but Wilbur echoes the older shinki’s sentiment.

“He’s right. The largest one I’ve seen hung over an entire neighborhood. The people there were miserable, barely clinging to life because they’d lost all hope.”

“Are they ok?”

“They are now. We enlisted help to defeat it.”

“ What about you, Techno? What’s the biggest one you’ve seen?”

Techno had been curiously quiet during the exchange. Used to his prideful boasting, Tommy turned curiously towards him for an answer.

He was silent, contemplative.

“Phantoms are always worse during war,” Technoblade finally says gravely. “Killing and fighting tends to bring out the worst in people.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Tommy wishes he hadn’t asked.

“Don’t worry, we won’t come across anything like that ,” Phil reassures. “The majority of phantoms are very small, just big enough to leech off of one person. If you spot any, tell me and we’ll take care of it.”

“Right. Ok,” Tommy agrees.

They continue on.

Tommy likes it when Phil flies high. So high, he brushes the clouds and the lights of cities glimmer down below them like a second night sky.

It’s beautiful. Silent and peaceful.

Tommy relaxes, idly aware of what’s happening and the link between all four of them, but he doesn’t try to control it. Communication is easier when he doesn’t push it. It comes naturally; floats on a river through him.

Perhaps there was a name for this state. Half-asleep, if he was human. Trance-like, maybe. Whatever it was, something clicks within him.

He can feel something . There. Right at the edge of his perception.

He sits up straighter - metaphorically - and in the act, nearly loses it. It’s so subtle…

He concentrates harder, unraveling the state he was in in the first place in the attempt to hold onto it. It begins to bleed into the link.

“Tommy? Are you alright?” Wilbur calls.

Phil half turns from his work, Techno’s blade in his hands. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Tommy confesses. “Something weird. Can’t you feel it?”

“No, sorry mate.” Phil’s brow furrows. “Can you describe it?”

The shape of the feeling was fading, and fast. 

“It’s big. Kinda like deja vu? No, wait, it’s like when you have something on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t remember it?” A mix of both. Something like that?”

Phil hums in thought. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“... Interesting,” Techno says.

“I swear it was real,” Tommy insists. He growls in frustration. It’s gone.

“We know, mate. We’re not doubting you.”

Some of his emotions bleed accidentally through the link and there’s a dual echo of comfort and calm from Techno and Wil in response. They believe him. They believe him.

But he wants to prove it to them.

Tommy focuses in the direction he last felt it. “Southwest,” he says. He doesn’t know how he knows that - he just does. They need to go that way.

Phil tilts his head. “Southwest?” he echoes.

“Yes,” Tommy answers more forcefully. “It’s coming from there.”

He’s pouring so much of his attention in it that he almost misses Phil’s gasp of surprise. Suddenly he’s being taken out of Phil’s pocket, his compass face glowing lightly, the needle diverting away from true north for the first time.

As if waiting to be noticed, a red beam of light shoots from the tip of the needle, cutting a path through the sky. Right where Tommy wanted to go.

“Whoa,” Wilbur breathes. “How are you doing that?”

“Well, he is a compass,” Phil says, his eyes fixed towards the Southwest. “I say we see where this leads. Right, Tommy?”

Yes. Yes.

He pushes; strains forward. Now that they have a direction, it feels more urgent to leave now.

Phil raises his wings.

“Let’s see this mystery then.”

Chapter Text

It becomes easier to lead Phil where they need to go. Perhaps because Tommy knows what he’s looking for, or because the closer they get, the stronger it feels.

It’s impossible to describe. Constantly shifting with every second; sometimes feeling so familiar that it might’ve been a forgotten memory, then it’d swing back, so foreign and alien that Tommy shuddered facing it. Its weight pulls at him, as irresistible as a black hole, and the needle is steady, never wavering from their destination.

“Is this safe?” Wilbur asked, a low throb of worry echoing through their bond. Tommy pressed his lips together. He knew he didn’t spark the best confidence, his emotions tilting wildly as he fought to comprehend the thing they were chasing after.

“I’m not sure yet,” Phil admitted. If he was worried as well, not a drop of it tainted the links between them. “Be on guard, just in case.”

Phil cuts across the sky like a dark blade. It’s faster than he was traveling before. An urgency that propels him forward. If it was any other time, Tommy would be exhilarated by the speed, but he kept quiet, training his focus so it didn’t waver.

Dawn breaks on the horizon as they arrive.

It’s a nondescript field, no more special than the dozens of others they had passed over. A bit of farmland in a quiet rural area. The grass is green and long, perfect for pasturing animals.

That’s not what had called them there, however.

The air in front of them hums with power, even Tommy could recognize that. It’s puckered - shiny - like thick scars that branch upwards and outwards from the ground like lightning. As he stares at it, it seems to twist and sway. Breathes . Parts of it disappear as new branches form elsewhere.

The very act of looking at it made Tommy’s head scream.

“What the fuck is that?”

Phil steps closer to the thing and the three shinkis’ uncomfortable flinches are palpable.

“It’s a tear in reality,” the god breathes. “It’s been stitched up. Dozens of times, by the looks of it.” His eyes rake over it, something dark in the normally soft blue depths. “This is the biggest I’ve seen. Why hasn’t it been reported to the council?”

Questions push at the back of Tommy’s teeth that he wants to ask, but the screaming in his head is so loud.

It tears at the inside of his skull; stabs at the back of his eyes until he’s sure they’re going to burst; makes him heavy with exhaustion as pain reverberates through his entire soul.

It’s equal parts terrible and wonderful. Disgusting and beautiful in a way that made Tommy shutter; torn between getting closer and running as far away as possible.

“Dream has always been a free spirit,” Techno huffs. Tommy startles. Did he miss part of the conversation? “He’s never been one for reporting anything.”

“I know,” Phil replies, “but this should’ve been brought up. How long has this been here?” he wonders quietly. He walks around the area, stretching back his head as he examines it.

Tommy hates it. He hates it so much.

The seams of his thoughts unravel further the longer they stay here.

“Is this what madness feels like?”

He’s not sure if he sent the message through their link or if it was just a thought in his head. Either way, he receives no answer.

A tear in reality, Phil said. A tear in his soul, more like it. It’s wrong and unnatural and it hurts . There are images and sounds and feelings that press against his mind. Nothing clear, just vague impressions, but it affects him all the same.

“Phil,” Wilbur calls, his thoughts and emotions are laced with pain through the link. “Can we leave?”

“Of course, sorry.”

Phil takes off and Tommy is relieved as the pain falls away behind them just like the tear in reality. When they are far enough away, his needle spins back to true north and Tommy sighs in relief. It’s not just him, either. Wilbur’s mood brightens and Techno, who had borne the weight of the pain silently, relaxes.

“I’ll have to get in touch with Dream,” Phil says aloud. “It’s been, what, a few years since we last spoke?”

“Eight decades,” Techno clarifies, then asks, “are you going to call a council meeting?”

“I’m not sure yet…” Phil presses his lips together. “I want to talk to him first.”

Techno grunts. Whether in affirmation, or because he didn’t agree, Tommy couldn’t tell. The eldest shinki slipped into silence.

As they returned home and were released from their vessels, Tommy just had one question on his mind:

Who was Dream?

A park was the furthest thing from where Tommy would expect to meet a god, but Phil had insisted on it.

“Meeting places don’t mean much to me,” Phil shrugged, when Tommy asked him about it. “I’d rather be somewhere comfortable.”

By his tone, Tommy got the feeling it wasn’t for himself, but rather them. A casual place with lower expectations attached to it.

Tommy tears off a chunk of bread from the loaf they brought, absently chucking it to the ducks that had waddled out of their pond in hopes of a treat. He scans the area again. Across the field, kids climb over a colorful playground, their shrieks carrying despite the distance. A few families sit at picnic tables, clustered under the sparse shade the few trees provide. A man jogs past the pond, a leash in one hand, his dog’s collar jiggling loudly as they follow the track that winds around the entire park.

Tommy furrows his brow. He hasn’t seen anyone that looked like a god. But, to be fair, Phil doesn’t look like one either, if it wasn’t for his wings.

It really makes him wonder what ‘Dream’ is like.

Wilbur holds out a hand expectantly, Tommy drops bread into it and it is tossed into the water, right in front of a brown speckled duck who swims away with a swagger, it’s head bobbing annoyingly.

Technoblade stands at Phil’s side, face stoic as his eyes never cease roaming over the area. He’s more tense than usual today, and it’s putting Tommy on edge. He keeps glancing behind his shoulder as if he’s going to catch someone sneaking up on him. Wilbur feels it too, and occasionally goes quiet, head tilted as if listening for something, before smiling again and trying to shove Tommy closer to the pond’s edge so that his foot might slip in and make his socks and shoes all wet.

Phil, of course, is immune to the nervous atmosphere.

He sits on a bench, pulling chunks of bread from his own loaf and scattering it at his feet, quietly urging ducks to come closer. Perhaps even rewarding them with an entire slice for their bravery.

His head is lowered, striped hat covering his eyes and face. He chats quietly with Techno, the words too soft to hear at a distance, but the shinki is paying attention, judging on how his gaze flickers back and forth, the shifting of weight from one foot to another.

It’s a domestic scene, the four of them quietly feeding ducks together. It’s almost enough to make Tommy forget why they were there in the first place.

He is reminded quickly enough as the air splits and a man walks through, a crossbow slung across his back and an axe in hand. A white mask covers his face, a wide black smile painted across it.

Tommy flinches back, ramming into Wilbur’s side.

That smile follows him sinisterly, the man holding perfectly still as his head tilts, tilts, curious. Dots for eyes like miniature black holes. They are placed too far apart as well to be eye holes. The entire mask is too smooth for such. Not a blemish in sight.

It made Tommy wonder how he could even see.

The man stares at him for what feels like an eternity longer. An axe is held loosely at his side, blade sharp and wicked. Then he turns away and Tommy inhales sharply, the sensation of his knees wobbling like rubber pulling him back to reality.

“You alright?” Wilbur asks with a raised eyebrow, gripping Tommy’s arm to keep him upright.

“Yeah,” Tommy wheezes, then pushes him away. “Get off me. I’m not a fucking baby,” he says with more strength in his voice.

Wil lets go and they turn their attention to the god that joined them.

Phil had risen in the few seconds Tommy had been distracted. He now closes the distance between him and Dream - Tommy realizes it must be. Phil smiles warmly, but keeps a noticeable difference, just as Dream does as well. 

Wilbur prods him to stand behind Phil. Tommy glares, but complys. Even he isn’t so stupid to make a scene right now. The tension is thick enough to smother someone with it.

Technoblade stands at their right. Together they flank Phil.

It feels fucking weird, just standing there staring at each other - Tommy avoids the smile of Dream’s mask, it’s fucking creepy - but it must have a deeper meaning to it because Dream mutters to himself and there are arcs of light as two more men appear at his side.

Shinki.

Like Techno and Wil, they’re both young men, and Tommy’s mood sours because somehow he’s still the youngest.

The first stands at Dream’s right side, much like Techno does for Phil. He’s plain, Tommy supposes, dark hair and eyes that don’t stand out much. He seems rather disinterested, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels.

The other is vastly different. He grins, wide and feral, a bandana holds back long hair and he bounces on his heels, untamed energy coming from him in waves.

“Hello Philza,” Dream greets.

“Dream. It’s been a long time.”

"It has. It's good to see you too, Technoblade, Wilbur."

Techno glowers. Wil says nothing but shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Dream looks back at Tommy.

"I don't recognize you. A new shinki, I presume? It's been a long time since Philza's taken a new one-"

"Dream," Phil interrupts. A warning. Dream's mask turns towards him like a snake.

"Don't harass my shinki. This is a meeting between us, not them."

"Right. Of course. Let's get to the meat of the matter."

"Let's," Phil agrees, eyes narrowed. 

He flicks his fingers and Tommy automatically understands it as a sign to step forward. He does so, hesitantly, under the examining stares of Dream and his shinki. Even the bored one looked interested at the sight of him.

Tommy hates it.

"This is Tommy." Phil places a comforting hand on his shoulder and he's able to relax just a bit. Black feathers brush against his arm, curling protectively. "I found his lost soul wandering in L'manberg a week ago."

Tommy shivers. He has no memories of that place, of a time before Phil, yet it strikes him as too familiar. A deep ache that will never be filled.

Dream hums and Prime, Tommy wishes the god would just take off that goddamn mask so he can see his face.

"What vessel form does he have?" Dream asks curiously.

"This really isn't the time for idle chat," Phil says. He holds a perfect poker face and Tommy can't tell what he's thinking. "But, because it's relevant, I'll tell you. Tommy's a compass."

"A compass," Dream echoes, deep interest apparent in his voice.

Phil goes on to explain how they came across the tear in reality. When Dream hears that Tommy was the one to find it, the force of his stare is enough to make sweat break out on the back of Tommy's neck. He's more than glad to fade back to his spot beside Wilbur and not be the focus of attention.

"This needs to be reported to the council." Phil says stiffly, unyielding.

"I have it under control," Dream replies lightly. "I know how to do my job. I'm not a young god that needs to be kept on a tight leash. I've been watching over that particular crack for several decades. It's not a problem and will continue not to be ."

"I'm not doubting your abilities," Phil appeases. "But the council should still be made aware. In the case that it does break open the effects will be catastrophic. It pays to be prepared."

"I assume you've already called a meeting then? It never mattered what I said to begin with." Dream shakes his head, tone growing dark. The shinki at his side tense.

"Yes," Phil confirms. "You better show up, too."

Dream waves a hand in dismissal. It's probably meant to be nonchalant, but his annoyance is clear, even with a mask to hide his face.

"Fine. Fine. I'll be there. It was good to see you, Phil, though I wish it was... under better circumstances.

"George. Sapnap."

