Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything hurts.

Tommy isn't unfamiliar with the feeling of pain- that deep-rooted ache in his bones that makes every heavy step feel like carrying a sky on his shoulders, the sting of cuts and scrapes and the pang of bruises littered around his body, the pounding headaches and the sharpness that comes with every breath- but tonight, things are different. Tonight, he's physically unharmed. Tonight, he's left his house for the first time in (how many?) months, tonight, he's stumbling through the woods with rain cascading down on him, drenching his clothes and hair and making his body shudder with chill. Tonight, nothing has come for him.

And as the sirens blare and rattle around in his skull and pierce his brain with the sharp sound from one ear to another, he recognises that this will not hold true for tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then some day after that, because no matter how long it takes, Dream always- always, why won't he leave me alone, why can't I catch a break- finds him.

And then he will hurt. And then he will cry. He'll cry harder than he is now and hurt more than the measly sting of the rain on his skin, he'll hurt more than he probably has ever before for leaving Dream for so long.

He doesn't want to go back. He was just getting a hold of conceptualizing everything correctly without Puffy, and now Dream's out and looking for him and he doesn't know what to do-

The rain is heavy and loud on Tommy's ears as he panics, his chest feeling constricted with the anxiety that he had done so well at dissolving bunching back together and bubbling up in his chest and stomach like he was carbonated after his entire world was shaken. He feels like he's going to throw up. He can't stop his mind from running in billions of directions, from friends to enemies to everyone in between, to the people he had just got back and the people he was sure to lose, to himself because Puffy told him to think about himself- but it feels so hard to do when thinking about himself makes it feel so much worse. Like- he knows he's going to suffer. That's a given. How is he supposed to make less people suffer when Dream is coming after him and him only?

He knows, distantly, that this is exactly the mindset Puffy told him was unhealthy, and he knows that he's definitely having a panic attack and isn't thinking straight, but the rain his so heavy and the sirens are so loud and the forest is so dark and there are so many people that are in danger because of him that it's so difficult to calm himself down. It's so hard to think about anything else but Dream, really, and he can't possibly know what to make of it. He hadn't before, despite thinking he did (despite thinking that he liked Dream and that Dream was there for him and that Dream was his friend), and he doesn't now.

He knows Dream is dangerous and will hurt him and hurt his friends. Of course he does. He also knows that Dream loves him and would hurt his friends to help him. Of course he does. He knows that what he's feeling right now is paranoia and anxiety and panic and fear and so many more emotions that are bursting from inside of him that he didn't have to feel for so long. He knows that he feels invigorated, like he knows what he has to do now (because before, Wilbur wouldn't tell him what to do at all, so he just stayed in his house and hid, and now he knows that he has to protect his friends and his family and his enemies and anyone that tries to fight Dream). He knows that that's stupid.

Even if he did miss Dream (which he knows is wrong), he definitely didn't miss the confusion that comes along with him.

The thought, a moment of humour conjured up in his thoughts in what is probably one of his darkest hours, makes a slightly hysterical laugh start to leave Tommy's throat. His face cracks into a smile, and he remembers Puffy telling him that laughing at his situation was an acceptable coping mechanism for when things get really really bad, and the laugh starts to leave him and he almost falls one-hundred metres to his death.

He catches himself on the brink, the absolute edge of a steep, completely vertical cliff, his dead wings instinctively jerking at the base in response but ultimately doing nothing more than startle Tommy further. Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance (he hasn't even registered that this was a thunderstorm) and the entire thing is illuminated- a square, a rectangular prism dug all the way down to what is most likely bedrock sits in front of him. He almost fell into that.

Tommy bursts into laughter. Prime, this day can't possibly get any worse, can it?

...he reaches to knock on the wood of a tree nearby, but the moment has passed. He watches, quite morbidly, as his day gets worse.

The bottom of the hole twists and ripples in his vision, looking less and less like a surface in the dark and looking more like...nothing. Like the bottom of the pit had simply disappeared. It's dark, and the bottom already looked black, but there's something different about the darkness at the bottom of the hole. Something...resounding. As if he could stare at it for hours and his eyes would never adjust and he would just keep seeing nothing but void.

Void. That's definitely a word to describe it. It looks like the night sky without its stars, like inky blackness that he knows has something more if he just looked a little bit closer.

In hindsight, leaning over a giant, dark, mysterious chasm in the middle of the forest in the middle of a thunderstorm probably wasn't the brightest idea. On the other hand, Tommy was never exactly the brightest kid, nor is he in the proper state of mind to be making any sort of good decisions. His head is still spinning, but he has the giant wrong in the ground to distract him, as backwards as it sounds. The Dream SMP is no stranger to strange builds, but this one is different. Tommy knows it's different, there's something deep inside him that reaches out to the weird, wrong thing at the bottom of the world, and he swears he could plunge his hand right through if he really, really reached-

Naturally, Tommy falls off the edge. He might have even expected it himself, but that doesn't stop him from letting out a shriek of terror as his boot slips from the mud and the flowers and his thin frame goes careening into the darkness. He screams and twists in the air, his human fear and panic overriding whatever made him stupidly go towards the edge in the first place and making his heart hammer, his adrenaline rush, his chest seize all while the rain beats down on him and sirens wail in the distance-

Only for about four seconds, though, because when he's supposed to hit the ground, he doesn't. He continues falling and sees the world from below- and what a boring thing it is. It's the first cohesive thought that comes through his mind at the sight of the flat layer of bedrock over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the blood rushing through his body and making his skin prickle painfully. He can't hear anything but himself and his laboured breathing, but the rain follows him down and cradles him as he falls. Nothing lands on his already drenched body unless he moves, and at this point, he's holding himself as still as possible.

He's half-convinced that he already hit the ground and is back in limbo, but he remembers what dying was like the last time. It was anything but painless.

As soon as the thought dares enter Tommy's mind, he seizes. And then, as if gravity and something else were fighting over him, he feels his soul and body being ripped in two.

He can't breathe. He physically can't make his lungs expand and contract because it feels like something is clawing, pulling them up against his ribcage. His heart feels like a stake has been run through it, and the general pain- he can't even describe this as pain, this is death, this is worse than death, this is something that he can't possibly conceptualize with words- the general feeling has the boy screaming like he's being ripped into billions of pieces and then even more. That's what it feels like.

And emotion comes with it, too, and emotion that he's been on the receiving end of many, many times- possessiveness. Something wants him, something needs him, something is punishing him for leaving (not that he wanted to, he swears he didn't mean to) while at the same time desperately pulling at his existence to get him back. No sound accompanies the feeling, but it's the loudest Tommy has ever heard. Never has his blood sounded so loud rushing in his ears, never has he screamed until his throat bled, and every feeling feels like coal on his skin, like the tears that leave his eyes or the blood that runs down his ears or flies from his mouth as he screams with his raw throat and chokes on mucus and saliva and more blood.

He doesn't know how long it lasts- it would be inhuman to be able to keep track. He just knows that when it stops, it's just as bad as the feeling itself (which is a blatant lie and he knows that, but it sounds better in his head that way). It's like being passed through something and all his senses got cut off immediately, the clawing, tugging, pulling feeling gone and replaced with a stark, immediate nothing. It's like jumping out of an oven into a tub of ice.

Tommy is immediately knocked unconscious from the shock. The only thing he misses before he reaches the light at the end of his fall is the feeling of being cradled instead of crushed.

Grian was having a pretty good day, actually.

Aside from building (because when was there any moment on Hermitcraft when you weren't supposed to be building), he has done all the necessary things to do for the day- collect his earnings from the G-Train, add his diamonds to the hourglass, painstakingly create more "Perhaps You Perished" parcels (because Scar exists and accommodating for that is part of Grian's daily routine)- the only thing he hasn't done is measure the growth of the moon. Given that he can't do that until midnight and he's heavily procrastinating on working on the alleyway, all he has to do is wait.

And what better place to wait than dangling over the edge of death itself?

The Boatem Hole has long since stopped scaring Grian, probably being more of a comfort than anything. You can only be afraid of something for so long after dying in it more times than you can count, and Grian has definitely been keeping up with his bi-weekly sacrifices. Nobody can really put together exactly why he takes the risk, including Grian himself- perhaps it's true devotion, or perhaps it's for the thrill. Maybe it's even both.

Knowing Grian, it's probably both.

He sighs, content, and lets his legs swing back and forth over the dark abyss, his feathers rustling in the cool breeze that comes with living by the sea.

And then, quite startlingly and out of nowhere, he's splashed in the face by a current of water come straight out of the Boatem Hole, and he barely has time to wipe it from his eyes before something else flies from the Boatem Hole- the limp, drenched body of a blonde, teenage boy Grian has never seen in his life.

Naturally, he screams and scrambles away from the edge, his bird brain making his wings frantically flap to propel him even further back as the trapdoor at the base of the Boatem Pole drops open. The boy lands on it with a thud and a splash of all the water that followed him through, drenching the frozen, shellshocked Grian.

Okay. Okay.

He's only shaken out of his stupor when he sees the body start to slip, and before he can properly register what's going on, he's diving through the air to drag the concerningly light boy back to solid ground.

Grian lays him in the grass, mind racing with thousands of different questions that only seem to grow louder as he pulls out his communicator, mind foggy with confusion.

╔══════════════╗

Grian: weird boy flew out of boatem hole boatem folks help

XisumaVoid: what

GoodTimeWithScar: what

╚══════════════╝

He looks up from his communicator and squints at the boy's face, almost trying to see if he can figure this out just by looking. His expression is peaceful, for the most part, but the subtle twist to his features makes Grian think he didn't pass out on happy terms. His blond hair is stuck to his forehead and his shallow cheeks look oddly flushed, and he notices dried blood trailing down the side of both of his ears.

Grian tentatively puts a hand to his forehead and gasps aloud, flinching back. What should be cold skin from the freezing void water he came up with is burning hot- Grian doesn't know a lot about medicine, but he's pretty sure he's slightly warm.

Grian's "slight" panic starts to grow.

╔══════════════╗

Grian: weird guy @ boatem hole has very bad fever

Grian: burned-my-hand type bad

bdoubleo100: ???

Etho: wth

XisumaVoid: what

GoodTimeWithScar: do you recognize him?

Grian: no

GoodTimeWithScar: is he outwardly injured at all?

Grian: no? he has a lot of scarring and is wet its hard to tell

Grian: oh there is dried blood from his ears too

GoodTimeWithScar: im omw

MumboJumbo: Wait, what do you mean "weird boy?"

MumboJumbo: Wait, I'm coming too, what in the world?

Grian: if ure coming come fast hes not breathing well he needs to dry up

╚══════════════╝

Grian doesn't know at all how to help this situation aside from wait- he's always been better at combat than medical stuff. That's definitely more of Scar's strong point, or Doc's or Bdubs or basically anyone else but him, so the universe definitely wasn't on this kid's side by making Grian the one to be there when he showed up. Which is still processing through Grian's mind. Okay.

Scar and Mumbo arrive at roughly the same time about three minutes later, Mumbo from his home in the mountains and Scar from his huge villager hotel. Mumbo lands with multiple exclamations of surprise- "Oh my goodness, I thought this was just a code for something- that really is just a boy, isn't it?"- and Scar lands with nothing but a breathy, "Oh, geez."

Scar immediately kneels in the wet grass by the boy's head, pressing his hands in various places to get a feel for things Grian most likely wouldn't be able to read correctly- temperature, pulse, oxygen and the like. While feeling his forehead, Scar looks up at Grian with the most curiously concerned expression and asks, "You found him like this?"

Grian blinks. "Scar, I wasn't kidding when I said he came out of the Boatem Hole."

"Grian-"

"I'm being serious!" Grian insists, whirling around toward Mumbo. "He flew out with a bunch of water like he was thrown and almost knocked me on my tailfeathers!"

"Tailfeathers or no, he's not in good shape," Scar butts back in, starting to stand up. "We need to dry him up quickly, his fever is insanely high and-" He falters, clearing his throat and crouching slightly. "His breathing, Grian, like you said- very bad, very very not good."

"...where do you suppose you'll bring him, then?" Mumbo questions, not letting his eyes leave the boy at all.

Scar bites the inside of his lip before answering, "The villager hotel. It's closest and has a ton of resources we can use to help dry him up and monitor him."

Grian nods, pushing himself off the ground and crouching at the boy's legs. Scar lets out a sharp exhale and stands at the front end. Both of them turn to Mumbo, who jumps at the attention and stutters out, "Wha- me? I-I mean, I'm not- you know I'm not exactly the strongest person out there- I might just be more of a bother than-"

"Mumbo," Grian sighs, accidental irritation clear in his voice. "Not the time."

"Right, sorry!" Mumbo squeaks, and he sort of awkwardly positions himself at the torso. The three of them (two, really, as Mumbo seems averse to touching the boy in the slightest) easily fly him to the villager hotel, Scar doing most of the indoor lifting and telling Grian and Mumbo to wait outside of the hotel room while he "worked his magic" or...whatever.

Waiting, as Grian discovers, is not something he's good at. At all. Nor is Mumbo, who leaves after twenty minutes of small talk and very uncomfortable fidgeting from his end with a brief request to be messaged when the mystery kid is awake.

It took another fifteen minutes for Grian to remember he had a communicator. With all the movement and talking and the hard thinking about exactly what the heck is going on, it had completely slipped his mind that he sort of left the rest of the server with the knowledge that someone flew out of the void and then immediately went inactive. He winces at himself and pulls out his device, his eyes widening at the updated online list and the decent amount of messages that had gone by in that short period of time.

╔══════════════╗

TangoTek: wait what is going on

TangoTek: who is tommyinnit

XisumaVoid: what

XisumaVoid: WHAT

pearlescentmoon: oh are we adding new people?

XisumaVoid: NO??

renthedog: lmao x chill

XisumaVoid: what do you mean chill

XisumaVoid: i didnt invite them nobody invited them

XisumaVoid: how does someone just fly out of the void thats not how it works

EthosLab: r we sure this isnt just a btm thing

bdoubleo100: yeah like a code or something??