A glow emanated from the inside of the first's wrist and the other's bicep before the two transformed into light, coalescing in the weapons from before. George, a crossbow; and Sapnap, an axe.

Dream lifted Sapnap, swinging down harshly, cleaving the air in two. A tiny crack in the fabric of reality. Just big enough for a person to squeeze through.

Dream isn't done, though. He turns, illuminated by the swirling rainbow of the beyond, impossible colors burning into Tommy's retinas.

"Hey Philza," the god calls back. "That's a good shinki you have there. What do you say about making a trade?"

Phil's wings spread, a fan covering the three of them protectively.

"No."

Tommy flinches at the growl. Dream, however, laughs.

"Tommy."

His head whips up.

"If you ever are released, come find me. I’ll use you."

Then he leaves. He steps through the self made portal and it seals behind him.

The four of them are silent. A duck pecks at the ground nearby, unaware of the god that stood there moments ago.

Tommy peeks around Phil's wing. He's never seen the god angry before. Phil was always so good at keeping a tight lid on his emotions, seemingly unaffected by any inconvenience.

His eyes are dark, the gray of an impending storm rather than the clear skies Tommy knew. 

(The repressed look of rage makes him flinch. He knows what that expression means. What happens to him next.)

"Phil," he murmurs quietly, afraid of speaking normally in case the god suddenly snaps. "What does Dream mean by 'if I'm released'?."

Phil lowers his wings, shaking his feathers so they lay smooth before tucking them across his back.

"Don't worry about it," Phil says. He takes Tommy's cheek in his hand, fingers curling into blonde hair and hums soothingly. "You're part of this family. My family . I'm not going to… get rid of you."

"I… ok."

Tommy doesn't understand. But, just like when he'd first awoken in Phil's domain, he's reminded that that's ok.

It's only hours later Tommy realizes Phil never answered his question.

"Word is you've got yourself a new shinki." 

The woman perches on the rooftop above them. Tommy jumps, craning his neck back to look up at her. She smiles and waves then hops down, bouncing lightly from a fall that would’ve broken a normal person’s legs.

The mortals around them don’t blink, just continue on their way, flowing around their little group like a current around rocks.

“Hello there, Niki,” Phil greets. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

She shrugs. “I was in town and thought to check your usual haunts. So,” she says, switching her attention to Tommy, “you’re the new guy.”

Tommy bristles a little but nods. The woman has the energy of a god, old and powerful like Phil, but not off putting like Dream. It’s similar, in a way, to Phil and that, combined with her warm smile helps him relax slightly.

He nods. “I’m Tommy.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Niki” Her head tilts, short hair falling in waves, dyed a pastel pink. “It’s rare to see a shinki so young as you. Most don’t survive for long. Their bright souls attract phantoms and they are consumed quickly.”

“Uh… thanks?” He takes a half step back - not out of fear - just… her bluntness is unsettling.

She blinks. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. The only other shinki I know that’s as young as you is Tubbo.”

Tommy wrinkles his nose and opens his mouth to ask who that is when Phil cuts him off.

“I didn’t take Dream to be a gossiper,” he deadpans.

Niki grins. “He’s not, but his shinki are. Sapnap told Quackity, who told Karl-”

“Who told you.”

“Exactly.”

Tommy leans closer to Wilbur. “Who the fuck are those people?” he whispers.

Wil laughs. “I forget you don’t know everyone yet. You met Sapnap, he’s one of Dream’s shinki. Quackity is bound to Foolish, the god of oceans, and Karl is one of Niki’s. They’re in a polyamourus relationship.”

Tommy stares at him, wondering if this was a joke. Wil’s face doesn’t change and there’s no sign of mischief in his tone nor the regular glimmer in his eye when he’s trying to trick him. 

“What the fuck .” 

Wil shrugs and smirks at his reaction. “They’re a bunch of lovebirds. Just think of it as a long distance relationship between them.”

“Is that allowed?”

A thoughtful expression crosses Wil’s face. He rubs his chin. “I mean… none of their gods have broken them up, so I suppose it’s fine.”

“Weird.”

Wilbur snorts. “Yeah, of course you'd say that." 

He pauses, glancing at Tommy with a keen look, one that sparks of mischievousness.

"Do you know what Niki's the god of, by the way?" he changes the subject.

Tommy turns his head and studies her. She smiles easily and brightly, posture relaxed as she chats with Phil and Techno. She wears soft clothes, at home in a library or curled up on a couch; a stark contrast to Phil's style that emphasizes movement over comfort.

If he had spotted her on the street, Tommy might've guessed she was a quirky preschool teacher, with her dyed hair, or the kind of neighbor that comes over with plates of freshly baked cookies.

But, she is a god, so Tommy tries to be serious when he guesses.

"A nature god?" he shrugs as if the answer doesn't matter to him, but he hopes he's right. He could imagine Niki wearing flower crowns and walking through fields barefoot or some shit like that.

"Good guess, but you're wrong."

Tommy glares at him and Wilbur flashes a cheeky grin back.

"To be fair, most people would guess wrong, so don't feel too bad about it. Niki likes being underestimated like that. Just don't piss her off."

"So…?" Tommy prompts.

Wilbur folds his arms. "Niki. God of War and Revenge."

As he says that, she glances over at them. The look that Tommy had misinterpreted as shy curiosity, is finally seen as what it truly is: constant analysis.

Much the same way as Death's eyes are filled with kindness, War is dressed in beauty and softness.

These are ancient gods that watched over the birth of humanity, and their wills could shake the foundation of the earth itself.

And Phil had given him love. And a family. And a home.

And for that, Tommy would bend his knee and give everything he had back.

Chapter Text

“Want another?”

Tommy nods, reaching over to grab two more cookies. Wil bats at his hand.

“She asked if you want one , not two, you gremlin.”

In response, Tommy flips him off - “Oi!” - then snatches a third and shoves it into his mouth.

“It’s alright Wilbur,” Puffy laughs. “He’s skinny as it is. Is Phil even feeding him?”

“Yes, he does,” Techno sighs. “And he already has enough sugar as it is. He keeps getting into the snack drawer…”

Tommy grins, a few stray crumbs bouncing off his lips as he does so. Techno could keep moving the good snacks all he wants, but he’d find it again. He always did.

He slips out of the kitchen with his cookies. Puffy, one of Niki’s shinki, had taken command of the kitchen - quite literally - and staying in there longer than necessary to grab something to eat meant being roped into helping. Tommy had avoided all her attempts to make him stay so far, he wasn’t going to stop now.

He darts back down the hall, sliding around corners on his socks and nearly bashing into the walls on the way, euphoric that everyone was too busy to yell at him for being reckless.

He comes to a stop at the library - comically slipping around as he pulls the heavy doors open - and enters.

Phil and Niki sit in opposite armchairs, sipping tea between exchanged words. Niki’s two other shinki, Karl and Jack wander the shelves, the former methodically pulling books out, scanning them, then returning them to their place; the latter sighs, leans against the wall and looks bored .

Haha! Tommy could fix that.

“Here you go,” he places the first cookie between the pages of the book Karl is looking through, making the shinki startle then give him a thankful smile.

Jack, as Tommy had quickly learned, was easy to rile up and messing with him was so much fun.

Tommy positioned himself right in Jack’s sight, holding the last cookie out temptingly. An offering. Yet... just out of reach.

And of course, it didn’t take long for Jack to notice it.

“Hey… is that for me?”

Tommy doesn’t move. He smiles.

“Oh. Thanks mate. Guess you aren’t so bad-”

Jack starts leaning forward and instantly Tommy jumps back, shoving the entire cookie in his mouth.

“You lil-” he growls.

Tommy laughs, sprinting past Karl, the other shinki’s eyes wide as Jack shouts after him. He makes his escape, running to Phil’s side and sitting on the armrest of the chair he’s on, giving Jack an innocent look when he finally catches up.

Jack won’t hurt him. He certainly looks irritated and he might be good at cussing up a storm, but his hands aren’t clenched ready to throw a punch.

Jack’s anger isn’t physical and that makes him safe.

Niki chuckles across from them, dark brown eyes peering over her cup. “Philza, it seems you have quite the habit of picking up mischievous shinki. How do you keep finding them?”

“Beats me,” he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. He tucks his wing around Tommy. “Techno is the only one who doesn’t engage with antics most of the time.”

“Yesterday he put salt in Wil’s coffee,” Tommy reminds him, leaning closer to his god’s touch.

Phil scratches Tommy’s scalp with a hum. “I said, ‘most of the time’, mate. Even he will stoop down to pranks on occasion.”

“He keeps his emotions in check. One of the best I’ve seen. He’s definitely served you well over the millenia.” Niki’s eyelids drift down as she sips from her cup.

Tommy feels Phil’s embrace tighten slightly. “He has,” Phil agrees. He sets down his own cup on the small side table to his left, the china clinking softly on the wood. “And Puffy has been good to you as well it seems.”

“Yes. She’s stepped right up as Exemplar. I could hardly imagine life without her by my side at this point.”

Niki's demeanor softens, a smile, sweet and real gracing her face for just a moment and Tommy could see through the cold mask she put up to the person underneath. She loved her shinki, her family, just as deeply as Phil did. She simply wasn’t as transparent about it.

“That’s good,” Phil says. "Karl offered to step down, didn't he?"

Niki nods, absently tracing the rim of her cup as her gaze is drawn to the shinki in question, his colorful, patchwork jacket standing out amongst the muted tones of the shelves. She sighs.

“He always had doubts, you know, not being a weapon I can wield.” Tommy bites his lip, discomfort swelling in his chest, just as interest sparked at the same time, the two feelings clashing horribly. By sitting there, it felt like listening in on a private conversation.

Tommy shifts, fingers grasping at air as he tries to figure out what to do with them. Phil rests a hand on his arm and his fidgeting calms. 

"Perhaps this is a conversation we can finish another time," Phil offers.

Niki blinks, the walls of steel and iron slamming back in place. 

She drinks the last dregs of her cup, mirroring Phil's earlier action and places it on the table beside her. Then she stands and stretches.

"Now that we have the pleasantries out of way, what do you say to a duel?"

"I'd be honored to cross blades with you."

Tommy was removed from his perch as Phil stood as well, the two gods facing each other with the blaze of competition in their eyes.

"Just don't underestimate me because I'm old."

"As long as you don't pull your punches for a poor woman like me," Niki smirks.

Niki's shinki bear her mark in the shape of a burning tree. It's a brutal image, befitting a god of war. And her shinki fit her as well.

Puffy's mark lays on her right shoulder blade. Tommy catches a glimpse of it when she shucks off her coat to reveal the tank top underneath. She jumps to Niki's call, an old fashioned cutlass with a wide, fancy crossguard of gold.

Jack's mark burns at the bottom of his ribcage, glowing dully beneath his clothes before he transforms into light and settles into his vessel form: a shiny silver revolver.

Wil and Techno are called by Phil and boundaries are established. Tommy presses himself close to the wall next to Karl, a pool of jittery energy popping in his stomach despite not taking part in this 'spar'.

Tommy had never seen Phil fight from an outside perspective - only from within where he privy to what would happen before it did; Techno and Wil flowing off of each other as Phil provided the course.

Witnessing it, physically, is even more breathtaking.

Techno's blade dances with the grace of a ribbon, effortlessly cutting through the air as a blur of light and silver, pausing only when it clashes with Puffy; the strain of the two shinki wrestling for dominance then spinning away again.

Phil switches to Wil, the golden heat of his arrows flying past Niki as she rushes forward, illuminating her face in a red glow passing just shy of cutting her skin. Knowing Wil, his aim is true, yet hitting a god is not so simple.

Tommy's mouth might've fallen open at some point, his eyes dart back and forth trying to keep up with the lightning quick strikes and parries, the pop of Jack's muzzle and the eerie scream of Wil's arrows before they sink into the wood paneling with a shuddering crack.

It's beautiful. Something Tommy never thought he'd say about a fight. As finely composed as a song and as rich as a full orchestra.

(Fights are bruised knuckles and bleeding noses. There is no honor; just the dust you throw in your opponents eyes, any dirty trick to get the upper hand. Fights are not meant to be beautiful.)

Tommy aches to join them. To be called to Phil's hand and dance and laugh and  sing as one.

He is a compass.

He cannot fight with them.

Seeds of jealousy sprout. Tiny green leaves peeking above the soil; greedy for nourishment.

"It's amazing, right?"

He jerks, whipping his head around and realizes that Karl had spoken. Niki's shinki smiles, messy brown hair falling into his face.

"I don't really have combat abilities either, so I'm sitting it out too."

Tommy clenches his jaw, a flare of anger in his chest, but he pushes it down in favor of curiosity.

"What are you then? Your… vessel form, I mean."

"Oh, I'm an hourglass." He laughs, seeing Tommy's expression. "Not expecting that were you? Since I'm bound to the god of war and everything. But, I guess I could say the same for you."

Tommy glares.

"Sorry, didn't mean to offend you. Just… There aren't a lot of us shinki that have object vessel forms. Most others are weapons or armor. We need to look out for each other."

"...Right." 

His anger falls away slightly. Karl doesn't seem like a bad guy, just awkward, he should give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Can I ask you something?"

Karl nods, surprised.

"Niki said that you used to be her… Exemple? Example?"

"Exemplar?"

"Yeah, that. What even is it?"

Karl hums. "It's complicated to explain. On a base level, an Exemplar is sort of like a lead shinki: the right hand of a god. But a true Exemplar is there to be whatever a god needs. A friend, counsel, support… There's a variety of relationships and roles they can fulfill and duties to perform.  It's not so much a formal title in most cases. Just a kind of close-knit bond."

"You used to be one," Tommy frowns. "Why did that change?"

"That is… also complicated." Karl blows out his cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. 

"I was Niki's first shinki, so it was kinda natural for me to be her Exemplar. But a few centuries later I met my boyfriend, Sapnap, and then Niki bound Puffy and they clicked in a way we never did. I suggested Puffy take my place when I got my other boyfriend, Quackity, a century or two back. It's been a sort of slow transition cause I've known Niki for far longer and sometimes she just prefers me for certain things."

He laughs awkwardly. "Sorry, that's kinda a lot, isn't it?"

"No, you're fine. So," Tommy says, "Techno is Phil's Exemplar?"

"Yeah. He's Phil's first shinki - not that the first always becomes an Exemplar," Karl is quick to add. "Like with Puffy. And I've heard from Tubbo that Phil is really loose with his shinki. So any of you could be Exemplars in your own right."

Tommy finds himself shaking his head. Instinctively he curls inwards. 

He's not helpful or a leader or any of the things that Techno or Wil are.

He's not worthy.

He grips his arm. His fingernails bite into his skin and it feels good ; it counteracts the weight of shame he feels to want to be that. To be an Exemplar that can stand side by side with his brothers and his god-

Phil's gaze snaps to him, a moment of distraction: an opening, and Niki swings-

Tommy jolts forward. “Phil-!”

Niki's blade stops a hairsbreadth from Phil's throat. They gaze at each other, breath heavy with adrenaline. She tilts her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Looks like I won."

Her eyes flick down, then over at Tommy. She lowers her blade.

"Your hands are shaking," she says. "You should take care of that, Philza."

Phil's expression is unreadable, his knuckles tighten and turn white, but he doesn't deny the claim. Tommy's startled to see that she's right. Phil's hands tremble around Techno’s hilt. 

Phil shifts and his robes cover his hands. Tommy swears he sees a glimpse of dark purple on his arm, similar to a deep bruise as he does so, but then he blinks and it's gone. Tommy sways, uncertain of if he actually saw it or not.

The gods release their shinki from their vessels. Niki bows, "Thank you for your hospitality. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

Phil returns the action, murmuring his agreements. Wil and Techno eye him with worry.

Then Niki is gone.

Phil takes Tommy's arm, gently peeling it away from his side and turns it over to inspect.

"Did you hurt yourself?" His brow dips with concern.

"I'm fine," Tommy lies. There's no blood, just red marks where the nails pressed too hard.

Phil looks at him. Eyes like deep emeralds searching Tommy for… something. He fidgets, wanting the attention, yet his skin crawls beneath it. He pushes down the urge to tear out of Phil’s grip.

"I'm tired," Tommy murmurs, face turned away, and hopes Phil will accept his excuse and leave him alone.

The god sighs and releases his arm. For a moment, Tommy exhales in relief, thinking this could all be forgotten. He takes a half step away-

"Did Karl say something to upset you?" Phil asks.

Tommy freezes.

"No," he says. Because it's his own fault for being so fucking sensitive and stupid .

Phil twitches, his face stiffening in… disbelief? Anger?

"Alright. But… Tommy… you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I will."

Another lie.

Tommy doesn't want to see Phil's reaction. He doesn't know which would be worse: heartbreak or anger, so he spins around and walks - not runs, cause he is a big man - and pushes past Techno with his head down.

He just needs some time to himself.

That's all.

Tommy tugs at his collar. It feels like it's choking him; these clothes are too tight and hot. He's sure he's going to die a second death. Prime, he'll never take jeans and t-shirts for granted again.

"Hold still." 

Wilbur fusses with his collar and Tommy gags in response.

"Oh stop being dramatic," he rolls his eyes. "It's just a button up shirt. Phil's not even making you wear a full suit."

"But I hate it," Tommy whines. He casts a pitiful look towards Phil in the hopes to gain some sympathy. "Shinki aren't even allowed to attend the Council, so why do we have to dress all fancy and shit?"

"I told you before, mate, it's a formality. Besides, you'll potentially meet other gods and shinki there. Dressing nice gives a good first impression."

"We didn't have to do this when we met Dream and Niki," Tommy grippes. That earns him a harsh flick from Techno on his forehead.

He howls, "Ow! That fucking hurt!"

"Then stop complaining. It's only for an hour or two."

Tommy glares darkly and rubs at the growing red spot. Phil clicks his tongue in disapproval and Techno sighs, mumbling out an apology then turning back to the jewelry box he had previously been sorting through.

"Come on, it won't be that bad," Wilbur says in an attempt to cheer him up. "I can introduce you to everyone. It's not often we have big gatherings like this, so just enjoy it."

Tommy gives him a disbelieving look.

A formal non-party full of really fucking old gods and spirits doesn't particularly sound like a good time. In fact, it sounds like the complete opposite.

He still doesn't get why he has to go. Phil said something about old laws and formality about a dozen times over, but every time Tommy tried to wrap his head around it, it went in one ear and out the other.

This must be what kids felt like to be dragged to a parent's office party, he thinks sourly.

Not that he's a kid. And neither does he have memories of being one. So if this is something he'd experienced before, as a mortal, he doesn't know, but he understands the concept.

Tommy scowls and flops back into the couch, the tiny braid Wilbur had woven into his hair poking at his scalp.

He hates to admit it, but Wilbur wasn't wrong when he pointed out that Tommy isn't being forced to wear a suit. At most, just some slacks and a dress shirt. Doesn't mean he has to like it though.

On the other hand, Wilbur and Techno are much more formal.

Wil looks comfortable in a dark blue suit, a delicate gold chain, courtesy of Techno, pinned across the lapels. He ran his hands through his hair, fluffing it up and Tommy wants to reach over and touch it as well.

Techno is more… old fashioned. The white blouse and pants he wears looks distinctly more medieval, like he's getting ready for a renaissance fair or something. Neither Phil nor Wilbur mention it, so Tommy accepts it as normal, albeit strange.

Additionally, Techno's practically dripping in jewelry. He's always had an interest in it - wearing a few pieces daily - but never to this extent.

Tommy raises his eyebrows as Technoblade slips on a few more rings, sometimes two or more per finger. 

Then reverently, the shinki opens a smaller wooden box tucked away where Tommy hadn't noticed before.

A gold chain emerges, a polished emerald hanging from one end. Techno passes it to Phil and he takes it with a gentle nod and smile, pushing a tiny hook through his ear and Tommy realizes that it's an earring.

The one piece of Techno's jewelry that never changed from day to day.

A similar one follows, this one handed to Wilbur who matches the action with a quick motion. Then Techno does his; three matching emeralds hanging from their right earlobes.

Tommy sits up straighter when they turn to him.

"His ears aren't pierced," Techno frowns.

Phil puts a hand on his arm. "We can take care of that another time. Give him one of the other pieces for today."

Techno grunts and digs through the box, pulling out a much longer chain from inside. A necklace.

Tommy holds his breath, eyes fixated on the emerald on the end as it swings back and forth hypnotically. The chain passes over his head, he closes his eyes, posture stiff, forcing himself as still as possible.

The gold weighs on his neck. Techno's fingers brush on his skin, pulling the chain slightly to adjust it the way he liked it. Tommy shivers, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

Slowly he peels his eyes open. The emerald rests on his chest, over his mark hidden beneath his shirt. Hesitantly, he lifts it, fascinated at how the light catches and reveals the gem's green depths. It's the most expensive thing he owns and his breath hitches, head snapping up to Phil for confirmation that this is his .

His god smiles. "You can wear it whenever you like," he says. "No need to ask either. It's yours."

Phil presses a hand on his chest and his mark glows, warm and golden.

Tears prick at his eyes. Tommy suddenly stands up, throwing his arms around Phil in an embrace. There's a beat where it isn't returned, a note of surprise falling from his lips, then Phil holds him back. A gentle hand guiding Tommy's head to rest on his shoulder.

Tommy squeezes his eyes closed, a few tears leaking out, and buries his face in Phil's robes.

"Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Chapter Text

By now Tommy is well acquainted with the realm of the gods; that pocket space that lies between dimensions, carved out by Dream himself centuries ago after it had become too complicated a matter for gods and shinki to live amongst mortals.

The jolt in his abdomen, as if his stomach is being pulled up into his ribcage, is comforting in its familiarity. It's welcoming, like the dissolving of tension after a steady climb up a rollercoaster. Leaving just the thrill of the fall.

Except, this time, everything is backwards.

The bubble of anxiety doesn't pop, it just grows larger. He stumbles - a wave of nausea rising - Wilbur catches his arm, a concerned look on his face. Tommy shrugs him off, taking a few wobbling steps and  stares at the grand building in which the Council is hosted and swallows.

Bile rises out of his throat, thick and sour on his tongue.

Phil sweeps inside, wings of darkness and shadow lifted high, powerful and ancient, and in one breath to the next, becomes someone different.

His outward appearance doesn't change, but rather his aura. This is no longer the kind god that releases humanity to the other side with a loving gaze and gentle hands. He is a warrior, a king over his domain. His very presence demands respect and fear.

This is not Phil, who Tommy has slowly come to know and opened his heart to, fragilely, carefully; blossoming under tender care and love that asked for nothing in return.

Death, in all his terrible glory, has arrived.

Tommy swallows, sticking close to his brothers as they enter through the entry hall and feels for the first time afraid - no, too strong of a word. Philza would never hurt him - but… daunted .

They keep a sharp pace and Tommy does his best to keep up. Every hall has plush carpeting, white and creamy and so pure Tommy hesitates to walk on it. He glances back frequently, checking that he hasn't left dirty footprints in his wake. He slinks past gold artifacts and paintings so lifelike he's certain if he reached out he'd feel cool water or warm earth beneath his fingertips.

He's reminded of his first impression of Phil's home; the naive wonder he held for a few polished floors and pretty carvings. The heartland of the gods puts it all to shame. The level of opulence and lavishness that outrivals anything found in the mortal realm; far above any king's riches or all the wealth in the world.

He pulls awkwardly at his sleeves, wishing that Phil had convinced him to wear a suit because he now feels woefully underdressed.

Tommy has to remind himself there isn't time to gawk and stare at everything; shaking his head after becoming entranced by a diamond chandelier. Wilbur slows, tugging him along when Tommy drags his feet too much.

"Sorry," Tommy mumbles, the third - or fourth - time it happens. His shoulders rise as he ducks his head, quickening his footsteps.

Techno huffs, turning on his heel and striding back to Phil's side, the god gazing back at them for a moment longer before resuming the same clipped pace. He doesn’t offer words of comfort and that makes it all the more worse.

Phil has been closed off and silent, brow furrowed in concentration for the upcoming meeting. It doesn't help the anxiety churning in Tommy's gut. Even a brief smile or a bad joke would help settle his nerves a little. But this isn't the time for that.

Wil places a hand on his shoulder. "I can give you a tour later," he promises softly. "Just try to keep up for now. We should be almost there."

Tommy nods and keeps his eyes firmly on Phil's back, determined to not get distracted anymore.

As it turns out, ' there' is a room filled with people.

Tommy's eyes dart over unfamiliar faces; suits and dresses in rainbow colors and with peacock extravagance. 

In one corner is Niki. Her arms are crossed, gaze narrowed. Puffy stands at her side, the two women wearing dresses a similar blood red, but in different styles. Jack chats with someone a few feet away, a pink dress swirling around their ankles..

Karl is nowhere to be seen so Tommy balances on his toes, straining his neck to see around the crowd. Tucked away in the middle, he spots him.

Karl's wearing a purple suit that just borders on being ugly, in Tommy’s opinion, but he makes it work. On the couch next to him is a man with black hair he doesn't recognize. His suit jacket is tossed to the side and the two have their legs thrown over each other's lap as if competing to see who gets to sit on who.

They lean in, foreheads touching, and Tommy pulls a face, looking away from the PDA.

He's just in time to spot a small body pushing its way through the crowd towards them.

"Phil! Hey Phil!"

Tommy blinks and there's a boy in front of them. He's shorter, hardly reaching his shoulders and has wild brown hair nearly down to his chin, but his smile is wide and most surprisingly, is young. Judging from his looks,Tommy's age even. Though, appearances don't mean much in the world of gods and shinki. For all Tommy knew, the guy could be thousands of years old.

"Hullo," Techno greets, expression unchanging as the boy bounds up to him with the excitement of a small puppy and gives him a hug.

"Hey it's been a while! How've you been?"

"Eh," Techno shrugs. "Same old, same old.” He gives a small ruffle to the boy’s hair. “Where's Ranboo?" he questions.

"He's talking to Fundy," the boy says, taking a step back only for Wilbur to ruffle his hair and pull him into a hug next. "He'll be over in a minute."

Phil's stiff demeanor had broken in the few moments after the boy had arrived and he held his arms open, surprising Tommy with the smile he sent the newcomer's way, his eyes crinkling in genuine happiness.

"Tubbo," Phil sighs, wrapping his wings around the smaller boy and tucking his head under his chin. "It's good to see you, mate. You should be telling Ranboo where you're going before running off though," he chides. "You know how much he worries."

"I know, I know." Tubbo squirms in Phil's grip. "But I really wanted to say hi. And plus," he leans back, locking eyes with Tommy, "I heard you got a new shinki."

At the mention of him, Tommy pulls back his shoulders and straightens his back.

This… Tubbo guy sounds familiar, but he can't place it. Maybe Wilbur had mentioned it at some time or another? 

“Tommy,” he introduces himself. He crosses his arms. He wasn’t about to be intimidated by some fucker who couldn’t even see eye level with him.

If his tone upset Tubbo, he didn’t show it. He just got closer, leaning in obnoxiously into Tommy’s space. 

“Wow, you’re not like what I expected.”

Tommy bristled. “What the fuck does that mean, you-”

“There you are,” a new voice interrupted.

Tommy jumps back. This guy is tall . Tommy was prideful of his own height, but damn, he now understands what it feels like to be short. The dude has a full head on him. 

It’d be intimidating too, but he's also gangly and awkward, his hands rub together nervously, eyes flickering towards Phil with an unreadable expression and his shoulders hunch inwards curving down towards Tubbo like he’s hiding behind him.