TangoTek: server list

EthosLab: oh wow

bdoubleo100: oh

EthosLab: that rlly is just an entire person huh

bdoubleo100: man

XisumaVoid: im losing my mind

renthedog: are we sure its not just a hacker?

renthedog: cant you just ban

Grian: NO

XisumaVoid: GRIAN

bdoubleo100: GRIAN

Grian: hi

XisumaVoid: WHAT IS GOING ON

Grian: dont ban

XisumaVoid: WHY

Grian: he's an unconscious teenage boy not a hacker

EthosLab: could have just gone wrong we dont kno

pearlescentmoon: you really wanna risk it just bc he's unconscious?

Grian: no if he woke up and tried to do anything we could overpower him

Grian: he looks like a twig

XisumaVoid: he could have hacked to have admin him being knocked out makes this so much easier

Grian: no hes bleeding and has a fever

Grian: were not kicking him back to where he came hes just a kid

XisumaVoid: he could destroy the server

Grian: literally everyone here could take him in a one handed fistfight blindfolded im not exaggerating

Grian: ++ he might have something to do with the moon

Grian: hes not dangerous

TangoTek: grian, he's knocked out

TangoTek: u don't know if he's dangerous

EthosLab: ^

GoodTimeWithScar: i can vouch!

GoodTimeWithScar: the new kid is very sick and almost died

GoodTimeWithScar: not a threat :)

Grian: he WHAT ??

XisumaVoid: oh wait is he ok?

EthosLab: wth

bdoubleo100: ALMOST DIED???

pearlescentmoon: oh gosh

GoodTimeWithScar: maybe no the best message to smile at actually

Grian: YOU THINK??

GoodTimeWithScar: his bp was stupid high when i got to him and his fever was absolutely insane

GoodTimeWithScar: like ive never seen one that high

GoodTimeWithScar: he was bleeding from his ears but that seemed to have stopped a while ago

GoodTimeWithScar: and his throat was also bleeding apparently? he might have been screaming but i cant b 4 sure

GoodTimeWithScar: hes also thin as a stick and light as a feather, i could overhand throw him probably

GoodTimeWithScar: definitely not a threat

╚══════════════╝

Grian, for whatever reason, feels like he's going to be sick. He knew the boy was in bad shape, but not to that extent. He lets his communicator rest on his lap and shifts his wings uncomfortably, running through everything for the millionth time.

A boy flies up with a bunch of water from the mystic god void hole thing. The said boy is bleeding from unusual places and unconscious with a fever that could have killed him if Grian wasn't there. His wings are mangled beyond possible use without membrane and he's thin as a rod. His name may or may not be "TommyInnit," and he can't be any more than eighteen.

Grian leans back and stares at the ceiling.

Gods, why does it always have to be him?

Tommy breaks into consciousness hours before he's meant to, and he's hit with the full force of what his body was trying to shield him from by keeping him asleep. His entire body is cold and clammy, and he immediately starts curling up in on himself and chattering quietly, but he can feel his clothes drenched with sweat and his hair sticking to his forehead. As soon as he collects himself enough to crack open his eyes just a bit, he's blinded by the dim, curtained light coming from the shielded window to his left despite the room being dark and the door being closed.

Curtains he doesn't recognize. A door that looks oddly reminiscent of one in his hotel, but none of his hotel rooms look anything like the layout of this one. Everything feels completely and awfully unfamiliar- he has no idea where this is, and his head is pounding too hard for him to properly comb through his memory to figure it out. So, despite the protest of his overworked body, he swings his legs over the side of the bed- or, rather, slides them quite lamely off of the mattress and to the floor- and immediately feels the effects of it. His entire body revolts at the idea of movements, a wave of nausea overtaking him that makes him groan and try to regain his composure before ignoring all common sense and trying to stand up.

Emphasis on tries, as he stumbles and falls before even making it a step, just barely catching himself before his face almost collides with the ground and he gets knocked out again from blunt force trauma.

Only a moment later, the door swings open suddenly, and in front of Tommy stands a man he's never seen before- he thinks. He might just be delirious- he swears he's seen this face before. It's round in all the same places, and his eyes look like they wrinkle in the same way as...someone. And yet, his eyes are exactly what throw Tommy off, consisting of nothing but white and black and nothing else. It's mildly unnerving, and Tommy isn't quite sure he isn't just hallucinating it, but he feels like he even recognizes that, too. Maybe not from the same person, but...

Tommy pushes himself from the ground just as the man says, "Woah, woah, woah! Hey, m-maybe you should stay down until- Scar?"

He turns his head back to the door to call out- is Scar a person? It's a weird name for sure, but definitely not the wildest he's ever heard. He knows a Technoblade and a Ranboo, for Prime's sake. Tommy tries to stand up again, balance completely thrown off, and he almost immediately tips over. The stranger (?) yelps and rushes to catch him before he hits the ground, and Tommy weakly grips at his red sweater with all the strength he can muster (which is really none at all) to keep himself steady. He looks ready to say something else but is cut off by Tommy's oddly intense stare, matching dull, blue eyes with black ones that just look off.

And then Tommy speaks. His throat is raw and crackly and his voice comes out softer than he would like, but he gets his point across well enough- "Do I...know you?"

The man is silent for a moment, not breaking eye contact before quietly replying, "I was gonna ask the same thing. You look awfully familiar."

Tommy stares at him for another few seconds, brows furrowed in concentration. "You kind of look like-"

The word that sat on the tip of his tongue vanishes- just for a moment, he saw the connection. Just for a moment, he felt like his stare was reaching into the man's soul and being just like how he'd reached for the void when he fell- and then it's gone, and he feels more exhausted than before.

The man's eyes dart around his face before prompting, "Like...?"

Tommy makes a face. Somehow, this guy expects coherent answers out of the guy that just fell into the abyss and was kidnapped, yeah. Makes perfect sense.

He barely manages to form his scowl and spit (more like drawl) the word, "Nevermind," before collapsing in a heap in Grian's arms, completely unconscious yet again.

Chapter Text

The second time Tommy regains consciousness, it's significantly less painful and significantly more achy. His entire body feels like a rusty machine when he tries to move. When he slides his legs off of the bed this time, his dizziness returns and black spots appear and fizzle out in the side of his vision. To anyone normal, this would be an obvious sign from their body telling them to rest and not strain themself.

Of course, Tommy being Tommy, he stands up anyways. He takes it as a sign that he's alright when he makes it to the door without collapsing, despite the ache in his chest from his rapidly beating heart or the pain behind his eyes from the pounding headache he has. Once he cracks open the door, he's rendered absolutely speechless by the sight of what seems to be a hotel- empty in the hall as it could be, but he can hear the murmur of villagers from behind closed doors all around him. The area is oddly circular- squarish, rather, and centred around a single, large trapdoor in the middle of the ground. Tommy kneels to lift it up, being less-than-surprised when he's met with nothing but a long pillar that reaches down to Prime-knows-where with a ladder on it. Even he can appreciate that what he's about to do is a bad idea. That doesn't deter him from doing it, of course, but he acknowledges it anyways.

He lets out a deep exhale, trying his best to pull himself into one piece enough for the room to stop spinning because he knelt down too fast, or for the black and blue spots to retract to at least only the corner of his vision. He scoots over the edge and slides himself onto the ladder, having to pause before properly starting his descent.

He only makes it three or four rungs down before he's dizzy again, and after that, only two or three before the spots start to close in and cover almost half of his vision, the strain from clutching onto the ladder making his arms start to burn. He decides, a little too late, to stop moving, and then makes the fatal mistake of looking down. The vertigo mixed with his already extreme nausea makes him twist his eyes shut and grip on the ladder grow. It's a long way down, and the way that his useless wings twitch instinctively just makes Tommy think more about how hard he'll hit the ground if he falls and fails to hit any of the floors between him and the bottom, which he probably won't because he's sick and exhausted and dizzy and-

"Oh geez, Mr TommyInnit, you really can't stay put, can you?"

Tommy's eye twitches. He lets it crack open, looking down at where the voice came from and making a face at what he sees even in his moment of panic.

The man is tall- probably a little taller than Tommy, with tanned skin and an elaborate getup and an inappropriately large tophat that makes Tommy wonder vaguely what his deal is. He has an odd-looking, copper brace attached to the hip and connecting up and down both of his legs, shimmering with enchantments Tommy wouldn't even try to read from this distance. Tommy can't fully see him from this angle, but he can definitely see the cane with a golden ball on the top that he holds improperly as he looks up with his hat tilted backwards, an amused yet slightly exasperated expression on his face before the cane disappears and he simply jumps into the hole.

Tommy yelps in shock, his grip loosening on the ladder- and really, that's all his body needed to start fumbling the bag, that little moment of release before he lets go and starts falling, as he probably knew he would do. He doesn't even have the energy to scream, and he doesn't get to before something catches him from behind and continues to propel him up.

He squeezes his eyes shut for the two or so seconds he's in the air, and then he feels whoever's holding him (probably the guy he just saw) lands back on the top floor easily. "I mean, this is the second time you've walked out and almost hurt yourself," The guy continues lightly as if Tommy didn't just almost die. "You can feel that you're sick, right? I'm not just making fun of you for no reason, right?"

Tommy doesn't respond as he's walked back into the room he started in- he's basically being carried bridal-style, and yet the man has no issue reaching out an arm to push the door open wider to set him down on the bed. When he does, Tommy begrudgingly scoots himself back against the wall, crossing his arms and looking up at the guy that probably just saved his life.

Looking at him closer, Tommy notices two slightly odd things- one, there are straps all around his arms and leading to his back, but the only thing that resides there are two frail, tattered-looking wings- carpenter bee wings, as Tommy would recognize- and two, his face and arms are covered in scars of all kinds. His arms are littered with explosion scars, different scars, some even crawling up towards his neck from under his extravagant outfit. The rest are light lines scattered across his body, the most prominent being one that starts (or ends) just beneath his left eye and crosses the bridge of his nose to end by his right ear. It looks perfectly healed, though, all of them do, and it doesn't take away from his look of opulence nor the charm in his smile.

If Tommy squinted and changed the emerald green eyes for baby blue ones, he could almost say the man looks like Tubbo.

Tommy crosses his arms. "I'm fine."

The man smiles slightly. "You have a fever upwards of, like, a hundred degrees. You were on the verge of death less than twenty-four hours ago."

Tommy snorts, then sneezes. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Big-hat guy gives him a bewildered look before turning away towards a desk, probably the only other furnishing in the room aside from a chest, a furnace, and a smaller desk with random, old, tattered books Tommy doesn't recognise.

Tommy curls up in on himself a little more, squeezing his arms and torso and feeling, abhorrently, like a child as big-hat guy sits down and he asks, "Where am I?"

"You are in the eighth rendition of the Hermitcraft server, Mr TommyInnit!" Exclaims the man, swivelling in the desk char dramatically to meet Tommy's eyes. He pauses. "Is your name actually TommyInnit, or is that just your screen name? Can I call you that?"

Tommy blinks. He didn't understand half of those words. "Tommy is fine. What the hell is a server?"

Scar blinks. He blinks again, then says, "Nuh-uh, not on my payroll. Grian can explain that to you when you're feeling better."

Tommy makes a noise of indignance. "Wh- no, you can't just f*cking drop that and then-"

Tommy pauses. The guy's face twists, and he's quite obviously trying to force down a smile. "What the f*ck. What the f*ck."

Big-hat guy snickers. "I haven't heard that in months, man. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Mothers are for d*ckheads, what the f*ck is that beeping noise? Why is it censoring me?"

The guy waves his hand flippantly. "Some people here don't like cursing, so X added something in to beep out curses like in TV shows!" He smiles. "Hasn't failed yet!"

On one hand, Tommy could very easily throw a tantrum about this, though he's way too tired and dizzy to actually be able to do much. On another hand, he could accept it and simply stop cursing, though that would fail about thirty seconds after starting. On a metaphysical third hand, he could use it to piss everyone off, which is obviously the best option out of the three. Tommy simply starts swearing over and over, watching in delight as the big-hat guy's eyes widen and he puts his head into his hands with a groan, saying, "How have you just woken up and immediately decided to abuse the system? I saved your life, you know."

The beeping is starting to give Tommy a headache instead, so he stops and asks, "What's your name, anyways?"

"I'm Scar. The guy that found you is Grian, who will be coming to get you as soon as you can walk without falling over." Despite it being said in a joking, jovial tone, Tommy pulls his legs slightly closer to himself and makes a face, biting the corner of his mouth. Admittedly, that probably wasn't the greatest bit to introduce yourself with. Nor was almost dying twice and having to get saved because he couldn't stay put. "You're currently in the villager hotel Boatem Town, with me, Grian, Mumbo, Pearl, and Impulse! You'll probably meet them later."

Tommy deadpans. "There is no-" He cuts the swear out and has to physically stop himself before continuing, "Way your name is actually Scar."

Despite the question being tone-deaf, Scar smiles. "I know, it's pretty topical, isn't it? I lucked out in the name department."

"I don't believe you," Tommy says stubbornly, crossing his arms again.

Scar simply shrugs, manifesting a clipboard into existence with a red pen in his other hand. "That's fine. You can ask everyone when you feel better! Now, speaking of names,"  He taps his clipboard. "What is yours, Mr TommyInnit?"

Tommy blinks. "You just said it."

Scar stutters, "You- you were saying my name was weird-?"

"Shut the f*ck up," Tommy snaps, heat rising to his face as Scar snickers at him.

"Is it just Tommy no space Innit? Do you have a last name, or is that your first and last name, or do you not have a last name, or-"

"My last name is Minecraft," Tommy interrupts, rubbing his temples. His headache is getting worse with all of this talking, really, but if anyone thinks he's going to actually say that is a moron. "Prime above, you talk too much."