He could probably take him in a fight, Tommy thinks with a scoff, and that boosts his confidence.

"Please stop running off like that," the human tube man says. "I really don't want a repeat of last time…"

"Come on, Boo, I'm fine. I can take care of myself." Tubbo beams and the other's hands drop.

"That's what I'm worried about," he mutters.

"Ranboo," Phil inclines his head. "It's good to see you're well."

Ranboo's throat bobs. "Thank you sir. It's nice to see you too."

Silence fell. Ranboo shuffles his feet. Tommy’s getting used to strange appearances among the gods, but this guy took the cake. Half his hair was a shocking white, split down the middle from the black other half. The bottom half of his face is covered in a mask, also divided into black and white as if in mockery of his hair.

Between Tubbo’s and Ranboo’s ridiculous height difference and their opposite personalities, they make a weird ass pair.

Tommy narrows his eyes, trying to figure out what they are.

Tubbo strikes him as a god with his confident and laid back manner. 

Then that would make Ranboo a shinki. Tubbo’s shinki? Whatever the case, that meant Tommy would be stuck with him for however long the meeting would be.

He scowls. He already hates this; that would just be the cherry on top of a terrible day.

They don’t stew in silence for long before one final, familiar face makes an appearance.

The rest of the room falls to a hush, eyes following Dream as he enters; the sound of heavy boots on carpet nearly deafening as he stalks forward. George and Sapnap stand side by side, both motionless, though the latter’s gaze lingers on Karl and his boyfriend, his longing clear.

Dream comes to a halt before Philza.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy can see Ranboo trembling slightly. It makes him feel slightly better for the pit of dread in his stomach. Not that he’d ever admit it.

It must just be his imagination, but he’s sure Dream lingers on him. Again, it’s hard to tell, given the mask, but Tommy tilts his head up and refuses to be cowed.

Nevertheless, Dream passes by, the contained danger of an approaching thunderstorm and sharp crack of ozone, and bows to Phil.

“Philza. I think it’s time we get this Council underway.”

“Agreed,” Phil replies, lips thinned in displeasure. “Lead the way.”

‘As you wish.”

Tommy’s sure he catches a hint of mockery in Dream’s tone, but the god still turns on his heel, striding to a pair of thick wooden doors on the other side of the room. Every inch of the wood is covered in swirling runes and as Dream pulls it open, they light up, brightening and fading in waves. Inside, there’s nothing. Or, far more likely, nothing that Tommy can perceive, because Dream crosses the threshold easily enough and fades from view. 

Slowly, one by one, the other gods in the room begin to follow suit, saying farewells to their shinki and disappearing as well.

“I’ll be back soon. Hopefully.” Phil passes from Technoblade to Wilbur, pulling them into quick embraces. “Look after each other.”

“I’m drowning Wil in the fountain if you’re not back within two hours,” Techno responded, tone impassive.

“Not unless I smother you with a pillow first.”

Phil groans, “boys,” he tries to chide, but they could all see the smile on the edge of his lips. “I’ll make it up to you later. Promise.”

“There’s nothing you have to make up for,” Wil tells him. “We’ll wait as long as we have to. You know that.”

“Thank you.”

Phil turns to him and Tommy ducks his head.

“I know you hate this-” Tommy snorts. That’s an understatement. “-And I never thought I’d have to drag such a new shinki to a Council meeting. I’m sorry it has to be like this. Will you forgive me?”

Tommy considers - briefly - staying silent, but it’s his guilt at being a bitch about this in the first place that makes him speak up.

“It’s fine. I get it. Go do your god shit or whatever. Just be quick. I don’t want to hang out in this shithole all day.”

Phil chuckles and Tommy glows.

“I’ll do my best,” Phil promises. He cups Tommy’s face, nudging his chin up so they could look eye to eye. “I love you. Don’t forget that.”

Tommy blinks. “I…”

“Philza?” Ranboo calls softly.

Phil withdraws and Tommy feels his heart clench. He shoves the pain down, ignoring his disappointment. Prime, he’s stupid.

“I’m coming.” Phil gives them one last parting look, “We’ll be back.” 

Ranboo and Phil walk to the portal. Ranboo hesitantly dips through the doorway. Phil follows suit; a flick of his wings and the door slams shut behind him, the carved runes burning brightly and the silence shatters, the shinki left behind striking back up conversation.

“Wanna place bets on how long they’ll be in there?” Tubbo says from beside him.

Tommy jerks and stares at him. “Huh?”

“I said-”

“No, I heard that. Wait, I thought you were…” he points silently at the glowing door. 

Tubbo tilts his head in confusion for a moment, then his expression clears and he begins to laugh.

“You thought I was a god?”

Tommy clenches his jaw. “Well, why is Ranboo such a nervous bitch then?” he shot back defensively.

“This is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Tubbo ignores his question. “You’re coming with me.” He grabs Tommy’s wrist, and before he could protest, he’s dragged out of the room.

The last thing Tommy sees is Techno raising one eyebrow and Wil trying to hold his own laughter in.

Tubbo doesn’t give two shits, Tommy is quick to learn.

The shinki is fucking chaotic. He walks over furniture with his shoes still on; kicks off walls and sprints down halls; and nearly knocks over every single breakable thing in sight.

It’s so easy to join him; wild and chaotic and free.

There’s nobody around that’ll mind anyway.

Tommy grins, shucks off his shoes, and runs down the pristine wood floors after Tubbo, whooping and hollering the whole way.

Tubbo shows him all the cool parts of the mansion. Nooks and crannies to hide in; rooms with high ceilings that amplified and echoed their voices a hundred times over; a secret garden filled with exotic plants; a bookshelf that revealed a secret passage to another library.

They share these secrets with smiles and laughter, then move on, eyes bright with adventure.

The sun never moves from its position high in the sky, the lights never dim, and Tommy loses track of time.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, pulling off his shoes without bothering to untie the laces.

“You just did.”

Tommy shoots Tubbo a glare, but his new friend just laughs.

“Kidding. Go ahead.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, tossing his socks on the ground next to his discarded shoes and steps into the fountain. Along the bottom are thousands of coins and they shift beneath his feet. He reaches down and pulls out a handful, a dozen foreign currencies clinking together in his palm.

“So, uh, how do you know Phil? Cause it’s not like you’re… his shinki.” He very tactfully omits the word god , not wanting to start another round of teasing.

“Oh, yeah.” Tubbo kicks his feet in the water, “I actually used to be his shinki.”

Tommy’s head whips up, his coins splashing back into the water as he wades closer. “You… what?”

“I used to be his shinki,” Tubbo shrugs. “I was released um… sixty years ago, I think. See, look.”

He pulls back a section of his hair and tucks it behind his ear and turns slightly. On his right earlobe is a gold piercing, a small emerald tucked within its center.

“I still have this as a memento. Phil was really nice and gave it to me when I was released. As a going away present, I guess. I may not be his shinki anymore, but I owe him a lot.” 

“Why- why were you released? What the fuck does being released mean ?”

“So you know how you were bound by Phil? You have your mark?”

Tommy nods.

Tubbo’s mark undulates under the water, a black spiral on the inside of his ankle. It appears to spin and gyrate with the motion of the waves.

“Well, being released is basically being unbound. Your mark disappears and the bond between you and the god is severed. After I was released I was immediately bound to Ranboo and I’ve been with him ever since.”

“You still didn’t answer why.”

“Right.” Tubbo smiles, “It’s pretty simple, really. Ranboo was a new god, newly born - don’t ask me fucking how or why - but he suddenly existed and the Council… This is where it got complicated. They didn’t trust him, ok? So, they offered to give him a shinki they felt they could trust. To ‘keep an eye on him’ or some shit.”

Tommy’s heart sinks.

“Phil got rid of you,” he whispers.

“No,” Tubbo refutes. “No, no. I… I volunteered . I’d only been with Phil for a couple decades. That’s like baby time - don’t look at me like that. You’re considered a baby until you hit at least half a millennium. I met Ranboo and he was so nervous and there were all these people against him so I said fuck it and told Phil I’d do it. Best decision of my life. No offense to Phil.”

“Oh,” Tommy says. It’s an underwhelming response, but that’s all he can think to say.

“Dream told me that if I’m ever released, I could work for him,” he admits. He hugs his arms close to his body. “Whatever that means.”

Tubbo stares at him with wide eyes. “He really said that?”

“Yeah?”

“Holy shit. The last shinki Dream was interested in was Technoblade. I bet Phil wasn’t happy about that.”

“Wait, what?”

Tubbo shrugs. “It’s old gossip, really, but yeah. There’s this rumour that Dream was interested in Technoblade and tried to bet on a game to win him.”

“What happened?”

“What do you think?” Tubbo snorts. “Techno’s still bound to Phil. As the story went, Dream tried to cheat, but of course,” his eyes glimmer dangerously, “you can’t cheat Death. That’s probably where their dislike for each other came from.”

Tommy rocks back on his palms and bit the inside of his cheek. So that must be why the two are so hostile to each other.

A tiny part of him wonders if the only reason why Phil’s so protective is because he’s trying to one up Dream and Tommy’s just a pawn in some big, stupid posturing game, but he shakes away those thoughts. Phil isn’t like that.

(Or is he?

He feels uneasy.)

“I dunno about you, big man, but I’m hungry. What do you say to raiding the snack table?”

Tommy’s head snaps up. “Huh?”

Tubbo rolls his eyes, he’s already gotten a sock halfway on. “Are you even listening? Food. Let’s go. Now.”

“Right, right.”

Tommy stumbles out of the fountain after him, not bothering to put on socks, just stuffs his shoes back on.

Tubbo expertly guides them back through the maze of halls, cutting east before heading north, sometimes backtracking to the west a little. Through door after door after door after-

Tommy bumped into Tubbo, who bumped into someone else.

“Sorry,” the shorter boy instinctively apologizes at the same time Tommy barks, “Watch it!”

A man stares down at them impassively, eyes like the sky before a storm, cold and dark. A gold chain hangs around his neck and thick rings sit on his knuckles but he doesn’t wear fancy clothes like everyone else. Just scuffed street clothes that have seen better days.

He doesn’t look like any of the other shinki in attendance.

In fact, Tommy doesn’t think he recognizes him...

Tubbo gasps and grabs his wrist, dragging him backwards. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Tommy hisses. His heart lurches at Tubbo’s panic. “Who is that?”

He doesn’t know then that Tubbo’s next words would eventually send shivers down his spine.

“It’s Punz. He’s a mercenary.”

Chapter Text

Tubbo’s grip is tight - too tight - his fingernails dig into Tommy’s skin and he wants to wriggle out of it. His breath is coming faster, more labored, and he can feel his own panic rising, swift and sure into his lungs and out through his limbs, cold and heavy. Paralyzing.

They take two steps back. Tubbo scowls at Punz, teeth bared.

To Punz’s credit, he doesn’t pursue them. He stands in place, hands shoved in his pockets, and watches as they slowly inch backwards.

“Why are you here?” Tubbo demands.

Punz shrugs and turns his head. “I was invited,” he says casually, unperturbed by Tubbo’s strange behavior. Almost as if he was expecting it. “So, technically, I’m allowed to be here.”

Tubbo’s teeth grind together and Tommy winces, empathetic of the way his jaw creaks.

“So, now you just hang around like a creep. Isn’t it bad enough that no god wants you?”

“Tubbo,” Tommy hisses, “what the fuck.”

Punz twitches, but doesn’t rise to the bait.

“He’s a mercenary,” Tubbo says, like the word is supposed to mean something and Tommy fights to not roll his eyes. This is another one of those weird shinki rules, he can feel it. For some reason, the poor bastard has been thrown to the wolves by his own kind.

“Yeah, you’ve said that. Mind explaining it?" He tries to temper down the annoyance in his voice.

"I can," Punz offers. Tubbo's hatred simmers, undisguised when Tommy turns to Punz - not him - for an explanation.

Tommy will gladly take an explanation from anyone. Clear bastard or not.

"You're Philza's new shinki," Punz tilts his head curiously. It's not a question, it's a statement. And it actually puts Tommy at ease. Because unlike everyone else, there is no piqued interest; no dark glimmer in his eyes at who the Death god chose. It's a fact. And that's all. No additional judgement or hidden agenda tacked on. "I'm not surprised you don't know yet.

"I sell myself out. More or less. It's a surprisingly lucrative business. Gods bind me and I do their dirty work. I get paid, they get the job done, and we wash our hands clean of each other."

"Then you turn around and backstab them," Tubbo snaps.

Punz shrugs. "That's a risk they'll have to take. We're just tools in the end. I just don't care who's wielding me and why." He waves his hand dismissively and Tommy can see the edge of a mark curling around his wrist. Then suddenly, he can't help but see more.

Thick lines poke above his collar, nearly hidden by the gold chain he wears. There's a glimpse of a whole mark on Punz's palm and Tommy wonders how many he has. How many cover his skin under his jacket.

He shudders involuntarily. It just seems wrong, being bound to so many gods, like being pulled in dozens of directions at once and Tommy can start to understand Tubbo's disgust.

It feels like betrayal, in a way.

"If you'd excuse me," Punz says, "I'll be going now."

Tubbo drags them back against the wall, eyes narrowed in suspicion as Punz walks past; and Tommy catches sight of one last mark on the back of the mercenary's neck.

A simple smiley face, its dot eyes seeming to stare right at him.

Tommy stares back, transfixed; a sense of foreboding seeped into his skin, down to his bones, even after Punz is gone.

He shivers.

Tubbo relaxes, releasing Tommy's wrist with a nervous, apologetic smile.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine." Tommy rubs at the indents on his arm, the corners of his mouth turned down. "Why did you have to try and piss him off?"

"Punz isn’t supposed to be here,” Tubbo says. As if that would explain everything. “Mercenaries aren’t wanted. Why would anyone invite him?”