Scar simply hums. "So I've been told. TommyInnit Minecraft...there we go. Now, how old are you?"

Tommy sneezes. These questions, despite there being only two, are getting to a point where Tommy doesn't really want to answer. And by that, he means he doesn't want to say how old he is out loud, because people always take that as a thing to start fussing about. Never has he gotten a good reaction after saying he was seventeen- or sixteen, for that matter. He simply makes a face and says, "Thirty-nine and a half."

Scar barely even pauses before scribbling onto the clipboard. Tommy's bewilderment seeps into his tone as he asks, "Did- did you actually just write down thirty-nine years old?"

Scar looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. "Are you not?"

Tommy furrows his eyebrows. Either this guy is just as dumb as he looks or he's just trying to spare Tommy the conversation- Tommy couldn't possibly fathom why, seeing as how the guy clearly wants him out of his hotel as soon as possible. To be fair, he might just not want to maintain the conversation and end it as quickly as he can, which Tommy completely understands. Instead of pursuing the train of thought, he simply says, "I am," and waits for the next question.

"Parents' names?"

"Philza Minecraft," Tommy says seriously, and Scar snorts before flipping to the next page.

"Didn't expect and answer out of that one anyways," He mutters, scanning the page. "Anyone we should try and contact? I mean- you're probably from a different server, so we're going to need their communicator usernames. It'd be nice to know their actual names, though, if you wanna tell me."

Tommy's face scrunches up in confusion. "I don't know what half of that sh*t means."

Scar looks at him, seemingly fed up with Tommy's apparently idiotic questions, and he shrinks back against the wall and flicks his gaze downwards. "Do you know what a communicator is?"

"'Course I do," Tommy replies. "I'm just confused, since Sam makes all of ours- unless he has a bigger business than I thought, I guess, I don't really know how you would e able to do anything with anyone's names."

Scar smiles, and Tommy can't particularly read it- he assumes it's to make him feel better, but he just feels stupid. "I can work my magic! Again, Grian will probably be able to explain all of this stuff much better than I can- honestly, even Mumbo could walk you through it more cohesively." He shrugs with a smile that's almost bashful. "I'm terrible at this stuff."

Tommy blinks a couple of times before saying, "Um, my best friend, his name is, uh, Tubbo with an underscore. And then there's d*ckhead Ranboo. And, I guess, Wilbur Soot without a space? Wait," Tommy sits up suddenly, an idea having formed. "If you can contact them- does that mean I can, too? Can we figure out how to get me home?"

"Mmm...we'll have to see if it works, first, but if it does," Scar shrugs, his cane manifesting in his hand as he starts to stand up. "I don't see why not!"

Tommy is sure that his eyes have gone starry. Thank Prime, he probably isn't stuck here. He hasn't left the main area of the Dream SMP for a long period of time in over a year, he didn't even know there were other things out there. He supposes his old house must've been somewhere, but he had lived in that dirt hole in a hill for so long that he'd almost completely forgotten about it. Still, he didn't think there would be an entire town of people he'd never met before out there.

That is, of course, assuming they're in the same place, but thinking about what else that could imply makes Tommy's head hurt. He sees Scar moving for the door, holding his cane but not at all actually using it and asks, "Wait- where're you going?"

Scar turns to him with an amused expression, going for the door already and saying, "Well, I need to leave you to get your rest, right? You're still sick, you know."

"I'm fine," Tommy says with a scowl, crossing his arms. "If you just want to leave you don't have to lie about it. Just leave."

The man pauses, a look of confusion crossing his face as he turns back to Tommy. He looks completely bewildered at the sudden change of tone, and for a moment, Tommy is almost scared he got it wrong. "What do you mean?"

Tommy's eye twitches and he scoffs, letting his body turn so his head falls on the pillow. "You can leave."

"I wasn't-"

"F*ck off."

It almost physically pains him to say, but he fixes his gaze on the ceiling and waits for the door to open and close before closing his eyes. His head is pounding, anyways. Maybe there was an iota of truth to Scar's words, aside from him quite clearly just wanting to get out of the room.

Despite the tiredness in Tommy's bones and the sickness that makes his entire being sluggish, it takes him a little while to fall back asleep.

Two entire days later- four agonizing days of waiting- Grian stands outside of Scar's hotel, completely unaware of what to expect and absolutely terrified of what'll go down in the next however many minutes. Scar deemed the boy- Tommy, as he was told- fit to go outside for a while, and he said that Grian should take him on a tour around Boatem so he can at least get a grasp on his surroundings until they figure out how to send him home. He's apparently vulgar, stubborn, and doesn't know what a server is, which is absolutely unheard of, nor does he know how communicators work. He also doesn't like Scar, which is a little concerning. Everyone likes Scar.

And that bundle of concern suddenly pops out of the front door and clambers off of Scar's wagon right in front of Grian. Scar simply floats off the edge as Tommy hits the ground, turning to face Grian with an unnecessary confrontational expression. Grian gives him a sheepish smile, taking in the boy's entire look.

He can't be any taller than 5'11", just as scrawny and pale as Grian remembers him with almost as many scars as Scar. He wears a white and red t-shirt over a white long-sleeved shirt with thumbholes or whatever they're called and jeans, dirty brown boots that look like they've taken the kid through hell and back fit snugly to his feet. His hair is a pale blonde with a white streak on a part that covers a bit of his face, slightly longer and definitely not as well-kept as Grian's.

The thing that stands out the most, in Grian's opinion, are Tommy's eyes. They're bluer than blue eyes come and sharper than glass, a stark contrast to his very light hair and corpse-pale skin. They comb up and down Grian's figure almost faster than he can catch before he loudly exclaims, "Oi, b*tch! What are you looking at?"

Grian blinks, a nervous and bemused smile forming on his face as the boy looks up at Scar, asking him something that Scar nods to. The next thing Grian knows, Tommy is marching up to him and asking, "What the f*ck is a server and why is God censoring my curses?"

Grian really can't help but laugh at that, gesturing outwards and asking, "Do you think we could walk and talk instead? This is meant to be a tour, you know."

Tommy hesitates, glancing back at Scar, who shoots him a thumbs up, before turning back to Grian with a shrug that tries to make him look a lot calmer than he is. "Yeah, sure. This place is sick, by the way, like what the f*ck."

"Yep, this server is filled with the best builders around. The stuff you can find out here his absolutely mental, I don't know how they do it sometimes." Grian smiles to himself fondly, which probably comes off as a bit odd, but it isn't often that he thinks of the builds outside of Boatem, and it's rare that anyone gets to tour the server in person and see everything for the first time. Despite the weird situation, it's kind of nice. "It's kind of been our thing for the last..." Grian counts off in his head. "Ten years?"

Tommy's jaw drops. "Ten years? How old are you?"

Grian laughs. "I'm only twenty-eight, Tommy, but I joined Hermitcraft about three years ago, Season Six."

Tommy looks at him suspiciously. "How long has Scar been here?"

"Since Season Two, I think."

"And how old is he?"

"Thirty-nine."

Tommy looks equal parts flabbergasted and disgusted. "What the f*ck, man. I've never met a normal guy over the age of, like, twenty-seven, and he's..." Tommy shudders. "A weirdo. Is everyone here old?"

"According to your definition of 'old?'" Grian does air quotes and tilts his head from side to side. "Most of us. There's someone here that's sixty-two."

Tommy's face twists. "What, and they're just a normal person? Not a god or whatever or anything?"

Grian's blood runs cold before flushing back to warmth, making his skin prickle. He shifts uncomfortably at the reaction, fluffing out his wings. "Nope. Mostly everyone here is normal- I mean, Tango is Netherborn, I think, and Gem is a fairy- or a fae? Something like that, she's a deer, and Xisuma is an axolotl this season, and I think Mumbo might be slightly cursed, and Doc-"

"And your eyes are weird," Tommy interrupts, making Grian's face flush. The pair reach the G-Train, and Grian makes it a point to turn away from Tommy as he sits on the edge of the first train car. "And you've got wings. Like, real wings."

"So do you," Grian tries weakly, and it takes Tommy a moment too long- just a moment- to snort and roll his eyes, crossing his arms defensively as he stands over Grian.

"Well, yeah, me and basically everyone else in my family. Never said it was a bad thing." Grian raises his eyebrows as Tommy looks into the sky with a curious expression. "And one of my friends has those eyes, too. I think."

Grian straightens, his eyes getting a little wide. "What- really?"

"Uh...I think. Can't remember who, but I've definitely seen 'em before." Grian deflates. "Anyways, what's up with the train, Big G? Is it yours?"

Grian gestures widely. "Yep! This is the G-Train-"

Tommy snickers. Grian gives him a pointed look and he coughs.

"-and it's basically an elaborate store. I sell basically everything I can get in bulk, and usually it's pretty popular...I actually need to check up on it, it's been a few days."

Grian hops from his seat and starts digging through his own chests, collecting the several pieces of diamond scattered around the bottoms and mixed in with the actual products. He simply takes them out and phases them into his inventory, and it's only until he hears Tommy's spluttering that he turns around to see the boy's face, completely awestruck and confused. "...what?"

"You just- you just leave your diamonds out in the open like that?" He says, sounding like Grian just committed some unspeakable atrocity. "And nobody steals it? People know that it's there, right? There are just diamonds, right there! The chests aren't even trapped or anything!"

Grian chuckles. "Tommy, have you seen the hourglasses yet?"

He points over to the direction of the diamond hourglasses, five giant, towering structures filled with valuables that cast multicoloured shadows onto the grass, and Tommy only turns for a moment before saying, "There's no f*cking way those are real."

"Of course they're real," Grian says. "Why would we put fake diamonds on display?"

"Who owns the last one?" Tommy asks, pointing at the last hourglass in the row, the one with diamonds on the ground next to it and sort of spilling out of the top. Grian simply responds with a sheepish expression as Tommy yells, "That's yours?!"

"I do a lot of mining?"

Tommy's mouth opens and closes like he's a fish out of water, and Grian tilts his head to the side and hums. "Stealing valuables isn't allowed. I mean, unless it's for a joke or a prank or something, and then you have to give it back when it's all over and done with."

Tommy's nose wrinkles as he starts walking down the side of the train in time with Grian moving from chest to chest. He doomed himself by not restocking for so long- it's going to take hours to fill everything back up again. At least he got a ton of stuff to collect all at once. "You give back the things you steal?"

"Yep. And we help clean up after playing pranks on people."

"Then what the hell is the point of the prank?" Tommy asks incredulously, and Grian laughs out loud, hopping off the end of the train with his inventory significantly more full of goods than it was before.

It only takes a little while before they reach the combined outside of Mumbo, Grian, and Pearl's base, and Grian can basically see the vertigo on Tommy's face as he looks up so far he almost falls backwards. A lot of his movements feel incredibly cartoonish, and Grian can't really tell whether it's on purpose for effect or if it's really how Tommy acts. Regardless, it's very endearing.

"These are Mumbo, mine, and Pearl's bases," He explains, gesturing to each one respectively. "Impulse's factory is over there, you've already seen Scar's wagon menagerie, and together, it all makes up Boatem Town, the first gigabase on Hermitcraft."

Tommy lets out an amazed breath, pupils blown wide. "I only understood, like, three of those words, but this is definitely f*cking giga."

Grian laughs. "Pearl's base is still unfinished and she's very particular about how she does things, so maybe we can go see the inside of her base later...? We can definitely go inside of mine."

Tommy turns to him, finally, saying, "What, really?"

"'Course."

Tommy then proceeds to spend the next several minutes running in and out of the mostly empty stores, still just as amazed despite a majority of them being unfinished. He presses his face against the glass of the Menagerie, making bug eyes at the charged creeper that ignores his presence completely. He runs into Scar's alleyway and runs out terrified, which sends Grian into a fit of laughter as the boy frantically tries to explain to him the horrors he saw (which is ridiculous- the scariest thing in there is, like, a severed arm, and those are basically all over the place).

Grian tries his best to make the tour as in-depth as possible while also being quick- he can't help but notice Tommy getting antsier and quieter as time goes on, and he doesn't want to drain his social battery to the point where he starts getting irritated- he's been exceptionally pleasant (if not a bit loud and abrasive and slightly hard-headed) and doesn't really want to meet the Tommy that cursed Scar out on day two.

So, instead of going up Mumbo's mountain like he wanted to (which was partially so he could have his own conversation with the man, so he isn't really too upset), he takes Tommy to the Boatem hole for the first time since he...arrived.

"I can't help but notice you seem to have a hole in the middle of your town, Grine," Tommy says, his voice randomly peaking as he puts his hand under his chin in a contemplating manner. Grian laughs at his puckered expression, rocking on the balls of his feet as he gestures at the gaping hole through the bottom of the world.

"This is the Boatem Hole," he explains, before smoothly moving his hand up to point at the tower of boats with goats in them, now held up with metal rods and some weird technology Grian commissioned from Doc that makes the boats float- or look like they float, he can't really remember. "And this is the Boatem Pole."

Recognition and realization connect behind Tommy's eyes. "That is so stupid."

Grian gasps, mock indignation all over his face. "Rude. I'll have you know that the Boatem Pole Hole is the centrepiece of Boatem Town's livelihood, m'kay? We started the entire town around this thing."

Tommy looks incredulous before breaking into disbelieving chuckles that sound like short breaths. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest as he says, "That's a bit pathetic, innit? I started a country out of a drug van, and I genuinely do think that was more respectable than this." Ignoring Grian's slightly offended and very confused splutters, he lets one hand loose to gesture at the Boatem Pole. "Why didn't you call it the Goatem Pole, huh? Would've meant the same thing."

"A Goatem Pole would not have the same sort of emotional weight, thank you very much."

Tommy snorts. "What, and a Boatem Pole does?"

"Anyways," Grian says firmly, ignoring how Tommy snickers at him from slightly behind. "This is where we started Boatem on the first day. It was sort of a group effort getting it all the way down, and sometime after that, it opened up to us."

"Mhm, mhm," Tommy says, very clearly not paying very much mind at all. Grian almost drags his hand down his face in exasperation, but holds himself for Tommy's sake. "And this is the hole I flew out of, right?"

"You more ragdolled out of it, but yes," Grian answers wryly, flinching back lightly when Tommy makes a pointed face at him. "How did you know?"

"Scar mentioned it a few times. Plus, I saw it out the window- but I thought it'd be a little more awe-inspiring in person."

"Oh my word," Grian drawls. "You are absolutely ridiculous, you know that?"

Grian doesn't notice the way Tommy falters, his smile dropping for a moment before reappearing, sheepish and subdued. "Sorry, big man."

"Good," Grian says jokingly, making a similar face from earlier at Tommy. "Now, yes, you flew out of the Boatem Hole. Which was sort of weird, since usually things go into the Boatem Hole- nothing's ever come out before."

"What do you mean things go in?" Tommy asks suspiciously. Grian, maybe a bit cruelly, takes this as an opportunity to mess with Tommy. Just this once.

"Sacrifices," Is all he says in a very cheery tone.

Tommy blinks a couple times before taking a large step back, his reaction slightly delayed before he shakes his head. "Oh, hell f*cking no, I am not dealing with another f*cking cult!"

Grian looks bewildered, frowning at Tommy. "Another?" Tommy looks about ready to tear off his face, so he raises his hands in surrender before putting a hand to his chin. "Fine, fine. It's not really a cult-"

"Then what the f*ck is it? You- do you throw people in there?"

"Eh," Grian shrugs. "Either that or people throw themselves in. Usually I aim for every Wednesday."

Tommy blinks rapidly, his hands raising up as he takes another huge step back. Grian thinks that maybe this was a bad idea when Tommy's chest starts rapidly rising and falling as he moves away with a curled-up hand in front of his chest. "No way, you've got to be f*cking kidding me, I thought this place was supposed to be nice, I-"

Grian pauses before moving towards Tommy with his hands out in a placating manner. "No- Tommy, I'm kidding. I mean- nobody goes in there unless they're okay with it- it's really all in good fun."

"You kill people for good f*cking fun?!" Tommy screeches, his voice becoming shrill as Grian flinches back, confusing seeping into his expression as he looks down towards the Boatem Hole.

"Um. Yes?"

Tommy looks about ready to take off running and Grian simply can't fathom why- of course, Tommy apparently has some weird amnesia that makes him not remember what servers are...and a lot of other things, about servers, apparently. He stares at the boy as puzzle pieces click together in his mind, and suddenly he feels like a moron for even trying something like this-  he probably already was a moron for making a murder joke in front of a kid he's never talked to before, but he didn't think it'd be that bad.

"Um- Tommy- do you have a set number of respawns from where you come from?"

Tommy looks at him with narrowed eyes, confusion festering behind the bright blue as he snaps, "What kind of f*cking question is that? Do you not?"

He asks it like it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard, but Grian nods, almost relieved that the solution to this is easy. "No- well, not really. We- y'know, you can die however many times you want, really, if it's just for a silly reason. And they usually don't scar, but if it's a serious situation with a lot of "cosmic weight"-" Grian does finger quotes around the phrase, rolling his eyes. "Then respawning takes forever and you get a scar."

Tommy's eyes are wide and they dart around Grian's figure, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "Wh...what the f*ck are you talking about? It's dying, you can't just- brush it off."

Grian smiles thinly. "Yeah, I guess it's a little weird when you say it out loud-"

"You think?"

"-but it really isn't that bad when it happens a lot. And if it's fast. Which it usually is."

Tommy looks less terrified and more confused, which Grian supposes is better. He drags his hands down his face, shaking off his chill as Grian asks, "What's it like where you're from?"

"It's sh*tty and awful," Tommy snaps, shooting Grian a look. "You get three tries and that's it. Three lives and then- and then you're gone."

"Three?" Grian asks incredulously. That's unheard of- that's a hardcore server with rainbows plastered all over it. Grian tries to keep his shock off of his face- for Tommy's sake- but he's pretty sure he fails miserably. This kid can't be any more than eighteen and he's died less than three times. That's insanity- not to mention the fact that he didn't even know there was an other way of doing things. He can't even begin to fathom how difficult that would be- he's no Scar, of course, but even he has accidental deaths from time to time. "That's- that's- what?"

"Oh, sorry, mister f*cking immortal," Tommy sneers, edging closer to the Boatem Hole and away from Grian. "Is that too much for you?"

"No, I just-" Grian pulls his eyebrows together. "Three is...not a lot. I'm- I guess I'm impressed?"

Tommy stares at him like he just said the most offensive thing he's heard in years before abruptly turning to face the chasm. Grian tentatively walks closer to him, trying to keep his eyes off of the boy's wings (what happened to them?) as he asks, "So you basically have unlimited lives?"

Grian half-shrugs, struggling to decipher the emotion in the boy's voice without his emotive face. "Sorta. Dying from old age is permanent, obviously, and sometimes with certain deaths- like in wars 'n' stuff-" Tommy's shoulders stiffen at the word and Grian inwardly curses himself despite not knowing to avoid it in the first place. He supposes he knows for the future. "Sometimes people just don't respawn. It's not really a system- some servers have limited lives, yeah, but three..."

Grian trails off as Tommy kicks a rock into the Boatem Hole, watching quietly as it falls. The sudden change in demeanor is unsettling, but Grian has enough sense to keep his mouth shut as the boy seemingly processes the information.

Tommy chuckles. It doesn't sound like an actual, genuine laugh at all- even Grian can figure that one out, but there's nothing he can do about it as Tommy turns around to face him, his expression not at all matching his light tone. "And I came out of this? Just- flew straight out from there, right?"

Grian narrows his eyes. "Yes...? What-"

"And you fall in here all the time?" Tommy cuts him off, moving back when he notices that Grian got closer. His foot slips on the edge slightly, but he regains his footing quickly. "And everyone else? More than three times?"

Grian's confusion seeps into his voice very obviously. "Yeah...?"

Tommy looks at Grian, down at the Boatem Hole, and back at Grian, and he realises what Tommy is thinking just a little too late.

"Yeah, this is great 'n' all- your houses are very nice or whatever- but, uh-" He looks down and faces Grian with a grin. "I'm out."

"Wait-"

Without another word, Tommy jumps, propelling himself into the middle of the hole before careening down into the void.

Grian is frozen in place, his eyes wide as the last of his blond hair disappears from sight.

Chapter Text

Grian feels like he's going to scream.

His hands are desperately moving back and forth and trying to calm him down and relieve all the terrified stress and tension coiled up in his body, but there's physically no way for him to move fast enough to get rid of all of the uncomfortable feeling inside of him.

He paces back and forth inside of Tommy's room in the villager hotel, his mind running at the speed of sound as Scar sits at the desk in the room, scribbling something into paper as Grian pelts him with questions that he would have no way to answer.

"Why would he do something like that?"

"No clue."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Maybe."

"He's still sick, why would he jump in like that?"

"I have no idea."

"He could have died- like, permanently died!"

"Yep."

Grian feels like he's going to combust, his hands sort of starting to ache as they flap in front of him before Scar spins in the seat and puts his hands out. Grian holds onto his thumbs and his wings stutter behind him as he exhales.

"Grian," Scar says lightly, his eyebrows slightly raised. "Chillax."

Grian sounds half-hysterical as he laughs. "Who even says that-"

"Look. Whatever reason Tommy had for jumping in- and he probably had his own reasons- it wasn't your fault. There's no way that you would have been able to know anything you were saying was wrong, alright?" He lowers both of their hands slightly. "All we can do right now is wait."

"Wait for what?" Grian asks, detaching his hands from Scar's and turning around, his wings fluttering wither nervousness behind him. "X still wants to meet him- but there's no way we can make him go do that as soon as he respawns, he's probably already going to be really upset..."

"Yeah, no," Scar agrees, tapping his pen rapidly against the table. Despite Scar trying to seem unbothered- really, that's just how he is- he's concerned for the boy in his own way. Maybe he isn't nervously pacing around the room or on the verge of bursting into tears or anything, but with the way he keeps nervously glancing back at Tommy's bed, it's pretty easy for Grian to tell. "I'd bet that he'll have his fever again once he's fully back, so that'll probably be...another couple of days."

Grian glances at Tommy's bed, which is currently inhabited by nothing but light and flakes of a being- usually, it takes no time at all to respawn, but Tommy has been gone for almost twenty minutes and he's barely even begun to reform. It makes Grian nervous- he's relieved that he's even starting to show up at all, but the entire thing was way too close for comfort. Part of him can't wait for Tommy to reform so he can lecture the life right back out of him, but the other half is just confused and wants an explanation. 

He puts his head in his hands, letting out a low groan. "I am not going to be able to suffer through another day of waiting. I almost exploded yesterday from the anticipation, Scar, what are we supposed to do?"

Scar chuckles. "That sounds like a you problem, Grian," He says, and Grian glares at him from between his fingers, wings flapping in indignation. "I'm busy enough as it is."

Grian, in a very childish manner, groans loudly, dragging his void for about ten seconds before Scar breaks into laughs and says, "Okay, okay, okay, um," Scar trails off, looking towards the ceiling as if he's deep in thought before suggesting, "...you could have a Boatem meeting? You probably should have a Boatem meeting, actually."

Grian stops abruptly. "What? Why?"

Scar snorts. "A child just flew in from the middle of our town and about three of us have met him so far. We at least need to let the Boatem folks know what's going on."

The winged man snorts as if that's the funniest thing he's heard in a while. "We barely know what's going on, it'd be such a useless meeting."

"That's no different than most of our meetings, Grian," Scar replies, half-laughing at him. Grian squawks indignantly. "Don't lie to yourself."

"Rude," Grian snaps, no real heat behind it. "Don't you need to watch over Tommy, anyways? You wouldn't be able to attend."

"Why would I need to?" Scar asks incredulously, gesturing to the bed behind them. "We barely know anything about him and I still probably know more about him than you do, Grian. I'll be fine, but I think Impulse is going to kick my door down to meet him if we don't give an update."

Grian snickers, shaking the hair out of his face and rolling his eyes. "I guess you're right- they'll probably want to know who's running around causing issues all the time now, huh?"

Scar stares at him. He blinks a few times, glances at Tommy- or, rather, Tommy's bed, and then looks back at Grian with a slightly concerned expression. "Grian...maybe let's stray away from saying that kind of stuff around him."

Confusion forms on Grian's face as he tilts his head to the side. "...huh? What'd I-"

"I just mean, like, he was in here before and had a bit of a bad reaction when I made a joke like that," Scar clarifies, tapping his fingers on his desk. "About him being a troublemaker, I mean. I think he's a little sensitive to that kind of stuff or something, just- be careful."

Despite Scar's tone being nothing but gentle, corrective at most, Grian feels his face heat up, his wings fluttering uncomfortably as he silently curses himself. He can't remember everything he said in that interaction, but he definitely made that joke (and that's all it was, a joke) more than once. Maybe that's why Tommy did what he did- hopefully not. All he squeaks out is a quiet, "Yep, that makes sense," as he manifests his communicator in front of him, turning away slightly to type out a message to the Boatem members.

╔══════════════╗

You whisper to MumboJumbo, PearlescentMoon, impulseSV: boatem meeting in an hour abt new kid @ boatem hole crystal whatever things

MumboJumbo whispers to you: Gotcha!

PearlescentMoon whispers to you: :thumbsup:

impulseSV whispers to you: FINALLY

impulseSV whispers to you: ITS BEEN FOUR DAYS

impulseSV whispers to you: FI

impulseSV whispers to you: NA

impulseSV whispers to you: LY

You whisper to impulseSV: *finally

impulseSV whispers to you: %*@#&$!(@)$@#&$ SHUT UP

╚══════════════╝

"I can't believe I missed the new kid flying in because I was mining," Impulse bemoans, dragging his hands down his face in exasperation directed solely towards himself. His distress is, frankly, hilarious to the rest of the Boatem members, who laugh at him without sobriety at his joking sorrow.

"I haven't even gotten to meet him," Mumbo admits, sitting with his legs pulled up in front of him on the obsidian floor, end crystal humming and bobbing up and down next to his head. "I just lugged his unconscious body into Scar's hotel and poof!" He makes an explosion-like hand gesture. "That was the last I saw of him."

Grian glances over at Pearl, who looks slightly peeved as she leans on the very edge of her mini-cavern with her arms crossed, only just in the range of the end crystal as she mutters, "He definitely has something to do with the moon, though. It's all small, now." She tilts her head towards Grian, an eyebrow perked up. Grian sends her a similarly stern look, albeit very obviously lighthearted, and Pearl rolls her eyes. She looks exhausted- if Grian was to wager a guess, probably from the moon shrinking back down to normal size. Grian doesn't know everything about Pearl's biology, but he knows for a fact that there's some magic stuff involved, so it isn't too far-fetched of a theory. "You know most about him. Fill us in, won't you?"

"Right!" Grian pats his lap with his hands, sitting cross-legged just in front of his crystal. Scar's cave is very much empty, but it's a bit of a relief that Scar will be there as soon as Tommy finishes respawning. The thought makes him visibly wince, clearing his throat before starting his explanation, "So- four days ago, I was sitting by the Boatem Hole, minding my own business, and all of a sudden, a boy comes flying out. I swear to you that that's all it started as- no message, no warning, no nothing." Grian pauses, then backtracks. "Well, no, there was water that came up with him, but aside from that...nothing. He just flew out and had a fever, and that's when I sent the messages over comms."

"And then you waited almost a week to explain what happened," Impulse snarks, crossing his arms and shooting Grian a look.

"There was nothing to explain!" Grian retorts, his face twisting with half-joking irritation. "I didn't know anything worth making a fuss about- at that point, all I knew was that he was weird and was being taken care of by Scar. That's it."