“Um… aren’t gods supposed to bring all their shinki to gatherings?” Tommy asks curiously. “Just… That’s what Phil said. So that should include mercenaries, right?”

Tubbo frowns. “You’re right. But who?”

“I got a fucking idea: Dream.”

“Dream?”

“Yeah. There was a big, fat smiley on the back of Punz’s neck that looks like his stupid mask. I bet it was him.”

Tubbo’s face pinches in distaste. “We should go back now.” He reaches for Tommy’s hand again. 

Tommy flinches, involuntarily, but Tubbo's grip is gentle. There are calluses on his palms and Tommy rubs his thumb on the smooth inside of Tubbo’s wrist; feeling a faint pulse thudding steadily.

He's dragged along again, but Tommy's thoughts never quite leave Punz. 

It’s haunting, the detached way he stared at them, how he hardly reacted when curses were spit his way.

Tommy thinks of Phil’s love and care and can’t imagine other gods not doing the same. Rather, casting a shinki aside like trash. Only seeing them as tools.

It makes him boil.

It’s not right. It’s not right.

It won’t be the last time he sees Punz.

Phil leans on Techno’s shoulder with a weary sigh. His wings drape across the ground and it’s the most relaxed Tommy has ever seen him around other people besides them.

“Tired?” Techno grunts, shifting Phil’s weight so he can curl closer to the shinki, if he wants.

Phil exhales a laugh, the corners of his eyes creased in exhaustion. “Meetings always are,” he hums. “Oh god, the arguing.”

“Pretty sure it’s supposed to be ‘gods’,” Wilbur snarks. “Careful, or you might commit blasphemy.” 

Phil smacks him with a wing. Not strong enough to hurt, just a tap to send him off balance.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he warns, amusement evident in his tone. He flaps slightly, smoothing his feathers down and pulls the appendages close to his body. “At least we came to a consensus.”

“Yeah?” Techno asks with a raised brow. “I’m guessing whatever it is, Dream isn’t too happy with it, judging on how he stormed out with George and Sapnap.”

“He had to pry the love birds apart,” Wilbur adds with a grin. “God save whoever tries to do that.”

“Now who’s being blasphemous?” Phil asks. His smile fades a moment later and his forehead creases together. “Dream’s up to something. I can feel it.”

“More so than usual?”

Wil’s joke falls flat. The four of them stand in awkward silence. Tommy shuffles his feet.

“Well,” Wil clears his throat. “It’s funny that you say that, cause apparently Tommy and Tubbo ran into Punz. He has Dream’s mark.”

Immediately, Phil’s eyes snap to him, sharp and inquiring. He stands up straighter, and Techno huffs at the loss of contact.

“Did he try to hurt you?”

Tommy shakes his head quickly. “No. He just explained what a mercenary is.”

Phil grips his shoulders, squeezing lightly, cold blue eyes searching Tommy’s and it takes a lot of effort to not break eye contact.

“Nothing else happened?"

Wordlessly, Tommy nods - it's technically the truth - and Phil relaxes, running his hands up and down Tommy’s arms in a soothing gesture. Whether it's for Tommy or himself, he couldn’t tell.

“I was with Tubbo. I was fine.”

Phil’s lips quirks upwards. “I have no doubt. He’s a good lad. I’m glad the two of you get along. Perhaps I'll have to talk to Ranboo so you can see each other more often.”

“Really?" Tommy's lips part in surprise.

“Of course,” Phil chuckles. “It’d be good to see him more often anyways.”

Wil coos, propping his chin in his hand, “It’s like a playdate!”

Heat rushes to Tommy’s face and he sneers. “It’s not a fucking playdate! We’re both big men, doing big, manly things. So fuck off.”

“Do you have a little friend?” Wil’s pushing it, a teasing lilt to his words as he gets in Tommy’s space, ruffling his hair affectionately. “It’s ok, you can just admit it.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy snaps, trying to hide how much the word 'friend' affects him. He doesn’t deny it, though. Neither does he push Wil away when he’s pulled to the man’s side, one arm lazily thrown over his shoulder. He huffs, “you’re so annoying.”

“And you’re a little gremlin but we still love you.”

Tommy blinks rapidly. He’s not crying. He isn’t. Wilbur’s just stupid and sappy.

Phil’s looking at them all big eyed and soft, wings raised protectively, gathering them in his shadows and Tommy leans closer. His hand drifts out, to pet at the sleek, black feathers. Surprise flits across Phil’s face. Is- is this the first time Tommy has reached out first? But then he lowers his head, hiding his face.

“Let’s go home,” Phil murmurs.

And Tommy agrees.

“I’m going out.”

Techno doesn’t bother glancing up from his book, idly turning a page as he replies, “Out where?”

Tommy huffs. “I dunno. Outside. I’m bored.”

“You could sit down and read a book.”

“Books are for pussies.”

A single eyebrow rises as Techno stares at Tommy over the rim of his glasses. “And what does that make me?”

“A double pussy,” Tommy answers, boredom making him bold.

 His brother snorts and turns back to his book. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Just no. To going outside and being a pussy.”

“But Techno-”

“But Tommy,” came the mocking response. Techno recomposes himself a moment later, dulling his voice as he continues, “you’re not allowed out by yourself. You know that.”

“I’m not a baby. I’m sixteen! I can take care of myself.”

Techno shakes his head, uncaring of Tommy's plight. “Phil’s rule. You know that. If you want entertainment, you won’t find it here. Go bother Wilbur or something.”

Tommy flops on the couch next to him. “He’s busy,” he scowls and crosses his arms indignantly. He's not pouting. He's not. 

“Working on his music or some shit. He locked me out of his room, the bitch.”

Techno hums and flips another page. “You have a swearing problem, you know.”

“And you have a problem with being a book-reading pussy.”

Techno finally drags his eyes fully away from the page and gives Tommy a hardened stare, making him shiver. Tommy swallows and laughs forcibly; not at all natural, but oh shit he messed up didn’t he-

“Try cutting back on it a little,” all Techno says in response and Tommy’s tension melts away.

He runs his fingers on the cushion next to him, fascinated as it makes patterns in the cloth. He sighs, pulling at a loose thread on the bottom of his shirt. “Phil thinks it’s funny,” he mutters.

“He does,” Techno snorts. "His bad habits are going to rub off onto all of us if we're not careful."

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Techno steadily turns the pages of whatever book it is he’s reading. Tommy squints at the title. It’s written in some language he doesn’t recognize, but it’s heavy and thick, and reminds him a little too closely of textbooks to ever convince him to ever pick it up even if he was able read it.

He rubs his entire palm across the cushion fabric, satisfied with how it made a funny shh noise. When that fails to hold his attention, he picks at a hole that's forming in his jeans. He doesn’t know where it came from, but it keeps happening; him ruining perfectly good clothes through this or that. Phil's yet to get angry about it, at most, shaking his head in disbelief before a new pair of jeans or a shirt appears in his closet.

Tommy huffs, wiggling his finger into the hole and testing the edges of it to see how easily he could make it bigger.

“You’re going to make it worse if you keep doing that.”

Tommy sneers. They’re his jeans. He should do what he wants with them. Yet, he does as he’s told and begins tapping out a rhythm on the side table instead.

He should learn the drums, he thinks. He’s got a good beat going, a fast and furious pace that he can tap his foot to and now he’s banging out to an invisible tune.

He hums along and grins. Wilbur should let him help write music. He’s already so fucking good.

Tommy’s fun is cut short by Techno’s book slamming shut.

He flinches, fingers ceasing their movement, and draws into himself, wary eyes watching as Techno crosses the room, passing him by. 

“I’m calling Ranboo,” he grunts, slipping his book back on a shelf. “Get your shoes.”

“...What?”

“You have too much energy to be cooped up right now. Phil says you’re not allowed outside without someone else, so I’m getting you a babysitter.”

“Hey!” Tommy sputters, "I don't need a babysitter. Especially not that dick-"

“It’s either that or find something else to entertain yourself because, quite frankly, you’re getting on my nerves.” Techno replies coldly. His gaze is cool and dispassionate, the cell phone resting in one hand, one press away from calling the forgetful memory god.

Tommy chews the inside of his cheek and weighs his options.

Even if it means being stuck with the tall freak, the huge, silent house has slowly been driving him insane. Especially with Phil gone and Wilbur and Techno both being busy. 

On the other hand, this’ll give him a chance to see Tubbo. And that sorta outweighed any downsides.

So, he nods. “Fine. Call the boob boy.”

“Ranboo.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

An hour later, Tommy stands at the entrance to a mall with some money in his pocket. It's an absurd amount, but Techo insisted, shoving it in his hands and making him promise not to spend it all on sugar.

Tommy crossed his fingers behind his back and agreed, grinning when Techno turned away, unaware he'd been fooled.

“Alright, here's what I reckon we do…"

Tubbo cups his chin, eyes narrowed as he surveys the map like a war hardened general. "We can ignore the right wing. Nothing interesting there. We can go straight, loop back after this store-" he taps a colored square for reference. "And everything else is down this other hall and the food court is on the end! This'll be easy!"

"Sounds like a plan. Lead the way big man!"

Tommy claps Tubbo's shoulder, Ranboo shakes his head softly, and they head out.

Tommy couldn't have picked a better person to cause chaos with on a slow Tuesday afternoon. Because of the veil making them more difficult to perceive, they can be louder and run around more before some mortal kicks up a fuss.

Meaning, Ranboo has to be the one to reel them back in.

But he's just one guy (albeit, a god) and Tubbo knows all the strings to pull to get him to do what he wants.

Tommy uses that knowledge to his absolute glee; Tubbo right beside him.

They buy an outrageous amount of candy candy (unsurprisingly). Tommy and Tubbo throw pieces at each other, trying to catch it in their mouths. They're largely unsuccessful, but it's funny watching bits of candy bounce off their chins and noses. They're captivated by a game store for far too long that Tommy's embarrassed that he thought so hard between two games when Tubbo gives him the simple solution to just get both.

Ranboo isn't so bad. Not that Tommy will ever admit it.

The god has the backbone of a Twinkie, but has a surprisingly good sense of humor, cutting in on their conversations with little quips that make Tommy trip and laugh, they're so unexpected.

He's having fun. Fitting in. It's like they're regular teens hanging out on holiday. Nothing better to do than terrorize the local store owners and spend too much money.

And maybe, he notes bitterly, why it all goes wrong.

It's supposed to be an innocent prank.

"Check this out," Tommy whispers, nudging Tubbo closer to the check out at the store they're in. The teenager behind the counter doesn't even glance up from her phone. He snickers at the unsuspecting mortal and unhooks a pair of keys from the wall behind her.

The keys that lock up the more expensive merchandise.

"Boom!" He twirls them around on his finger and grins. "Easy as that."

Tubbo's looking at him with wide eyes, but not with admiration as he hoped. He's… nervous. His gaze flickers between the silver keys in Tommy's hand and the cashier.

"You shouldn't do that," Tubbo whispers. "Put them back."

"I will," Tommy retorts. "It's not like I'm stealing them. I'm borrowing. You said that you wanted to get a closer look at those headphones behind the glass, right? Now you can. And we didn't even have to bother anyone to do it."

He crosses his arms proudly. It's a neat trick. He can't understand why Tubbo wouldn't have the same enthusiasm about it.

Tubbo bites his lip. "Yeah… but-"

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Here, how about you try. It's fun! And it's not like we're going to get caught. Just lean over and…" he scans the counter. "Grab one of those coupons from that bin! Come on."

"I really don't-"

"Just grab one then you can give it right back. You're acting like you're being forced to murder someone, holy hell."

(He's pushing it too far…)

"Tommy."

"Don't be a pussy. Or maybe you're too scared."

That does it. 

Tubbo's eyes ignite with indignation. "I'm not scared," he hisses. "Fucking watch this."

His hand reaches out, fingers just brushing the edge of a slick, blue coupon-

A hand shots out, grabbing Tubbo's wrist and jerking it away.

Tubbo screams, Tommy jumps, and the girl behind the counter looks up.

"Sorry about that," Ranboo smiles, lips thin. "We'll try to be more quiet. Tubbo, we need to talk."

"Boo," Tubbo murmurs. "I wasn't-"

"Not now. Please excuse us Tommy."

They rush out of the store, Tubbo being dragged along looking like he's being taken to the fucking gallows and Tommy stands there, frozen, certain that he did something wrong. He just doesn't know what.

They were just having some fun...

He swallows. His mouth feels very dry all of a sudden.

"Umm… can I help you with anything?" The girl asks, eyeing him warily.

Tommy slams the keys on the counter, mumbles, "you dropped this," and leaves as well, shoving his hands into his pockets and keeps his head down as he wanders back the way they came, searching for what corner Tubbo and Ranboo have holed themselves up into.

In just a few seconds the good mood of the day went down the drain. He fingers the emergency phone in his pocket and debates whether he should call Techno and ask to be picked up.

No.

His hand drops. He's a bigger man than this. He'll go apologize. To Tubbo for getting him in trouble. And Ranboo for…

Gods why is he such a fuck up.

Can't do anything right.

He turns the corner and comes face to face with a familiar smiling mask.

"Dream!" 

Tommy's feet stumble, nearly tripping him onto the cold tile floor and he shudders.

"What the fuck. What the fuck. Why are you here?" he demands. His legs brace (readying for a hit).

Dream raises a hand in a placating gesture. He's not wearing armor, nor is George or Sapnap anywhere in sight. Other than his creepy mask, he could pass as a regular college student. A neon green hoodie pulled over a pair of blue jeans and scuffed sneakers.

"Whoa," he says. "I'm just here to talk. That's it." He tilts his head to a nearby bench. "You got a minute?"

"Why would I want to talk to you?" Tommy mutters.

He finds himself following anyway. Like his feet are being pulled on little puppet strings and being forced to walk. Then he's sitting down and Dream hums happily at Tommy's perceived obedience.

As if the bastard gave him any choice in the matter.

Tommy growls, letting his feelings be known loud and clear. Dream chuckles and Tommy indulges in a fantasy of kicking him in the balls.

"I won't keep you for long. I just have something to ask you."

"If this is about how the council got your ass for the stupid reality crack or whatever, it's not my fault. I didn't even want to find the damn thing," Tommy snaps. He clenches his hands so tight his knuckles go white and hopes that Dream will fall for his false bravado.

In reality, he's scared shitless.

"Oh, that?" Dream says, voice oozing with false blasé. "I'm not mad about that. In fact, let's put that behind us now. What do you say?"

Tommy's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Finally he nods, once, sharply. "Fine."

"Good," Dream purrs and it sends chills down his spine. "Now I'd like to ask a favor of you."

All sorts of alarm bells are going off. Tommy hasn't liked the predatory way Dream has watched him during every encounter they've had. Especially not now, pinned like a bug under a microscope. Dream sitting only inches away and Phil not around to come save him.

Sweat breaks out on the back of his neck.

"Like what?" he ventures to ask quietly. Hesitantly.

"It's more of an equal exchange type thing," Dream continues. "You do a favor for me and I'll give you a favor in return. Ask me anything and I'll do it for you."

"...anything?"

"Yes," the god breathes, ivory mask inches away from Tommy's face and he fights not to flinch at the hiss in his ear.

"I just need you to do a quick job for me. In and out. It'll be so quick. Philza won't even miss you. Just let me bind you-"

"No."

Tommy's heart pounds in his ears. He's trembling in place, but his muscles refuse to move. Unable to leave this conversation. Desperately he looks around for Tubbo and Ranboo. What he wouldn't give to see that annoying split white-black mask and gangly legs right now.

"No," he repeats, a little stronger. Luckily his voice doesn't crack in the middle of it. "Phil already said-"

"Who cares about what Philza said." Dream's eyeroll is almost audible. "After being given a corporeal form, shinki can't be forced into bindings. Phil can't stop you if you give permission." He leans in closer. "So? What will your answer be?"

"I… I can't."

"Yes you can," he refutes, voice dripping with sickly sweet honey. Sticky and thick, binding Tommy in place. "It'll be temporary, I promise."

"I don't want to be a mercenary." Tears prick at his eyes, yet his arms feel too heavy to rise and wipe them away. "I… I love Phil. I can't do that to him."

Dream growls, low and angry.

"You're being real fucking difficult." The sudden swear would be more shocking if it wasn't for the whole situation Tommy's in right now. "I gave you a good deal. One that anyone else would jump for the chance to have. Do you have any idea how powerful a favor from the god of reality is?"

Dream's hand curls around Tommy's neck. "You're such an ungrateful brat. Do you think Philza cares? He's a god. He's driven by selfishness and entertainment and will throw you away as soon as he's tired of playing house."

His fingers tighten. Tommy chokes, breath rattling in his airway.

"Please," he whimpers, tugging at Dream's hand, but he'd have more luck clawing at stone.

Seconds tick by. An eternity in which Tommy wonders if he's going to experience dying for a second time.

"I have a new proposal." The pressure on Tommy's throat disappears. He coughs, bending over and heaving in great lungfuls of air in relief.

Dream rubs his back. As if he wasn't choking him out a moment ago.

"Tommy, have you ever thought about who you were before you died?"

The question stops Tommy's thoughts in its tracks.

Dream continues, brushing gently through Tommy's hair in a soothing pattern.

"Like, who was your family, and where you lived." Dream tugs back on Tommy's head, guiding him to an upright position.

"Have you ever wondered how you died?" he whispers conspiratorially, a sharp smile to his words.

It echoes in Tommy's mind and rather than fading away, it just grew louder, becoming more insistent, reverberating through his mind and exposing all the blank gaps in his memory he'd never questioned before until they were huge and impossible to ignore.

"I-" 

His body shakes; aches with the emptiness inside him, but already that space is filling back up with a desperation, a need to know.

Tommy turns to Dream, his eyes large and wild; the words unable to form on his lips.

Dream's mask smiles back, wide and ecstatic at what he's done. He rises and Tommy whimpers.

"I'll be back Tommy," Dream laughs. "If you ever want answers to those questions, you know who to call."

Tommy blinks and Dream is gone. He's sitting on a bench in the middle of the mall and he is alone.

It takes all his strength to stand up and drag himself to a bathroom. His hands tremble in the mirror as they glide over the skin of his neck, but it is unblemished, undarkened. Only a phantom touch left behind.

Tommy leans on the sink, stares at his reflection. Blue eyes like a clear day and messy golden hair that refused to be tamed.

A boy that died too early.

And Tommy begins to shatter.

Chapter Text

"-ommy!"

The third call rouses him out of his daydream. Tommy jumps. His head whips up and he gives Wilbur an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, what?”

Wilbur’s forehead creases, a concerned look flitting across his face. Hesitantly a hand stretches out, almost touching. A shadow of contact and Tommy nearly bends towards it, but then it retreats and he sighs in disappointment, in relief. 

 Wilbur's throat bobs.

He watches Tommy warily, like one might a wounded animal; desperate to reach out, but terrified of scaring it further. So, he doesn't touch. Instead he asks, “are you alright? You’ve been quiet a lot recently.”

Tommy’s smile dips, but he forces it back in place. It’s too thin, too wide to be natural.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Just thinking big man thoughts, you know.”

He laughs. It comes out high, and reedy. Just as fake as the rest of his performance.

Wilbur doesn’t buy it. Of course he wouldn't, he's too smart for that. He takes a seat next to Tommy, long legs pressed against Tommy's own and warm brown eyes searching, searching for something .

Tommy can’t bring himself to meet them, so he keeps his head down.

“Tommy…” A beat; Wilbur inhales. His hand rests on Tommy’s knee. It doesn’t squeeze. He’s not pinned down. It’s comforting, he supposes. It makes the storm in his head settle down for just a moment.

“Tommy,” Wilbur repeats, voice low. “You know you can talk to Phil - to any of us - if something’s going on, right?”

Tommy nods wordlessly. He’s afraid that if he says something now, it’ll all come spilling out.

Would he be laughed at, he wonders, for forgetting his past life - his mortality? Or would they be disappointed and angry? The spaces are there, in his head, for those memories. But it’s barren and empty. 

Ransacked shelves. Stolen memories.

And he wants them back more than anything. More than his need to breathe and will to live.

“Mind if I play?” Wilbur asks. His guitar sits in his lap. Tommy doesn’t know when it got there - he keeps zoning out and missing things. But he knows what his answer will be.

He nods again and leans back, almost resting his head on Wil’s shoulder as long fingers begin to strum out the first notes. A lullaby, soft and slow. Warm as a candle on a nightstand, glowing in the darkness to drive away the shadows and monsters that lurk with in them.

Tommy closes his eyes and to the tune of the melody, retreats back into his mind.

Tommy’s wasting away. 

He knows this. Phil and his brothers know this. 

It’s an open secret. One that becomes more troublesome with every meal he skips; how the shadows under his eyes darken more and more each morning; the inescapable spiral in his mind, that swirl of questions that Dream asked and refuses to go away.

He circles that dark void. Around and around and around. And sometimes… just sometimes… thinks about tipping inside. One tiny glance is all he needs-

He shakes himself out of that mindset quickly, unsure of where that idea even came from in the first place.

For the first time since he has died, Tommy truly feels like a ghost.

The physical world holds no weight. Words become like gibberish, easy to tune out and ignore. He wanders aimlessly. Walking the same hallways over and over and over. Pacing, thinking, trying to remember .

Wilbur nudges him, normal teasing wilting with Tommy's lack of response. Technoblade offers lessons in swordplay, a dull hope in his eye, and any other time Tommy would jump at the opportunity.

He smiles and shakes his head. 

He has more important things to think about.

Tommy is a ghost stuck in the past.

Phil’s face pinches in worry, the weight of stress carving harsh lines into his forehead.

It’s harder not to share when they’re all intrinsically linked. When they’re surrounding him with feelings of peace and comfort, Tommy nearly unfurls beneath their gentle prodding.  Yet, something holds him back and every time he’s grateful that Techno taught him how to keep certain thoughts and emotions locked up so as to not bleed into the connection and upset the balance.

Sometimes Tommy closes his eyes and tries to imagine what his parents would have looked like.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes.

Every time he conjures up an image, it brings him back to Phil: his only point of reference as a fatherly figure. He’s not sure if it’s worse that they look so similar. Maybe if they didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much knowing that Phil is hiding his past from him.

That’s the only way it makes sense. 

If Dream, a god, was able to find that information - his past mortality - then it’s only logical that Phil’s able to do the same.

He perks up, the most enthusiasm he's had in days - weeks. He's not sure what day it is anymore. But he has a goal and hope burns bright in his chest and he runs to find Phil.

Tommy finds him in the library. A thoughtful frown tugs on the corners on his lips, but it disappears quick enough as Tommy runs to his side, surprise making his eyes widen.

"Tommy?" Instinctively, he holds his arms out, catching Tommy and holding him close, tucked against his shoulder. "What's happening? Are you alright?"

Phil's stubble scratches gently at Tommy's cheek as he speaks and for a second he rubs against it, relishing in the touch and Phil's warmth. Phil chuckles and Tommy's eyes fly back open, remembering what he is there to do.

He wriggles out of Phil's grasp and beams up at him, breathless with excitement. He's going to get answers! The solution was right in front of him the entire time. He never needed Dream's deal in the first place.

Phil holds him at arms length and his expression twists in concern.

Did he say something?

Tommy doesn't care. He can't bring himself to care. It slips away; sand through his fingers.

"Phil," he asks, blue eyes raised in supplication, "will you tell me how I died?"

The space between them trembled with tension.

Tommy waits for his answer. He does not recognize the horror in Phil's eyes, the way his fingers tighten protectively into his shinki's shoulders enough to be painful.

"Oh, Tommy…" Phil whispers. "Who did this to you?" 

(He knows the answer to that question will unravel the shinki completely. His boy. His son of fragile sunshine that guided their entire family towards true north.

Tommy doesn't understand the seed of obsession that was sown in him, the roots of madness that burrowed deep into his soul.)

Perhaps it's for the better that he does not suspect as Phil sweeps him under one wing, murmuring, "let's talk somewhere more private." 

(The shaky hand at the small of his back. The anguish in his god's eyes.)

Tommy is giddy, practically bursting, as Phil leads them through their home. They pass Wilbur and Techno. The two glance up sharply, worriedly.

"Don't speak," Phil says sharply into Tommy's ear and his tongue sticks to his teeth of it's own accord. He blinks, confused.

"I'll be back in a minute," Phill addresses the other two, his voice calm and smooth. "I just need to talk to Tommy for a minute."

Tommy is rushed away before either of his brothers can respond.

Phil swings open the door to Tommy's room and he enters without hesitation. He falters only when there is no echo of footsteps behind him and he turns inquisitively.

"You can come in, you know. I don't really-"

He meets Phil's sorrowful gaze.

"I'm so sorry, Toms. I'll fix this, I promise."

The door flies shut and there's a sharp click. A lock. 

He's been fucking locked in his room.

Tommy doesn't believe it at first.

"Phil," he calls. "Very funny." He twists the doorknob, but it simply jiggles in place, rattles lightly in the lock.

"Phil? …. Phil?"

He slaps a hand on the wood.

"Phil, I know you're there! Let me out!"

A weary sigh. "I can't. Not until I can get you some help. To… fix this."

"I don't need help! I'm not- I'm not fucking broken . Open the door."

He can feel Phil's head shake, and it's just making him more pissed off. He hits his fist against the door; grips the door handle so tightly his knuckles turn white and slams his shoulder against the wood over and over.

The door shutters under the force, but doesn't budge. It's dense, heavy wood, of course it wouldn't. Tommy's shoulder groans each time he braces for the impact, and it feels like he is the one splitting apart, fiber by fiber.

He howls. At the injustice. At Phil for locking him in his room like a- like a petulant child , which he is not . He is a big man and he doesn't deserve this shit.

"Phil!" 

He hears a pair of distant footsteps and falls quiet, listening. His heart soars. Techno and Wil. They'd come save him.

He starts screaming again in earnest. "Help! Help me! Phil's fucking lost it!" He bangs the door in the lock for good measure.

A low voice, gravely in concern. Techno.

“Phil-”

There’s a rustle, movement away from the door. Phil speaks quietly and Tommy has to press his ear against the door to hear what he says.

“Tommy- sick- stay away-”

He can’t help it, tears prick his eyes. Tommy kicks the wood, somewhat satisfied at the shudder it makes.

“You’re fucking lying! Bastard! Let me out!”

No response. He whimpers and slides to his knees. His head is spinning and it feels like he’s going to be sick. Slowly, excruciating, he breathes deep, fighting back the nausea and the panic.

There’s a faint whisper on the other side of the door. Phil’s presence, so close, yet so far away.

“Toms,” he murmurs. “I love you. I’m sorry. I’ll be back soon.”

“I hate you,” Tommy spits. He’s shaking, too cold and too hot all at once. “I hate you. I wish I had never become your shinki in the first place.”

He never sees Phil flinch away, hand curling in pain as the rot on his skin spreads further. The proof of his lie.

And that’s why it hurt the most.

Because it’s the furthest from the truth.

“It’s not often I get a call for a personal meeting, much less one unarmed. Feel lucky I trust you Philza.”

Phil laughs. It’s hollow, numb. It’s the wrong response and Niki’s gaze sharpens. He knows she is dissecting everything about him right now. The shakiness in his limbs; the blight, unconcealed spreading up his arm; the dark shadows over his face.

He does not hide. Other gods might be ashamed of weakness, but he bares his throat willingly.

Niki hums, circling him predatorily, a hand running across his feathers. Rough, but not hard enough to pluck. He takes it all, and never flinches. Finally she stops before him and he meets her eyes.