"Still would've appreciated an update," is all Impulse says, and Grian is about ready to defend himself again before Pearl cuts them both off.

"Guys, please," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just explain what happened, Grian. You know how Impulse gets."

Grian shoots a victorious look at Impulse, who splutters indignantly and makes hand gestures that Grian couldn't even begin to decipher. "Anyways, after four days of being in and out of consciousness, according to Scar-"

"Where is Scar, by the way?" Mumbo interrupts, tilting his head to the side. Grian sighs in annoyance.

"He's watching over Tommy while he respawns, there was no reason for him to attend the meeting-"

"What, respawns? Has he died already?" Mumbo asks incredulously, similar phrases coming from the rest of the Boatem members. Grian leans back with his hands on his lap, exasperation evident in his tone as he says, "I'm getting there."

The three of them shut up, and Grian continues. "After four days, which is today, Scar said he was fit to go on a tour for Boatem, so we did that earlier. While we were on the tour-"

"You took him on a tour, too?" Mumbo asks, and Grian almost can't help himself as he holds out his hand, his bow flickering in and out of existence as Mumbo's eyes widen and he scrambles back, holding up his hands with a panicked smile on his face.

"Alright, alright, I'll let you finish!" He says, waving his hands back and forth as Grian lets his hand drop with a half-smile, mostly of relief.

"Good. By the way, he's like..." Grian makes a flippant hand gesture. "A little shorter than Scar. He didn't tell him his actual age, but he's definitely no older than eighteen or nineteen. His name is Tommy- TommyInnit, and he, um-" Grian winces, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. "He said he's from a server- well, no, he doesn't know what a server is- I know, I don't get it either- but he said that where he comes from, they only get...three respawns."

Grian waits for another interruption, but this time, nothing comes- the entirety of Boatem sits in stunned silence as they process the information. Mumbo looks as if he's ready for Grian to say he's joking, and Impulse and Pearl wear similar shocked yet grim expressions. The air in the room grows thicker, the silence aside from the out-of-sync hum of the end crystals blanketing over the group. Grian tentatively continues, "He has...a lot of scars, and, I mean, he looks like a loud noise could kill him. Scar said that he had a panic episode some time after waking up and kicked him out of the room almost immediately. And- Channel above, you should see his wings."

Grian's voice falters a little, his own wings stuttering and flapping nervously as he remembers what they looked like- unkempt and messy, mangled and broken and bent in directions that they probably shouldn't go in. They definitely wouldn't be able to let him fly- not in that state, at least. They, frankly, looked like they hadn't touched phantom membrane since they were developing, and Grian relays as such to the group. He lets his head rest in his hands, curled into fists as he stares at the rough obsidian below him. He runs through a dozen different ideas for what to say next, but none of them feel right, and all of them feel incredibly incriminating when he thinks over what happened less than two hours ago.

"When we- when we got to the Boatem Hole, I made a joke about the whole-" He waves his hand in a circle in the air, grasping for words. "Boatem thing that I do, I made a joke about it being a cult, and he started freaking out again."

"You made a joke about cults to someone you met ten minutes ago?" Pearl asks, not sharply, but sharp enough to make Grian wince.

"It was a little tasteless, yeah," he admits, cracking his knuckles. His foot starts to move back and forth, seemingly tapping air as nervousness coils up in his arms. "And after I said it- and after I explained how respawning works on this server- he started acting all weird, and then..."

Grian makes a movement with his hands, propelling them outwards and letting them drop to the floor in front of him. Pearl's eyes immediately widen. "You don't mean..."

"He jumped into the Boatem Hole?" Mumbo asks, a disbelieving laugh laced within his question.

Grian nods, keeping his eyes trained on the floor in front of him, very observantly paying attention to how the movement of the end crystal makes the reflection of its light on the obsidian bob up and down. "He's respawning now, of course, but...yeah." He hesitates. "I don't think he's...I don't know." He looks up, still not meeting anyone's eyes as he mutters quietly, "I don't know."

Silence suffocates the room. Grian supposes they're thinking about everything that was said and trying to process it- either that, or they're blaming him for what happened, which Grian isn't exactly against. He feels like he can feel his friends' stares on him, despite not actually being able to see them because he isn't looking.

Finally, Impulse breaks the silence. "So...he's not a hacker?"

Grian laughs along with everyone else, tentative and cautious. "No, Impulse."

"But he does have something to do with the moon?"

Grian lifts up his hand in a half-shrug, half-nod. "I mean, he's got to, right? He showed up and the moon shrunk back down to its original size."

"Yeah, and the tsunami almost flooded my factory," Impulse says amidst a sigh, his head dropping backwards. "This is really weird."

"No kidding," Pearl agrees, turning to look at Grian, who uses a great deal of effort to meet her unusually pale, whitish eyes. "What are we supposed to do with him, then? Not- not with him," She corrects hastily, putting out her hands to backtrack. "Just- how are we going to handle his entire...y'know. Situation. Him."

Grian purses his lips. "I guess...all we can really do is try and keep him safe, I guess. And we should try and figure out where he came from- slowly, we don't want to scare him or freak him out or anything."

"You said he has scars," Impulse says, crossing his arms. "If his server even vaguely follows similar rules as ours, then...how many times has he died?"

"He didn't say," Grian admits, a sudden terror building up in his throat- he hadn't even considered that- here, Scars only last when you're killed by them and the death has "cosmic weight," even just in part. The only exception to that rule that Grian knows is Scar, who retains every injury or mark made on his skin. It was a little weirder when they first met and slightly frightening, but now it's just...Scar. The only other place Grian can think of where scars stay like that is in hardcore worlds, which he supposes makes sense, but...

"H-His rules are probably just different, right?" Mumbo stutters out, sounding more like he's trying to convince himself than anyone else. "Or maybe he's like Scar?"

Grian shrugs, trying to play cool while his heart stutters and his wings bristle uncomfortably. Grian barely even knows Tommy, but the thought of a kid experiencing a cosmic death- on a server with only three, no less- makes him shudder. "We can only hope," He says, attempting to be firm. "For now, I think we need eyes on Tommy at all times- or, at the very least, someone needs to know where he is at all times until he can learn the layout of the rest of the server."

Everyone nods, deeming the rule reasonable- the unspoken reason goes, well, unspoken, but Grian is pretty sure everyone can hear it in the tone of his voice. He rubs his hands together before being startled by the mental notification from his communicator, pulling it up without even pausing and saying, "By the way, X wants to meet him soon, so I think we should do that before-"

Grian abruptly stops as he reads the message on his communicator.

Goodtimewithscar whispers to you: tommy's gone!

Grian suddenly feels like screaming again.

Tommy is running.

He doesn't know what or who he's running from- maybe he's running from that room he was stuck in, or from Scar, who has really been nothing but kind. He's probably running from his failed plan and repercussions of it failing- not that he hasn't already experienced them.

He woke up slowly, but as soon as he was fully conscious, he felt the ache in his bones and the way they creaked when he tried to sit up and spent almost ten minutes trying to convince himself that he was real and alive. He didn't feel the lingering pain of any injury, he didn't feel any new jagged scar across his body- his head was spinning, but it wasn't because he was knocked out or worse. He was freezing and chattering, but he wasn't in pain. He just felt stiff and exhausted, like if he tried to stand up, he'd fall over or fall back asleep.

He doesn't know what to think- he died. He died again, for a fourth time, and he's still here. He doesn't know what he was thinking or why he thought that would work- he had his mind made up before he even knew about their weird respawn system (and Prime knows that if Tommy even vaguely tries to comprehend that, he'll blow a gasket), trying to jump back into the Boatem Hole in some desperate attempt to just...go back. He assumed it'd be simple and at the same time knew that it wouldn't work, and he doesn't want to consider what would have happened if he didn't respawn.

He got himself over a panic attack fairly quickly (a skill he's picked up over the past few months that he's way too proud of) and decided that his best course of action was to climb out the window- which was lamer than he expected, since he threw up in his mouth a little as soon as he looked at the ground through the window he was in, so he tried his best to sneak down to a reasonable height before climbing out of the window on the first floor. Admittedly, he could have just walked out the front door, but he thought that'd be too lame, so as soon as his feet toughed the paved dirt road below, he took off running in a random direction- away from Boatem.

He couldn't fathom doing such a thing with anyone on the Dream SMP- they would all get so mad at him, he couldn't even begin to imagine. Aside from maybe Puffy and Sam- but then again, Puffy said she didn't care, and Sam...

He feels a chill run through his body, his entire frame shuddering when he thinks about the Warden and Dream. He had almost forgotten that the man had escaped because of...well, all of this. Sam is probably fucking enraged- he probably would've wanted Tommy to help get Dream back in prison, or given himself up so Dream wasn't a threat to anyone else anymore. And then he just left...Sam would probably kill him himself the next time they saw each other.

Shaking those thoughts out of his mind, Tommy slows his speed to a jog, then a walk. He spares a glance behind him, Boatem Town and the villager hotel shrinking in the distance as he crosses a vast field of green, ignoring the dirt path and deciding to go towards the massive, black building he can see far ahead of him. It looks more like a decoration or a factory than something people would live in, and he can see a small village next to it, so chances are it'll be empty and he can...do something.

The more and more he thinks about it, the stupider and stupider this gets. He keeps walking anyways, of course, but it becomes more because of the fact that he can't possibly go back now. After causing that scene at the Boatem Hole, Grian is probably going to kill him on sight. And that's only if Scar doesn't find him first and- he doesn't know, lock him in his room for the night. Not that he would blame the man, but it isn't really something he wants to have to go back to.

He pushes between birch trees, the rustling of the leaves above him in the breeze sounding louder than they probably really are. It's decently chilly out, and the sun is starting to set- he picks up his pace just a little bit, not wanting to get stuck outside during the nighttime. As nice as this place may seem, he doubts it also won't have the nighttime monsters that Tommy knows so well from his outdoorish life, and while they're really nothing more than a nuisance at this point, they can quickly become more problematic considering the fact that he is swordless and armourless.

Thankfully, the sun is still poking over the horizon by the time he reaches the entrance to the building- he counts it as a win despite him shivering and clutching at his arms, quickly making his way inside the slightly warmer building and marveling at the unique architecture. The black, stained glass makes the colours of the sunset muted as they project inside, dousing the platforms of blackstone in orange and purple as Tommy walks underneath the main structure of the building.

He stops at an edge and his jaw drops. Slightly below him is a sea of redstone tracks, placed on sandstone and emitting a glow that paints the walls and floor in the majority of the building in warm colors as the red collides with orange and yellow. He couldn't possibly fathom what any of this is for- the most intricate thing he's built on his own is a retracting wall, this looks like a collection system meant for a god or some shit like that. It looks like something Sam or Fundy would make, which immediately makes him think that this is for something much more complicated than that.

He takes a couple of steps back before turning fully to clamber up the ladder on the front of the suspended structure, almost losing his balance once he reaches the top as his head is hit with a wave of pain. He sneezes, walking down the narrow platform and reading the signs put up next to complicated looking machinations with chests underneath them. He stops in front of two signs- "Shadow Stasis Chamber" and "Shadow Item Storage," furrowing his brow as he racks his brain for where he's heard these terms before. He could have sworn that Fundy went on a rant about shadow items a very long time ago, during an insufferably long tirade that Tommy spaced out in the middle of. He kneels in front of a chest next to the signs, pushing it open and tilting his head to the side at what's inside.

It's...just a bunch of stone. He has no idea why a junk chest would be inside such a futuristic looking building- maybe they're science rocks. Maybe they're infused with redstone or something, or maybe they'll start floating if he fully opens the chest. Maybe, since the sign said "Shadow Items," they represent different items in someone's inventory?

He reaches inside the chest, grabbing the first rock on top- it's a lot lighter than he thought it would be- before he gets the everloving shit scared out of him.

"I was fine with you looking, but...please don't touch."

Tommy screams- hollers, it's a very manly holler- whipping around with the rock in his hand and holding it up, nerves fired and ready to crack something's skull in without him even fully processing what the fuck is going on.

The poor guy he's threatening yelps, startled, putting his hands up in front of him and flinching away with a, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you-"

"What- who the f*ck-" Tommy flinches in on himself at the beep, having completely forgotten about it in his panic. His eyes try to adjust, darting around and focusing on the man standing in front of him- or, rather, towering over him. His skin is green, which immediately makes his heart start to race, but that's where the resemblance with the Warden ends- his skin is a much darker green than Sam's, and his hair is a normal brown, spiking up and to the side and not smothered by that stupid gold tiara (or whatever) that Sam always wore. He has a white lab coat on, technically clean but darker than when it was probably first worn, that's open and showing nothing but a black undershirt.

Tommy's eyes are drawn up to his left (right) arm, which is completely metal, all the way up to his shoulder. He almost starts to lower his hand before remembering that he doesn't know this guy and raising it again- the man flinches back again. "Who the hell are you- why would you sneak up on me like that? F*ck off!"

The guy blinks- once, twice (Tommy notices that one of those eyes is very much not real, but it's still blinking anyways), before lowering his hands slightly and saying with a confused lilt to his words, "My name is Doc- you're in my building, and you just broke something."

Tommy notices how heavy the rock in his hand suddenly feels, pulling it away and towards his chest and taking a step back. Oh fuck. He broke something- he's going to get his ass handed to him because he couldn't keep his fucking hands to himself. Christ- it couldn't have been that long since interacting with someone more important than him that he's completely forgotten how to act so he isn't being rude or disrespectful. Sam would fucking murder him, and Dream would-

He hastily drops the stone back into the chest, his mind going over the guy's words in his head over and over, the tone worsening each time it replays. His hands pull up towards him as he clears his throat, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he chokes out, "I- I'm sorry."

He twists his eyes shut, holding himself as still as possible, almost praying that the man- Doc, whatever kind of a name that is- would just shove him out of the way and ignore him so he could leave. Prime, he just wants to leave.

Instead, he feels a freezing, heavy hand on his shoulder- he instinctively flinches away before tensing, cursing at himself inwardly for moving. Oddly enough, Doc's hand retracts just as fast, and he hears replacing it a quiet, "Are you...okay?"

Tommy nods stiffly. "'M fine. Sorry for breaking your machine."

He cracks his eye open as Doc chuckles nervously, shaking his head. Tommy notices, as the light illuminates different parts of his face, the scars that seem to branch from underneath the metallic parts of Doc's body- his face and just above the line of the undershirt have pale explosion scars poking out from his prosthetics. He fixes his gaze back to the ground just as Doc uses his other hand to pat his shoulder, lighter than before, squeezing past him and reaching over the machines. "Don't worry about it, it's an easy fix."

Tommy is almost startled by the lack of responsibility placed on him. He blinks his eyes open, turning to look at the man in shock- he broke it. It doesn't matter whether it's an easy fix or not, it's still an inconvenience he caused that someone else has to deal with because of him being irresponsible.

He almost asks Doc why the fuck he isn't yelling at him or something, but the man speaks up before he can get anything out. "I'll be frank, I didn't expect to see you so soon...I figured there'd be some sort of meeting regarding you first, moon boy."

It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for what he said to actually process in Tommy's mind, as he as more focused on how he sounds- it's an unfamiliar accent that he swears he's heard from someone before- Fundy? Niki? His eyebrows furrow as he tentatively asks, "...moon boy?"

There's a pause as Doc finishes whatever it was that he was fixing and turns back around to face Tommy. "It's weird to call someone by their name before you've even met them, isn't it? The rest of the server has been calling you 'moon boy,' since your arrival caused some...odd effects to happen with our lunar companion."

Tommy doesn't know how to respond to that. "Odd...effects?"

Doc waves his hand nonchalantly. "Nothing you need to worry about, I assure you. Now," Doc holds out his hand towards Tommy- the robotic one. Tommy's own hand is trembling slightly as he reaches out to grasp it, surprised at the sleek feel of the prosthetic but shocked to the bone by how cold it is. Doc's real ear flicks as he smiles, all soft and quiet and so Sam-like that it almost hurts- back when Sam didn't hate him, of course. "To formally introduce myself, my name is Doc M., but you can just call me Doc. I am the co-founder of the Octagon, a store chain that this building," He lets go and gestures with his hand. "Is part of. My associate, Ren, also runs the place and helps build- you'll probably see him around, though he is sort of a...nocturnal type."

Tommy hasn't the slightest clue as to what that means, but it isn't like he's going to ask. He sticks his hand into his pocket, half-hunched over like he wants to vanish from where he stands. "Cool...?"

Doc's smile looks sort of teasing as he presses, "And you...?"

"Sh*t, right, um," Tommy kicks at the ground, trying to think of an introduction on par with the hybrid's that isn't just dumping his life story onto him. "I'm...Tommy. Resident big man. Sorry for- y'know, breaking into your store and then breaking everything 'n' sh*t."

"It really is no problem at all, Tommy," Doc assures, turning to the side and gesturing at the machine he was fixing. "Would you like to know what it does?"

What Tommy would like to know is where on this damn server he'll be able to go and not be found. "Uh- sure, I guess."

Doc grins, sharp and toothy, bending down to face the machine- only now does Tommy's brain register the green moth wings on the man's back- similarly to Scar, they're attached to straps that go around his back and shoulders but still seem alive, twitching as Doc looks back at him ad gestures to come closer. Tommy does so, hesitance seeping in his movements as he crouches, too. "Do you know anything about redstone at all, Tommy?"

Tommy shakes his head. "I have, like, two friends that do, but I zone out whenever they start talking about it- so no."

Doc laughs, patting Tommy's knee as if that was the funniest response he could have given. "Okay, okay. Open the chest- now, in there are fifty stones. I also have fifty stones in my inventory. But it's the same set of fifty stones."

"You've already lost me, doc."

Doc shakes his head and simply says, "Watch the chest." Tommy leaves over to look in the chest, his eyebrows shooting up as a clang comes from behind him- Doc dropping a rock- and a stone vanishes from the top of the chest. Tommy looks back and forth in mild interest as Doc continues, "What this machine has essentially done is link the contents of the chest to the contents of my inventory. You'll notice that when I drop the rocks-" Doc picks one up, its wight making his hand dip slightly. "They suddenly become much heavier. When they leave my inventory, its mass is no longer split between the inside of that chest and the metaphysical space my items kept in."

Tommy stares as Doc phases the rock back into his inventory, hearing the clatter from the chest from another stone being added to the pile. He stares as Doc cleans up the walkway, saying, "Dude, that is, like...so f*cking cool- what do you use it for?"

Doc tilts his head from side to side. "You can use it for a lot of things, but here, it's used as life insurance."

Tommy's eyebrows furrow together. "Life...what?"

"When you die, you drop all of our items, right?" Doc asks, and Tommy does his best to subtly scoot away as he nods because he does not like where that train of thought is heading. "Right, well, since your inventory and this machine are linked, when the chest registers as empty because you've died, it triggers a enderpearl stasis and teleports you back here." He half-shrugs, tilting his hand back and forth. "While that wouldn't really help you if you were bleeding out, it definitely wold if you were dying in lava or in the void or something like that."

Tommy's head is spinning. Aside from the fact that these people die enough to make an entire system for it (that not everyone uses), there's literally a way to cheat death right in front of him. He's gone this long without dying to something stupid, but he's never been here before- maybe getting that wouldn't be too bad of an idea. It's make him feel better, at least.

"Do-" Tommy cuts himself off with a sneeze that makes his head start pounding. "Sorry. Do you actually- y'know, die? If your stuff leaves your inventory, then you're dead, right?"

Doc simply shrugs, brushing off his knees and standing, Tommy following suit as he simply replies, "I'm more of a technical person, I don't tend to dwell on it. But if I must give an answer...I'd say it's sort of like being just over the line of death before getting forcefully yanked back. That's all I can think of." Tommy full-body shivers- whether it's from the cold or the aching familiarity of that description, he refuses to clarify to himself. Doc looks slightly concerned. "Are you okay, Tommy?"

He sneezes into the crook of his arm again. "'M fine. Do I have to- like, buy the stasis chamber? I'm not- I don't have anything yet, but once I do- can I...?"

Doc smiles lightly, putting a hand on Tommy's back and beginning to lead him to the end of the platform. Tommy hates how his heart lurches once his hand makes contact with his back, and he loathes how he almost immediately starts walking, limbs stiff as he's reminded that resisting either gets him nothing or in even more trouble.

He has to take a moment to remind himself that Doc is in a good mood and probably wouldn't hurt him- at least, not right now. The sooner he gets out of here, the better.

"Oh, of course," Doc says smoothly, allowing Tommy to go down the ladder first. It takes a majority of his willpower to not bolt out the entrance as soon as his feet touch the floor. "I'm sure Grian will be able to work something out for you even sooner, anyways."

Tommy nods, fidgeting with his hands in an obvious pursuit to dispel his nerves. "Now, as lovely as this conversation has been, Tommy-"

Oh, shit. He did something wrong, didn't he? He said or did something- he shouldn't have asked for the insurance, what the hell was he thinking? He broke into a building and broke Doc's machine, why-

"I can't help but feel like you have somewhere to be."

Tommy focuses on Doc's face, quirked up into a smile as Tommy croaks, "What...? Um-" He clears his throat. "No?"

Doc tilts his head to the side. "Really? Because-" He makes a movement with his hand and a weird, glass-looking screen floats up to his left. "Scar and Grian are asking quite frantically of you on comms."

Tommy tries to ignore the way his face burns all the way up to the tips of his ears. He shouldn't have lied, lying always makes things worse. "Um- sorry."

Doc simply laughs, shaking his head and gesturing to the exit. "Would you like me to take you back to Boatem? It's nighttime and you don't seem to have any armour or tools..."

Tommy shakes his head, shame and embarrassment burning in his chest. "No, I don't- I'll be fine."

"Nonsense," Doc insists, putting his hand right back between Tommy's wings and leading him out- not at all by choice. His heartrate picks back up, but he doesn't want to upset him by pushing his hand off or saying anything, so he keeps his mouth shut. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt on your way back."

Tommy can't get words out as they exit the building, his brain not really focusing on what Doc is actually saying and putting more attention to the internal screaming telling him to keep still, don't resist, just keep walking.

He takes his first breath when Doc's hand suddenly retracts, and he half-gasps, "Thank you. For- for taking me back, I mean."

"I-" Doc cuts himself off and pauses as Tommy keeps his eyes locked to the grass. It's cold and dark and Tommy feels like utter shit, but the redness to his face at least keeps his ears from freezing solid. "Tommy, do you not want me to do that? Touch your back- you got all stiff, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Tommy jerkily shakes his head, keeping his eyes fixed tot he ground. "No- it's fine. I don't care, really."

There's a pregnant pause before Doc sighs, continuing to walk without making contact with Tommy. The boy stands, shocked in place, and it's only when Doc turns and gestures for Tommy to follow that he snaps out of it and scurries to the hybrid's side. Doc sticks his hands into his coat pockets and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't notice- my hand isn't very sensitive to pressure, I didn't realise you wanted me to stop. It won't happen again."

Tommy doesn't respond. On one hand, he knows that on any other day, under normal circumstances, he'd never have gotten away with showing his discomfort so openly. He'd get lectured or yelled at or worse, and it's some Prime-given miracle that he's skated by for this long without a single real reprimand.

On the other hand, he's thankful.

The rest of the walk back is completely silent.

Chapter Text

Tommy is bored.

He doesn't think he would ever fathom being able to be bored in a different dimension, but now, a week after the Boatem Hole incident, he feels smothered in the most offensive, negative way he can muster.

He feels like he's been put on neighborhood watch or something- he can't leave the house MumboJumbo lent him (he doesn't get the names either) without someone at his side or a pair of eyes watching him from a distance that isn't nearly far away enough for him not to notice. He was a soldier in multiple wars, for Prime's sake, are they really expecting him to not notice whilst they shittily spy on him? It puts him on edge more than comforts him- he can basically feel their eyes on him, and it itches.

It isn't even like he leaves the house much, anyways- he doubts he'd be able to leave Boatem if he asked, and it's not like there's a designated place for him to mine, and Prime knows he doesn't want to talk to anyone that lives here- Mumbo almost seems afraid of him, Pearl stares at him like he personally insulted her mother or something, Impulse is never around long enough for Tommy to get a proper read on him- and he's not going to talk to someone without vibe-checking them extensively first- which only leaves Grian and Scar.

Frankly, Tommy would love to talk to those two. Grian is a bit of a weirdo, but he's the closest thing to remind him of home- in a good way. Scar is so painfully, cloyingly nice that he partially doesn't want to talk to him because he feels disgusted with himself for trying to leech off the man's kindness. Despite being the scariest looking person he's seen (including Mr Doc Cyborg of the Octagon), he seems the least likely to scream at or hit him when he inevitably does something wrong.

The two of them have probably filled him in with more information than everyone else combined- he finally leaned what a server is (apparently, there are a lot more places aside from the Dream SMP and Hermitcraft, which is bloody fucking mental and sends him into a borderline existential crisis every time he dwells on it for too long) and learned about server admins and the fact there there's a third dimension, though he didn't hear too much about that.

The main thing that he learned, in his opinion, was that he is a huge anomaly. According to everyone he's spoken to so far, death is just another aspect of life and he's weird for having a limit.

The thought is absolutely insane to him. He and everyone else on that shitty server have gone their entire lives on three respawns, gone through so much pain and suffering and whatever because of it while the rest of the fucking universe was living la vida loca and giving zero shits about how many times they died- except, of course, the masochists that choose to live on only one and even then, they get to come back, too.

Wilbur would smack him upside the head for it, but he can't help but feel like that's so unfair on a cosmic level that it hurts.

He spent an embarrassingly long amount of time screaming in his room at whatever godly force decided to put him on the Dream SMP and not here, or, y'know, literally anywhere else.

It's a similar afternoon when Tommy receives a knock on his door, accompanied by a familiar voice calling, "Uh- Tommy?"

Tommy, startled, falls off his bed with a thud, wincing on impact and yelling back a blunt, "What?"

"Uh- can I come in?"

Tommy stares at the ceiling before sighing and heaving himself up, dragging himself to the front door and swinging it open, coming face to face with Grian, who jumps back, wings fluttering. "No."

Grian blinks, confused, and Tommy steps out of the house and shuts the door behind him, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Sorry. I just don't want people in my house."

He holds himself in a wince, absolutely prepared to be told off for the request- what the hell did he mean by his house, this was lent to him- but Grian simply nods and says, "Fair enough- we forget privacy exists sometimes, since we're all so focused on showing off our builds instead of living in them. I'll let everyone know."

The thought of Grian going around and telling everyone that wittle Tommy deawest doesn't want to be bothewd makes him throw up in his mouth a little."...pog."

Grian gives him a look of bewilderment before gesturing to the way down the mountain. "Do- um, do you mind if we walk and talk?"

Tommy shrugs, memories of the first time they walked and talked prickling up to the surface of his mind. "Uh...sure. Can't you just- y'know." He jerks his head to the edge of the mountain. "Fly off?"

"Well, yeah, but you can't. Wouldn't want to make you walk alone." He talks as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, that he'd take the inconvenient road for Tommy's sake. "I need the walk, anyways."

...whatever that means. Tommy shrugs again and walks alongside him, pulling on the bottom of his shirt as the two of them head down the steep oath of the mountain covered in moss and vines that crawl up and down the stone. At a point, they end up going through a tunnel carved into the mountain, and it sort of reminds him of the aquarium bridge on the Prime path...just without the fish. And the glass. And the wood. The awkwardness in the air is as thick as the silence, and Tommy has the sinking feeling from Grian's fidgeting that he's either in deep trouble (likely) or he's about to be asked something incredibly intrusive (equally as likely).