They are equals, even still. If he cows now, it’ll be another millennia to regain her respect.

Finally, she smiles and he relaxes. He’s passed her test. 

“So, Death, what do you ask of me? It’s not like you to call in favors.”

“This is a special circumstance, War,” he responds in kind.

Niki clicks her tongue. “I can see.” She flicks a hand. “You’re blighted and you haven’t even cured it. Who did it, I wonder? Techno wouldn’t dare. And Wilbur is quick to apologize.” A brow arches in realization. “Tommy? Really Philza? Are you being soft ?”

Philza growls, “the way I chose to discipline my shinki is none of your business, War .”

“You’ve been coddling him. Just like you did with Tubbo.”

“That’s-”

“Is it because he’s a child?”

“ Enough. ” His wings snap open in anger, flaring out above his head and overshadowing Niki’s face. A beat of silence follows and he collects himself, lowering them back, but not folding them across his back, serving as a silent warning. “You owe me. You remember that.”

“It’s that important?” Niki teases, but the mirth doesn’t reach her eyes. “Once you use that up, we’re even, remember.”

“Only until you’re in need of my services again,” Phil replies with a thin smile.

Niki huffs. “You got me this time, old man. Now, what do you need?”

“Someone told Tommy the gods’ greatest secret.”

The gods’ greatest secret. A stupid name. If Phil had any say in it, he’d call it a god’s greatest curse. A hidden clause in the binding ceremony between gods and their shinki.

The god will see the shinki’s life, their mortality, their death. In exchange, the soul is wiped, made clean and new; free from the burden of their past so they can serve their god better, more fully.

Even after centuries, Phil still occasionally wakes in a cold sweat, a memory of a death that is not his replaying endlessly in his mind.

Cold metal sliding between Techno’s ribs. Infection burning Wilbur from the inside out. The wail of air raid sirens in Tubbo’s ears before a flash and heat so intense there are no remains to recover.

And Tommy…

Philza curses the fragile barrier holding those memories back. The obsession and madness sure to come if their curiosity is ever piqued.

Niki is silent, contemplative. Her head bows in understanding. “I see,” she says quietly. “That is serious. And what would you have me do?”

“I want you...” Philza steps forward, as slow and methodical and inevitable as death and meets Niki’s gaze. “To release your hounds. To hunt down whoever did this and bring them back to me. And I,” he promises, “am going to tear them apart.”

War grins, eyes bright with the promise of chaos and suffering and shakes Death’s hand.

“As you wish.”

Ranboo gulps and keeps his head lowered in respect.

“Philza,” he whispers, voice trembling nearly as bad as his limbs. “If I do this then…”

“I don’t care,” comes the response and Ranboo can’t help but flinch. “If it bothers you so much, consider it repayment for Tubbo.”

At that, Ranboo’s head whips up. “No,” he denies, waving his hands frantically. “I- I can’t possibly ask that of you. I should be in your debt-”

“And now’s the time you can pay it off. You can do it, correct?”

Ranboo bites his lips and hesitantly nods. He avoids Philza’s eyes. The - understandably - cold fury in them for what’s happening to Tommy.

Ranboo is more than happy to help, if not simply because Tommy is Tubbo’s friend and Philza has been more than kind to him since the birth of his existence.

Philza’s holding back, tempering his tone and patience into place. Ranboo admires him even more for that, but it doesn’t stop his shaking. 

He’s heard the stories. Of what happens when you cross Death. He’s glad that in this case, he’s of use, rather than a perceived threat. Otherwise…

He doesn’t want to think about that .

“Come,” Death orders and Memory does, following close on his heels.

Tommy’s exhausted. He’s not sure how long he’s been trapped here. Sometimes he hears noise outside and he bangs on the door again, begging to be let out. Whoever it is, whether it be Phil or Techno or Wil, they ignore his cries and are quick to retreat and he is left alone.

He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. The wood floor isn’t comfortable to lay on, but it feels like too much effort to get up now. Blearily, his eyes trace the corners of his room and try not to let his thoughts stray too far. Otherwise time slips out of his fingers more.

It’s on the sixth sweep - or is it the seventh? - that he’s interrupted.

A familiar white mask and jagged smile looms over his face.

“Hello Tommy.”

Tommy blinks.

“Not talkative right now? You aren’t looking so good.”

Dream sways slightly and watching it just makes Tommy more dizzy.

“Fuck off,” he whispers, throat hoarse and dry from hours of screaming.

Dream chuckles. “Oh, Tommy. That’s not how you speak to friends. We’re friends, remember.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well you already have a remembering problem, don’t you.” Dream bent down, sadistic smile filling Tommy’s vision. “I think you can remember at least that.”

Tommy’s eyes flicker to the door. Still shut, still locked. “How… did you get in here?”

“Don’t worry about it.” A hand presses on Tommy’s cheek, turning his head to look back up. “There’s something you really want to know, right? It’s eating you up inside. It hurts.”

Dream sounds so sympathetic, so kind. Tommy nods. His eyes squeeze shut and he inhales sharply, a couple tears leaking through before he can stop them. 

Dream wipes them away. Murmurs gently. Brushes a comforting hand through Tommy’s hair, pulling gently at the scalp with each pass.

“Phil isn’t going to give you answers,” he says. “He doesn’t want you to know the truth.” Tommy sobs. “But it’s ok, because I will.”

His hand retreats along with the comfort and Tommy whines.

“You know what I need.”

Tommy presses his lips together into a pale line. “And you’ll tell me about my past?” he asks, raw and vulnerable.

“Yes,” Dream answers, promises of sweet poison. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Ok. I- I will.”

Dream smiles in triumph.

Chapter Text

Being linked with Dream is not pleasant.

Tommy longs for the warm connection he shared with his family. The unapologetic support they gave each other, the easily shared - and reciprocated - feelings. 

Dream keeps him at arm's length, ordering him to be silent. When they are joined by Punz, Tommy reaches out curiously, wondering if the mercenary is in the same situation as he is. Dream hisses at him, annoyed by the distraction .

Tommy retreats with a jolt of fear, and does not attempt it again.

They wait in their respective spaces, thoughts shackled tightly, and only speak when spoken to.

A comparison to jail briefly rises, but is quickly lost again. His head feels like slush, all sliding together cold and wet. He shivers and wishes to go home.

Where is home?

“Focus,” Dream snaps and Tommy flinches. “Don’t get distracted or we’ll be lost for eternity, understand?”

Tommy would nod his head in agreement, but stuck in his vessel form as he is, it’s impossible. Rather, he tries to transmit a feeling of understanding.

A few other emotions slip out as he does: anxiety, worry, desperation-

Dream bats them away with a growl. “What did I tell you about simple answers?”

“Sorry,” Tommy says, trying to transmit only that one word, nothing else. He curls up in shame as Dream huffs, distaste permeates the link. He’s glad when the pressure is then turned to Punz for his own set of orders, though he can’t help the stab of guilt for thinking that.

He’s the one who deserved to be hurt.

Tommy blinks. They’ve arrived at their destination.

The start of all this mess: the crack in reality.

Just as he remembered, it twisted and stretched into the sky like some kind of tree, warped from disease and scarred over dozens of hundreds of times. Tommy couldn’t say what color it is, or even give an accurate estimation of how big it is, even here, standing at the base. The whole thing fucks with his head in the worst possible way.

He’s able to brace himself for the nausea, at least. And the screaming in his head is lighter, not as insistent. And definitely not as loud. It’s not as bad as the first time he’d been here. But he can’t relax. Images and foreign emotions flit across his mind. Not long enough to get a good grasp on them, but they leave enough of an impression it’s off putting.

Dream lifts Punz’s vessel: a long spear with a wicked jagged blade, and thrusts forward. Punz’s blade disappears into the crack, cutting through like a hot knife through butter and a wave of power washes over them, making Tommy cry out in shock.

Dream neither pauses nor hesitates and reaches up to grip the handle in two hands and with a great heave, slices an opening large enough to walk through.

The crack seems to wail at this action. The branches ignite, writhing in pain. The pressure on Tommy’s head becomes an assault. 

He can taste anger and fear on his tongue, acid and thick. It spills over his lips and dribbles onto the ground. It’s red. So very red. It doesn’t stop flowing, even as he begins to choke and he clamps a hand over his mouth, trying to stop it. He sees empty space expanding forever outwards; the birth and death of civilizations; planets turning around suns that turn around galaxies that turn around the fishbowl of the universe. He opens his mouth in a silent scream-

It all stops.

Dream holds Tommy’s compass in his hand, outstretched towards the impossible and possible and the thread that holds reality together and gives one command:

“Lead, Navigator.”

The space between realities is not meant for human eyes, Tommy is sure. He witnesses countless universes. Ones where the field becomes a great city with towering walls; or where it becomes a great pit, the echoes of past explosions reverberating across its hollow walls of dirt and stone. Sometimes the area is overtaken by blood red vines, pulsating rhythmically, as if with a heartbeat. Other times it’s a flower garden, blooming with hope; a home to a simple dwelling, a cow grazing peacefully within a fence.

There’s war and hope. The greatest despair and loving forgiveness. Familiar faces and strangers that he might’ve known in another life.

The only way Tommy stays sane in the face of it all is Dream’s protection. The same way an umbrella shelters from the rain.

It doesn’t stop him from seeing the rain though. Nor feeling the chill.

Tommy weeps.

Dream continues on.

Tommy sees himself in fragments. Realities where he stands on a beach, the blue drained from his eyes and silently lets the waves roll over his head. Another where he is lifted up, a golden crown placed on his head, and is loved and praised. Most are unremarkable, dreary.

Universes where he is nothing and becomes nothing. Living out a normal life day by day, year by year. Or simply dying, unnoticed and unloved. Just another body to the masses.

That scares him the most.

Dying alone. With no one around to care. 

It brings him back to the question of his own death.

“Dream,” he whispers. They’ve been traveling for a few minutes, a few centuries. Time has ceased to exist. All of time is happening at once.

“You’ll get your payment once I say you do,” the god replies, harsh and angry, already knowing what Tommy is going to ask. “Continue.”

“Yes sir.” His needle spins and they cut through another veil, another universe stretching in front of them.

Tommy has no idea what Dream’s looking for - what he wants. Occasionally, he barks out an order and dutifully Tommy searches for it and points the way. Dream slashes through the barriers between realities and they pass through.

The more time they spend here (- time does not exist here-) the more attuned Tommy becomes to the different threads. The knots and tangles; the endless branches. The careful dance around them.

Dream is not careful.

He cuts with wild abandon, uncaring as worlds fall away into nonexistence. There’s no screams from its inhabitants, no blaze of light or even darkness.

One moment it’s there, the next it’s gone.

There’s a pang of loss every time despite it not being his reality, his life and family.

It’s… tragic.

Punz isn’t immune to it either. He’s far better at keeping his emotions locked up, but slowly and surely they leak out. Discomfort and uncertainty.

Dream offers no assurances, no explanations and the mind space becomes saturated with tension.

Neither of them want to be here any longer.

Dream lifts Punz’s spear, ready to make another cut. Yet, this time nothing happens. The blade bounces lightly on the thread and rests there.

Silence.

Dream stares unbelieving.

“We need to stop,” Punz says finally. “This is too much, even for me. Turn back, Dream. This isn’t right.”

Anger roils through the link and Tommy curls away, praying to not become its target.

“You dulled yourself?” Dream growls. “I paid you for this, Punz. We had an agreement.”

“We do,” the mercenary agrees and somehow his voice barely shakes. “It’s time to turn back now.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Dream snaps, but begins the process of retracing his steps. His grip tightens on Tommy’s compass and he whimpers as the metal groans beneath the god’s fingers. “Show the quickest way out.”

Dutifully, Tommy does as asked, then hesitates.

“What about…?”

“Yes,” Dream hisses darkly. “You’ll get it soon enough. Now shut up.”

Tommy doesn’t speak again.

When they exit, the crack had widened. New branches split the ground before them and tore through the sky, crackling and shifting like lightning bolts. Light and colors seeped from holes and the world swayed around them. The ghosts of other people and places flickering in and out of view.

Tommy is called out of his vessel and he stands shivering, arms wrapped around himself as he stares at the carnage around them. 

The other realities were whispering, calling him in, tugging at his feet as sure as gravity. Everything was wrong, so very wrong.

What did Dream do?

Suddenly, there’s a strike to the back of his knee. A cry falls from his lips as he falls to the ground, a sharp pain flaring up his leg. He moans and curls on his side, but another kick sends him sprawling on his back. A heavy boot plants itself on his chest and his ribs creak. All the air whooshes out of his lungs in one breath and Tommy squirms, mouth agape, and struggles to inhale.

A cold blade hovers above his throat.

“You’ve really gotten on my nerves, brat,” Dream snarls. “I should just kill you right now and be done with it.” His head tilts, considering; the mask smiling, always smiling. Tommy wheezes, low and pitiful.

Dream raises his spear a little higher-

A shot rings out and Dream stumbles back, gold ichor dripping from his shoulder. His foot leaves Tommy’s chest and he sucks in a grateful breath.

Dream spins to face the intruder, body stiff with anger. A growl on his tongue.

He is met with the baying of hounds. Ghostly shadows that snarl from the darkness, gleaming eyes that surrounded them. And from their midst steps Niki.

She takes in the scene silently. Jack’s gun in her hand still raised and pointed, prepared to fire if necessary. Her eyes gleam dangerously.

“What do you want, War?”

Dream makes even her name sound like an insult, but she does not flinch nor waver.

“This is none of my business,” she freely admits. As she does so, she sheathes her pistol. “Your quarrel is with the guy behind me.”

The sky grew impossibly darker. An unnatural chill swept through the air. The kind of cold that bites into one’s bones like an iron trap and never leaves.

Black wings unfurl and Phil is there.