"So..." Grian starts, his wings filling the vicinity with fluttering as he clears his throat. "What actually happened to your wings? If you're okay with sharing, that is."

Tommy is unable to keep the grimace off his face as his dead wings unwillingly jerk in response, his grip on the hem of his shirt tightening. It starts to pull on the back of his neck, restricting his breathing slightly, but he can barely register the feeling over the noise in his head triggered by the thought of what actually happened.

The stark white of Dream's mask was all that seemed to fill Tommy's vision as he was pulled by the shirt to meet the man face to face. His collar was choking him, but he knew enough not to splutter or make any unwanted noises at all.

The moment he was unceremoniously thrown onto the the ground, upsetting most of his recent bruises, Tommy scrambled to push himself up onto his elbows only to immediately get kicked back down again with enough force to knock all of the air out of his lungs. He curled up in on himself, using his wings to shield the main part of his body without even thinking about it as Dream's voice grated against his ears, yelling insults and reprimands and threats and-

Tommy's shock made the feeling of his wing being roughly grabbed so much worse, the harsh crushing feeling dragging a scream from him- it had been so long since he had screamed like that, but it hurt. His scream seemed to make the man simply press harder, twisting the wing out of the way as Tommy writhed on the ground, his screams petering out into silent sobs and cries that came out too screechy to make any noise as Dream squatted next to him, one knee in the grass as he pulled Tommy closer to him by the wing.

"These are annoying, Tommy," Dream said, quietly, but sharp enough to embed into Tommy's mind even through his harsh gasps and tears of pain. "They get in the way. It's disrespectful to shield yourself while you're being punished, understand?"

All Tommy could properly manage were babbling pleas and apologies that fell on deaf ears and pitched upwards into shrieks of agony as a snap rang through his body, loud and all-encompassing, followed by another, then another, then another, then-

Tommy wrings his hands. "Are you seriously asking whether I'm okay with sharing?" Realising his tone, he quickly backtracks and stutters out, "Genuinely- are you just going to get pissed off at me if I don't tell you?"

Grian looks repulsed at the notion. "What-? No, of course I wouldn't-"

"Then I don't want to tell you," Tommy cuts him off, blinking and shaking his head halfway. "I would genuinely rather jump back into the death void hole."

Grian's face blanches, and Tommy hurriedly clarifies, "That was a joke, I'm joking. It was a slash jay."

"Please, let's not make jokes about such a thing," Grian pleads, desperation laced in his voice. Tommy inwardly berates himself, keeping is eyes trained to the ground as he mutters a quiet, "Sorry, sorry."

The pair descend from the mountain and onto the paved dirt road, Tommy allowing Grian to sort of take the lead as they walk across Boatem. After a bit, Grian abruptly stops and pinches the bridge of his nose, groaning slightly. "Channel above, I forgot to ask you what I meant to ask you- why aren't they- y'know. Fixed? It doesn't look recent- do you know how?"

Tommy also stops abruptly, tuning to Grian with a half-offended look to his face as he snaps, "Don't you think I've tried? Dream- Ponk, my doctor- they said that they can't be fixed. They said that they don't heal like the rest of my body does."

Grian either didn't notice his mistake and the way he violently flinched when he said the name aloud, or he's just really good at acting like he didn't. Either way, he looks at Tommy quizzically. "Well- yeah. Do you- do you not have phantom membrane on your server?"

"Again with the words I don't know," Tommy says, holding his palm to his cheek, playing off his attempt to warm his paled face with his hand as nothing but dramatics. "It's getting ridiculous."

"Well, of course your wings aren't healing- they're terrible at mending themselves naturally, along with elytra, so phantom membrane helps them grow back after being broken or something like that. But, if that's the case," Grian furrows his brows, his confusion coming to a tee as his vision darts between Tommy and his still-twitching wings. "I really have no idea how they were functioning in the first place. Phantom membrane is essential to the early development of one's wings..."

Tommy groans, rubbing his temples. "You're making my head hurt."

Grian huffs. "I'm just wondering-"

"No, seriously," Tommy says with a wince, a striking pain behind his eyes making him grit his teeth in discomfort. "Move on."

"Fine, fine. The question still stands, though." Grian points at Tommy's wings. "If you ever want to get these fixed, you can just ask. I'm sure they'll be functioning again in no time- I've broken mine a dozen times, but they always fix themselves over time."

Once Tommy has successfully rubbed the pain from his head, he warily glances at Grian's wings- he's never really thought about how similar to his they look. Or, at least, similar to how Tommy's used to look- primarily red, shiny, medium-sized- the only difference is that Grian's individual feathers seem to be dozens of different shades of red while Tommy's are simply one shade with a white lining at the end (disregarding the unnatural, stark white base from his revival that's mostly covered up by his shirt, anyways).

Tommy stares into the grass, stewing in silence for a moment before tentatively asking, "...can I think about it? And- would I have to fly?"

Tommy conveniently leaves out the fact that he doesn't think he could fly if he wanted to. He can't remember the last time he'd flown- he can barely remember using his wings for anything prior to exile.

"Only if you'd want to. And of course you can have time to think, I'm not forcing you."

Tommy jerkily nods, a shaky breath leaving him as he wrings his hands. "Then- I'll think about it. Thank you for the offer."

He looks up just in time to catch Grian rolling his eyes slightly at the stiff thanks, shooting him a smile as he nonchalantly says, "You don't need to thank me. It's not like we're in a shortage or anything, we're all incredibly sleep deprived."

Tommy doesn't really see the connection, but he gets embarrassed anyways and mutters a quiet, "Right," before continuing to walk.

Once again, an uncomfortable silence blankets the two of them- Tommy isn't really convinced that Grian dragged him all the way out here just to talk about his wings. And the way that he fidgets with his hands and subtly opens his mouth to say things before shutting it and assuming Tommy doesn't notice makes the boy think it's something important.

The realisation just makes him more antsy, and he can't stop himself from asking, "...is there anything else?"

Grian looks shocked that Tommy somehow knew, which almost makes him laugh. "Well- yes, but I don't really know how to ask..."

Tommy huffs. "Just rip off the bandage, big man," he says, glancing down at Grian. "You are not allowed to make me nervous- it's a bit of a d*ck move, really."

"I- um-" Grian stutters, seemingly steeling himself before simply dropping the question: "Are you okay with Xisuma coming to meet you?"

Tommy, despite himself, scoffs after a beat of contemplation, ignoring the way his heart drops. "Isn't he the admin? Why the hell are you asking me? Can't he do whatever he wants?"

Grian makes a face. "What- no, he's not-" He takes a deep break. "Like I said, Tommy- he oversees who can join the server, but he's not a ruler or dictator or anything like that. He owns the server, but he really has no control. I mean- we ignore what he says most of the time, really."

Tommy snickers at the idea, his face breaking into something of a wider smile when he thinks of Dream being fucking ignored by everyone- sort of like when they threw him in prison or something like that, but he wasn't really ignored- just rebelled against. Breaking away from that train of thought, Tommy considers exactly what meeting Xisuma would entail and why he would ever do that, ever.

It'll probably get him a one-way ticket out of Hermitcraft, once the admin sees that he doesn't at all fit what they have going on on the server. He's loud, mean, dirty, and a huge annoyance to basically everyone he talks to, and everyone he's met so far is...not. Grian and Scar are loud, sure, but in a way that makes you want to burst out laughing, not cover your ears. Pearl just doesn't seem to like him, but she doesn't swear and curse at him like Tommy probably would. He hasn't seen a junk chest laying around once since he got here, and frankly, everyone has just been generally pleasant. It's like, the complete opposite of Tommy- hell, it's the complete opposite of the Dream SMP. The only good builds on there are done by Foolish and he guesses Sam, and everything else is copied from tutorials in books, painfully basic, or just shitty-looking.

So yeah, Xisuma will probably talk to him for five minutes before throwing him back into the Boatem Hole, and if that doesn't send him back, he'll probably just kill him outright and that'll be that.

The emotion on his face must go undisguised, because in the next moment, Grian is slightly closer to him and softly saying, "You don't need to go, Tommy. I- we can just figure something out without that. X is just curious, anyways, he doesn't want to, um-" He hesitates before tentatively continuing, "Hurt you, or anything."

Tommy's face presses into a straight line as he tries to wrangle the embarrassed heat that comes to his face as he snaps, "I'm not scared of the b*tch, I just know that-" He falters. "He's probably going to send me away or something. I get it."

"What? No!" Grian practically shrieks, his voice rising in disbelief as Tommy unwillingly flinches. Grian immediately holds out his hands in a placating manner and lowers his voice (Tommy's chest aches- he's pretty sure it's because of annoyance, but there's something else there, too), saying, "Sorry, sorry, just- no, he's not going to kick you out, Tommy, that's ridiculous. I swear to Channel, he really just wants to meet you because you're new- and we don't really know how you got here, he just wants to know what you're like, is all!"

Tommy thinks, for a moment as he takes in Grian's expression, that he's going to end up giving the man a heart condition. Everything Tommy says seems to rock his shit to the point of speechlessness or a wildly flustered explanation, and while there's that nagging feeling in the back of Tommy's mind telling him that that's just making Grian hate him and that it's wrong to purposely make someone confused and not behave in a way that would make even the most temperamental person not notice him in the room, it's kind of funny. And, of course, there's that underlying touch of a smile that lets Tommy know, at least a little bit, that he hasn't really crossed a line yet, but it's mostly because it's funny.

But here, Grian's face looks mortified- unnecessarily so, like Tommy said something offensive or so wrong that the man almost had a heart attack. Obviously, there's something more to his response, but he really has no clue what it is. He eyes Grian suspiciously. "Seriously? That's kind of a sh*t reason to want to come all the way out to meet someone in person."

Grian lets out a sigh, closing his eyes softly and seemingly calming himself down before opening them again with a weak smile. "It's not like transportation is that much of a problem- as soon as I message him, he'll probably be here in, like, five minutes."

Tommy's breath hitches at the idea of getting five minutes to prepare, and he hurriedly asks, "Could we wait before doing that, then? I mean- I'm- yes, of f*cking course I'll meet with him, I don't have a choice-" Grian frowns at that, but Tommy continues without pause. "But could we do it- y'know, later?"

"Oh- yeah, of course!" Grian says, giving him that look that he gave earlier- the "of course I would react this way, moron, why would I ever be stern?" look. "You can go- whenever you want, really!"

Tommy is slightly offput by the happiness in Grian's tone- he supposes the man expected his answer to be an outright no. Frankly, Tommy wanted to say no, but he knows that that'd cause problems and make Grian have to work around him, which is obscene. He forces back the ball of anxiety that's burrowed itself into his chest and says with forced nonchalance, "Yeah, yeah. Is that it?"

"I- yeah," Grian breathes, still looking pleased. "Sorry for dragging you all the way out here- I probably should have just messaged you instead, but I figured you'd want an excuse to get out and about and it was probably more polite than just springing it upon you-"

"It's fine, big man," Tommy sighs. If he lets his dread show in his tone, no he fucking doesn't. "I'll see you later."

Grian rarely uses his house for anything but sleeping (and up until recently, not even that), so it’s a bit unnerving to have the server admin and Tommy sitting in his living room. He’s well and aware that X isn’t as much of a big shot as the title “server admin” implies, but it says a lot that the first thing that comes out of Tommy’s mouth when X enters the room is, “Why are you pink?”

“Why are you red?” Xisuma immediately answers back, and Grian can almost see the excited curiosity on his face despite him wearing a helmet. Grian looks back at Tommy, determined to watch him closely this time, and doesn’t miss how he shifts slightly away as X moves closer. “You look like a little mini-Grian.”

Tommy looks beyond offended, which kind of makes Grian feel offended in turn. He jabs a finger towards Xisuma, genuine emotion on his face as he shouts, “I do not, I’m f*cking taller than him!” Xisuma flinches slightly when Tommy swears (Grian’s gotten used to it at this point), but Tommy doesn’t seem to notice in his own movement. “And why the hell are you wearing a mask- helmet- whatever the f*ck?”

“Why are you wearing that bandanna? It looks pretty old.” X points at Tommy, who instinctively looks down at the tattered green bandanna tied around his wrist. Grian doesn’t think he’s seen him take it off once since arriving, and with the way Tommy absently plays with it when he’s zoning out like it’s an extended part of him, Grian doesn’t think he will any time soon.

“That’s none of your business,” Tommy snaps, pulling his limbs closer to his thin frame as he twists the bandanna, scowling.

“The helmet is none of your business either, then,” X says simply, sitting across from Tommy in the chairs Grian had set up (Tommy had bullied him for almost ten straight minutes for having such a large house and not having a single couch- after bulling him for another five for having an ugly chandelier). Tommy glares at X so hard Grian thinks he might burn a hole through his helmet, so he clears his throat and says, “X, this is Tommy. Tommy, this is Xisuma, or X.”

“Dumb name,” Tommy immediately says. Grian sighs. “Stupid helmet. Why are your ears like that?”

Xisuma’s frills flare as he crosses his arms. “You’ve seen an axolotl, yeah? It’s like that.”

Tommy’s brows furrow deeper than they already had. “Why are you cursing at me, what the f*ck.” Grian snorts, covering his smile with his hand. “What is an axolotl and why are your ears like that.”

“Why are your wings like that?” Xisuma asks, tilting his head to the side. Tommy immediately stiffens and Grian shoots X a look.

Tommy looks wildly uncomfortable, snapping, “Why’s your face like that, d*ckhead? It’s none of your f*cking business!”

X turns to Grian, giving him a look of his own that’s slightly obfuscated by the tinted glass in his helmet. It still, quite clearly, asks Grian what is his deal, to which Grian simply flattens his mouth into a line and gives nothing but a deadpan expression. X sighs, turning back to Tommy and saying defeatedly, “Fine, fine. We’ll just- we can start with the basics. Exactly how old are you?”