Niki smiles.

Dream for just a moment, blanches.

Phil’s eyes gleam, cold and cruel. “I believe you have something of mine.”

His hand stretches out and calls . 

Tommy’s never been more happy to answer. His essence shifts, bolting towards Phil’s hand when something pulls him back.

Dream calls as well, trapping Tommy into a vicious game of tug o’ war between the two gods.

He cries. He’s being torn apart at the seams.

And somehow, miraculously, one end slackens. Tommy gasps, expecting to be cradled by Phil. To be comforted by his brothers.

He opens his eyes. He lays on the ground at Dream’s feet, the god standing over him, a twisted sense of pride in his demeanor at what he’d done .

“I’m done playing this game,” Dream sneers. His gaze falls back on Tommy. “You want answers? Well, I’ll give them to you.”

Tommy’s plucked off the ground, his shirt balled so tightly in Dream’s fist he’s sure he’s going to choke. His thrashing stills as the god’s lips graze the shell of his ear.

“You want to know your past?” Dream hisses. “I’ll tell you: you were an annoying brat that was unwanted by your birth parents. You were nothing when you were beaten to death and still. Are. Nothing.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. Dream releases him, but he doesn’t have enough presence of mind to catch himself, instead just slumping bonelessly to the ground.

Dream steps over his limb body and Tommy hears the clash of blades and angry shouts.

The grass looms huge in his vision, but he can’t focus on it. Can’t focus on anything.

There’s the pounding of feet on earth and someone falls beside him.

“Tommy, Tommy,” they murmur. His head is lifted up and placed in a warm lap.

Wilbur leans over him, face streaked with tears. “Toms, stay awake. Stay awake for me please.”

Tommy blinks, eyelids heavy. 

“Please.”

His eyes roll up in his head and Tommy remembers .

Tommy is three when he’s left on the steps of an orphanage by his mother.

The last image of her he has is her sweet, tired smile. She bundles him tighter in his coat and whispers that she’ll be right back. All he has to do is be a good boy and wait right there.

She never comes back.

Tommy is eight when he realizes that foster families don’t want kids with undiagnosed ADHD. They don’t want kids that have a hard time holding still, or talk too much and too loudly. They want living dolls; children they can poise and dress up and coo over how well-behaved they are.

They don’t want Tommy.

And he can’t help but feel hurt.

Tommy is twelve when he gets a criminal record.

His foster family had denied him food for the past couple days and he was starving. In desperation, he tries to shoplift a couple candy bars and a coke. It won’t fill him for long, but he’ll take anything at this point.

Whether it’s because of his nervous disposition or the employee’s sharp eyes, he gets caught.

He regrets it. More than the hollow pain in his stomach that haunts him for the last four years of his life.

Tommy is sixteen when he is beaten to death. It takes the neighbors a week to notice that he is gone and even longer before suspicions arise.

It’s pissing down. Has been for the last week.

Tommy wishes it would let up so he could at least walk back to the foster house without getting wet.

Can’t he have this one, simple thing?

He watches out the window as gray clouds roil over the city and distantly, thunder growls. Low, like a warning.

The rain comes down harder, and Tommy takes that as his queue to leave. He sighs and pushes open the door, immediately being buffeted by the wind that tears through his thin jacket as if it’s nothing. The rain stings as it comes down, feeling like knives as he hunches over, protecting himself the best he can and runs.

He’s lost track of time again. It’s always a delicate balance of making sure he doesn’t come back too late, but also not wanting to come back too early. Usually, he cuts it pretty close so all his foster father can do is give him a silent glare.

But today, he’s late. He’s sure of it, even without a watch to keep track of time. 

Watching the rain had hypnotized him and before he knew it, it was past his curfew.

Tommy curses, slipping through the rusted gate that always squeaked too loud. He shuts it behind him and slinks around the side of the house, hoping to sneak in the back and hopes that today his foster father has drunk himself into one of his famous stupors and he won’t be caught.

He twists the door handle, making sure it doesn’t click behind him as he carefully pulls it shut. For a moment he stands still, listening for any movement within the house. When there’s nothing, he relaxes, exhaling softly.

“You’re late,” his foster father calls from the living room. Tommy flinches, hand tightening on the doorknob. “Well?” the man growls. “Get in here, brat. And bring me a beer while you’re at it.”

For just a moment Tommy considers bolting. He could live on the streets. It’d be far better than this shit, at least.

But… no. Slowly, his hand falls off the doorknob and he moves towards the fridge. He’s dealt with terrible foster parents before. This isn’t anything new. He can handle it. He’s a big man after all.

Just two more years, he reminds himself, handing over the beer can with his head lowered. Once he’s eighteen and graduated from high school he won’t ever be put with another family again.

“Where were you?” his foster father questions. He cracks open the can, eyeing Tommy with unhidden disgust.

Tommy tenses. “I was at school.”

“Doing what?”

“Studying,” he murmurs and hopes the man will take the lie and leave him alone.

The man’s eyes narrow, glimmering darkly. “No, you fucking weren’t.”

Tommy’s hackles rise and he opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off.

“I’ve seen your grades, brat . You think you can pull the wool over my eyes? Don’t get smart with me.”

“I’m not,” Tommy says between clenched teeth. “ Sir ,” he adds for good measure.

“I said don’t get smart with me , boy.” The smack isn’t surprising, but it stings and Tommy hisses. “Now, where were you really?”

“I already told you. At the school.”

The man snorts and his anger only intensifies. “I brought you into my home. I give you shelter, and food, and the fucking clothes on your back and you think it’s funny to lie to me?”

“I’m not lying!”

The man grabs Tommy’s hair and pulls and this time, Tommy can’t hold in his cry of pain.

Hot breath washes over his face and he can see all the crevasses and pores in his foster father’s face.

“You’ve been nothing but a nuisance since you came to this house; breaking rules, staying out past your curfew, failing your fucking classes. Where were you?”

Tommy glares at him through tear filled eyes, the slap on his cheek molting purple and spits, “I already fucking told you, prick.”

It’s the worst mistake of his life.

The punches continue. Even when he begs - screams - for it to stop please . His tears and blood soak into the carpet, bones crack under unforgiving blows. The man whose name Tommy never bothered to learn does not listen.

Tommy’s blood is smeared into the wall’s peeling paint and his broken hands curl as if grasping something. The worn, faded bear that follows him from home to home. The last present he received from his mother; a comfort object.

He does not get comfort in his last moments.

Tommy’s vision begins to fade into darkness and he reaches towards it. He just wants the pain to go away. He wants it all to go away and slip into that cool, endless space of nothingness.

He’s not religious, but he hopes he can be reincarnated. To have another chance at life. A better chance.

No.

That’s too selfish.

If he’s reincarnated, he thinks, drawing his last breath, he wants to be a cow. 

He always liked cows.

And then he dies.

“My name is Philza, but you can call me Phil.”

His mind is collapsing under the weight of suppressed memories yet Tommy finds the strength to stand. Wilbur’s calling to him but his pleas fall on deaf ears.

He’s dying for the second time but Tommy is at peace.

Now he has a purpose. He has a family. And he loves them more than life itself. He just wishes he could have a little more time with them.

Dream is winning, driving Phil back. Phil is shaking, arms and hands bruised with rot, and there’s only so much Techno can do to help parry strikes.

Niki waits to the side, hounds circling and snapping. Tommy doesn’t condemn her for not stepping in. This isn’t her fight; she’s simply an observer.

He takes a shaky step forward. Wilbur grabs hold of him, trying to pull him back, but Tommy kicks, striking the shinki’s knee and squirms away. He runs.

Techno’s blade is knocked out of Phil’s hand, the silver white metal glowing as if in anger. Dream laughs and lifts Punz, a maniacal energy about him and readies to plunge it down into Death.

Into Phil.

Tommy’s god. His dad .

“No!” he screams, throwing himself between the two gods.

The spear slides between his ribs and touches his heart. 

The battlefield freezes. Phil looks on with horror. Dream pauses, but only in surprise.

Tommy falls to his knees, still lanced through his heart, and turns to meet Phil’s eyes - the bright blue eyes they both share; father and son - and smiles.

“I love you,” he whispers, breath gurgling in his throat.

“Tommy.” Phil cups his cheek, hand trembling. “My son.”

Everything goes white.

Tommy does not die. 

His mark glows bright - brighter than the sun and full of warmth and he ascends .

He is no longer a simple compass of dull iron, but gleams with a face of hardened diamond and a shell of polished gold. His needle holds steady, red as rubies and the blood he shed in his past life and for his god.

Philza rises, cold and terrible, gathering his sons close to him.

Dream stumbles back a step. Two, three. He cannot run from his fate.

And Death has his revenge.

Tommy wakes, his body heavy and sore, and groans as Ranboo leans in close to his face, heterochromic eyes bright with worry.

“What are you doing here, bitch boy?” he mumbles, turning his face into his pillow. The lights were so bright.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ranboo says. He pats Tommy’s shoulder and he swats at him. “I’ll get Phil.”

Phil .

Tommy sits upright. There’s a dull ache in his chest, his heart stutters then settles. He takes in a few deep breaths.

Then the door opens and Phil’s there.

Tommy presses his lips together, a rush of conflicting emotions washing over his head.

“I…” He hesitates. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Phil asks quietly and Tommy is struck by the similarity to their first meeting. 

Him, curled in a foreign bed, confused and scared, yet also comforted. 

And Phil had never changed. His gaze is just as loving, just as patient. Bright and clear like the blue sky on a summer’s day and reflecting Tommy’s own.

Tommy balls the sheets in his fist and speaks, “I remember Dream. I remember the crack in reality. Punz-” he shivers, hand straying to his neck. “Dream threatened to kill me.” He inhales sharply and Phil sets a hand on his knee.

“It’s ok. Take your time.”

“... You were there.”

Phil inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Anything else?”

Tommy thinks. He made a deal with Dream, something in return for binding him. It didn’t not happen - the evidence is there on his arm. He shoves it back under the blankets, not wanting to see the cruel smile tattooed on the inside of his elbow.

He can remember everything he saw. Other details are more murky. Mostly questions of why and conversations that blurred in his head.

He knows one thing for certain: it was the worst fucking thing he’d ever experienced.

“Oh gods, I’m sorry.” Tears well in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Phil leans forward, bundling Tommy in his arms. “Oh, mate. I forgive you. I love you. I love you so much.”

Tommy buries his head in Phil’s robes and cries. Soft footsteps join them and then there’s Techno’s and Wilbur’s presence, whispering assurances to him as well.

It's a simple thing, really, but it feels good. His chest is warm, almost on the border of being painful, his heart stuttering as he tries to breathe normally.

Nails scratch at his head. Wil hums softly nearby. Phil holds him and Tommy cries haltingly, quietly, because this is love. And he is loved. And he loves them.

Chapter Text

“Are you ready?”

Tommy swallows and nods, holding his head high. Fake it ‘til you make it, they say.

Phil gives him a reassuring smile and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then, together, they step out into the garden.

They find Dream, just where Sapnap had directed them.

Tommy had been forewarned that gods are… different when they are reincarnated, but he isn’t expecting the small child leaping from stone to stone, pudgy fingers clasping in George’s hand, wide, innocent smile on his face.

Tommy is rooted in place, unable to anything but stare as child Dream giggled, jumping into George’s waiting arms, swinging his arms around the shinki’s neck.

The two laugh quietly, George pressing their foreheads together then bouncing the child on his hip. They turn and Tommy tenses as Dream’s eyes land on him.

Dream grins. “Hi Tommy!” He waves and squirms out of George’s arms.

Tommy does not wave back. He takes a decisive step backwards, Phil’s steady presence behind him.

Dream’s smile fades. His face falls as his enthusiasm is not shared. His lip trembles, tears gathering in his eyes.

“Are you really leaving me?” he asks, voice small.

Tommy nods, unable to speak. 

The god child sways on his feet, a hurt expression on his face. Finally, he drags himself closer and takes Tommy’s hand.

(Tommy does his best not to flinch.)

“Will you please stay with me? We could play games.”

Tommy looks down. This isn’t the same Dream that hurt him. A wooden mask lays on the side of his head, painted white with a childish smiley face scribbled in black. Vibrant green eyes, so full of life, look up to him pleadingly.

No, this isn’t the same Dream that hurt him. But he still cannot stay.

Tommy bends down onto one knee, so they can look eye to eye. “I’m sorry but… I have to go. I have a family already.”

“I can be your family too,” Dream insists. “I’m sorry. Is that what you need? George says I did a lot of bad things in my past. And you have to say sorry to be forgiven. I said sorry. Can you forgive me now?”

Tommy shakes his head. “I… I don’t know.”

“This isn’t fair!”

“Dream.” Phil murmurs gently. “We’ve talked about this.”

Dream’s temper subsides, tears growing in his eyes as he hiccups, placing his small hand over the mark on Tommy’s arm.

“I don’t want to,” he admits. “But past-me was bad and hurt you.” He glances at Phil. “Really bad. You’re my shinki though and I love you. So,” his lip wobbles, “I’ll let you go.”

Tommy’s fascinated to watch as Dream chants in an ancient language, words filled with power, and slowly his mark begins to glow, brighter and brighter. Then it melts, fading away into the skin. There’s a pop in the back of Tommy’s skull and they’re unbound.

Dream continues holding his arm, rubbing the skin where his mark had been as if hoping it’d suddenly come back. 

“Thank you,” Phil says. “We’ll leave you now. Come on Tommy.”

Tommy shakes off Dreams’ hand and rises to his feet, turning to follow when his hand is caught. 

“Can we ever be friends?”

Tommy turns, lips pressed thin, and tells the truth. “Maybe. One day. But not now.”

Dream nods and lets him go. “One day,” he agrees. “I’ll be better this time. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it, big man.”

With one last awkward smile, Tommy joins Phil and returns back to his family for eternity.