Tommy pauses for a moment, his vexed gaze lingering on X before he crosses his arms indignantly, subtly squeezing himself and curtly replying, “Forty-seven.”

A pause. “You are not forty-seven.”

“Oh, you’re right!” Tommy makes the most sarcastically surprised expression Grian has ever seen in his life, even from himself. “I’m actually sixty-one, silly me!”

Grian can see X’s eye twitch from behind the glass, and he has to press his hand tightly to his mouth to stop himself from giggling. “What.”

“Sixty-nine, actually.”

“C’mon.”

“One-thousand, six-hundred, and sixteen.”

X throws his arms up in exasperation and Tommy sends him a crap-eating gremlin smirk, completely unrelenting. Grian really isn’t surprised- he sort of expected this interaction to go like this. Tommy wouldn’t tell anyone any thing about himself, and he doubts that X would be able to do it if Scar couldn’t.

It’s mildly infuriating, but nothing Grian would actually blame him for. He gets the feeling nothing he says will be particularly pleasant, and he’d rather learn nothing at all than force the information out of him.

Xisuma, unfortunately, is not as used to it as Grian (and Scar, and Mumbo) is, and he seems to take a deep breath in with genuine irritation before holding it and sighing. “Okay, then…where are you from?”

Tommy looks about ready to give another non-answer, but Grian actually gives him a look this time before the boy can get a word out. His shoulders slump and he rolls his eyes, but he still answers, anyway. “The Dream SMP, mate, has nobody told you?”

“Nobody’s told me anything,” X replies impatiently. Grian raises an eyebrow and he continues, rolling his eyes, “Except for the basics- what you look like and all that.”

Tommy huffs. “All the basics that matter are right here: My name is TommyInnit and I am, just, incredibly f*cking massive. I am from the Dream SMP and I do not know how I got on your p*ssy f*cking server where God does not allow me to swear.”

If X could rub his temples through his helmet, Grian is confident that he would right about now. For the first time in his life, Grian employs some sort of tact when he follows up Tommy’s tirade with an uncharacteristically gentle (but still infuriatingly blunt to any sane person), “Like I said, Tommy, some people don’t really like cursing and would prefer not to have such a…vibe.”

Tommy’s scowl deepens for about half a second before his eyes dart towards X, who’s frills are flicking in slight annoyance, and flash with realisation that immediately makes Tommy go rigid. “Oh. I-um- sorry, big man, I didn’t-”

X waves his hand dismissively, saying, “It’s fine, it’s fine. Not that big a deal. Anyways,” He splays out his hand, tilting his head to the side. “You said you were from the ‘Dream SMP.’ Is Dream a person or is that just the title?”

Tommy’s face upon registering the question drops almost comically. It’s like a switch was flipped- his face blanches, his shoulders hike up (more than they already had been), and most curiously of all, his wings twitch. X sees it, too, and his eyebrows raise in slight surprise- he probably assumed they were completely dead like Grian had. X’s change in expression makes his stomach churn, though- if Grian noticed it, then Tommy definitely did, too.

Grian finds himself, probably for the first time ever, hating his unwilling transparency more than he should- he scrutinises every facial expression he makes that gets an unwanted reaction out of Tommy, and he tries so hard (harder than he probably should) to keep conversations on a path that won’t end up upsetting him. He acts silly and unserious most of the time, but he reads tone like a book, watches people’s faces like a hawk- or, more accurately, like prey trying to decipher whether a predator was coming over to kill them or not.

He’d never admit it aloud, but being around Tommy is kind of nerve-wracking. Not in a negative way, he doesn’t hold it against the kid- but not in a particularly pleasant way, either. And it definitely isn’t all Tommy’s fault- the intense feeling of being under a microscope is him, sure, but his actions have nothing to do with the headache he gets whenever Grian looks at him for too long, or the weird pressure in his chest that combines with an itch in his wings that tries to coax him into doing… something, but he can’t for the life of him decipher what. He never can, and it isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

Grian actively decides that that’s probably enough thinking for one afternoon- he might as well stop now before he meditates himself into a migraine and can’t process a word of the ongoing conversation. X’s question is a valid one, anyways- Grian had wondered the same thing, especially considering how Tommy has mentioned the name Dream as a person before and then immediately pretended that he didn’t.

Tommy seems to steel himself, twisting his bandanna and saying with a certain firmness, “Dream is a wrongun. He’s a d*ckhead- sorry, douchebag, and I hate him, and I never want to mention him here ever again.” Despite this, he tightens his expressions and shakes his head and continues, “He blew up everything and manipulated literally everyone on the server and- and he exiled me and killed my pets and stole so much sh*t-”

“Hey, hey, Tommy,” Grian says, butting in despite the look Xisuma shoots him- that was getting too much for Tommy’s good, screw that. “It’s alright, we understand.”

“He’s bad,” Tommy stresses, leaning forward in his seat slightly. He meets gazes with Grian and he feels pins and needles rush up and down his body as his sharp, blue eyes bore into him with a seriousness that’s stark against his typically jokey tone. “He’s evil. He- he’s almost never done anything good ever, believe me.”

Xisuma, seemingly catching onto the odd, almost pleading edge to Tommy’s tone, reassures him with an, “Evil awful server admin, got it.”

He pulls up the many screens he has at his disposal due to being the admin as Tommy slumps back in his seat. Grian’s curiosity gnaws at the barrier keeping his more unruly thoughts at bay. What could this server admin possibly have done to make Tommy react like that? Grian has blown up his fair share of things in his time, but nothing to garner such a reaction as that. And what did Tommy mean by him manipulating everyone? Why is he so desperate to make sure X and Grian know how bad he is without giving them any specifics?

Grian bites the corner of his mouth. The way Tommy will just…change demeanors on a dime is terrifying. The closest thing he’s ever had to experience like that is Scar’s lying, but this …Grian feels like he has to act on a completely different level of tentative.

But it’s whatever.

Tommy rubs his face, letting out a slow, controlled breath before looking back up at X, who watches curiously. He also decides not to mention that at all, continuing as if nothing happened: “Is there, like, any family we should contact? If we can, I mean.”

Tommy groans loudly, obnoxiously, leaning back with his hands on his knees as if that was the most boring question he could have possibly asked. “I already told Scar, my father is Philza Minecraft and he is very old.”

Xisuma rolls his eyes and doesn’t type anything. “Sure. Any other family?”

This makes Tommy pause for a moment, seemingly contemplating. “I don’t actually think Techno would respond, um. Wilbur? Wilbur Soot- he's my brother. And I guess Tubbo is technically…whatever.” He tosses up his hands lazily. “I told Scar all of this already, you can ask him.”

X narrows his eyes. “Any friends?”

“More than you,” Tommy says, his mouth curling back into a smile before he sighs again. “Ran boob is a friend, though he’s a d*ckhead and literally too tall to actually exist, and- I mean, Big Q, I guess. Quackity. Not- yeah.” He seems to go over more options in his mind, tilting his head from side to side before making a face and saying, “Yeah, that’s pretty much it, really.”

“I thought you said you had more friends than me,” Xisuma says wryly, typing into  his various screens.

“Oi, I’ll have you know I’m friends with billions of people, and- in fact, I have twice as many wives as that. Do you have a wife, Xisuma? D*ckhead?”

“If you really have that many wives, then,” Xisuma continues, ignoring Tommy. “Who’s your favourite?”

“The Grind,” Tommy answers immediately, and Grian bursts out laughing. X simply snorts, amused, which makes Tommy grin in victory. “Now, I don’t quite know what you’re laughing about. She is a very beautiful woman. Almost as beautiful as Hot Girl and the queen.”

This proceeds to make Grian wheeze and Xisuma fake a cough to disguise a laugh, putting a fist to his mouth (or, rather, where his mouth would be). He then holds out a hand and says, “Okay, okay. I don’t know what else I can get from you, really. You’re just going to make jokes and not answer me-”

“But what do you mean, Big X,” Tommy says, putting a hand to his heart. “You asked me who my favourite wife was-”

“Oh, quiet. You know what I mean.”

Chapter Text

Crack. Crack.

Tommy has never liked mining. He's never had to do do it too often- never casually, at least. Armour has never been too much of a concern for him, obviously demonstrated by the fact that he hasn't bothered to fix the torn, dyed red, leather armour he's had for far too long at this point.

This mining, though, isn't for materials.

Crack, patter. Crack.

Why Tommy chose to build under Pearl's house, though, is beyond understanding. He could have picked anyone else in Boatem to intrude upon- Grain, Scar, and Mumbo probably wouldn't be too mad with him, and Impulse doesn't seem to particularly dislike him or anything, but Pearl? Pearl is scary.

She isn't intimidating around the other Boatem members, which makes Tommy know that it's something about him that makes her so annoyed and irritable every time they interact, even just through eye contact. Her eyes are half of the scary part, anyways- they're probably just as weird as Grian's, or even a little more, gray in the irises and with a slightly darker pupil, they look a milky white from a distance and downright unsettling up close. She has a beanie, which takes off intimidation points immediately, but the wavy brown hair that pokes from the front makes Tommy antsy. Aside from that, she's nothing like what Tommy's used to (aside from probably detesting him right off the bat), so he couldn't possibly explain his decision to bother her further to himself or anyone else.

Crack.

Nevertheless, he spent a good majority of his free time for the past two or so days collecting the minimal supplies he would need for the build (which made Grian elated when he noticed- the only thing Tommy has built on the server so far was a shitty reputation, and Tommy wasn't excited to let him down with his lackluster building skills) before setting to work.

It's surprisingly easy to get into the the mindset, doing something over and over again with nothing but the sound of cobblestone dropping and phasing into his inventory until he's cleared out a criminally small area which's dimensions are suspiciously reminiscent of his hill house back home. Which is stupid, because this is not a replica or a replacement of that house at all- closer to his raccoon hole under Techno's base, if anything. A temporary hide-out to keep his stuff in until he gets back on his feet and goes to his actual home, back on the SMP.

...honestly, he probably isn't even going to live here. As soon as Pearl sees it, she's probably going to seal it back up after she deals with Tommy, which will be inconvenient, but fair. If she does more than just kicking him out, that’d be fine, too.

He stares at the dark, dry room for a moment before starting to make the ceiling just a little bit higher. He can barely breathe in here, and it gives him more opportunities to make it look like garbage, so it won’t hurt.

The Hermits are…weird. He’s sure he’s thought that over a dozen times at this point, but the more he “settles in,” the more jittery he gets around them. His thought process keeps swinging back and forth- they seem nice, but there’s really no way they’re all- he doesn’t know, unable to get pissed off at him for all the stupid shit he does. He killed himself in front of someone, and that same day, he ran away and made everyone worried about him. Yet despite both of those things happening, nobody has even reacted- disappointment, maybe, annoyance, definitely, but there hasn’t been a twinge of anger in anyone’s face yet- not even Pearl, though it’s borderline.

He knows they’re going to snap at him eventually, and he wishes they’d just get it over with so he can gauge how far he can go and how badly they’ll react. He’s lived his life teetering on the edge of genuinely pissing people off- being thrown into this new environment where everyone hides their emotion terrifies him. It’s so unlike the Dream SMP- it’s so unlike everything he’s ever known, except for Wilbur and Dream, which is probably what makes them both suck so fucking much.

Tommy’s nose twitches before he sneezes, the dust from the small, broken stones irritating his sinuses enough for him to need to step out of the cavern. It's been, like, forty-five minutes and he's gotten no response or reaction- he isn't even sure that anyone has seen him.

He looks at the stacks of cobblestone in his inventory. He looks at the rocky terrain next to Pearl's palace. It'd take a little clearing out, but...

Half an hour later, Tommy is several dozens of metres in the air atop the ugliest cobblestone tower he can make (which is just a normal cobblestone tower, but still), pretending to look busy as a figure swoops in from the distance.

If someone asked Tommy why the hell he was doing this, he probably wouldn't be able to tell them.

Tommy's heart hammers in his chest unwillingly as Pearl stops and hovers in front of him, huge, black butterfly wings (Tommy suddenly pieces together where her name came from) creating a bit of noise as she remains stagnant in the air. Tommy keeps his eyes trained on the golden jewelry hanging from her ears, swaying with her little movement, instead of her unimpressed gaze that teeters on disgusted that combs up and down the cobblestone tower.

Tommy meets her eyes, trying to channel as much nonchalance in his voice as he simply says, "'Ow do?"

Pearl crosses her arms. "...what are you doing?"

Well. There's an accent that Tommy hasn't heard in a while- it's like a lighter version of Lazar's, sort of, which immediately makes him wonder where the hell that guy even is. Tommy hums, pausing his continuous circular movements to place down the cobblestone. "Well, Pearl Crescent Moon, I couldn't help but notice that I'm a bit 'omeless at the minute, and you have a big open space and I have a lot of cobblestone- I think our goals here align, y'know?"

Pearl looks bewildered, the sternness on her face faltering. "What goals? And my name is Pearlescent, not-"

"That's what I said, innit?" Tommy interrupts casually, not even looking at her and continuing to build the tower higher.

Pearl flaps her wings to get up to eye level again, irritation in her voice as she says, "Can you- you can't just keep building while I've told you to stop!"

"Mmm," He says, his voice pitched upwards. "Yes, I can, really."

Pearl presses her fist to her forehead, a grating sigh escaping her lips as she glares at Tommy while he builds. He can hear his heart in his ears, but at the same time, the thrill and the adrenaline makes him keep a smile on his face, even as Pearl lands delicately on the cobblestone. Tommy starts to build around her. "You're griefing."

Tommy's brain stutters at her tone- deadpan and vaguely harsh, and it takes him a moment to get back into his groove and say, "Now. That is a very rude thing to say, Pearl Crescent, I am simply trying to build myself a home and you are intruding on my property."

Pearl rubs her hands on her face, splaying them around he and letting out an exhale to seemingly calm herself down. "Alright. Alright. Moon boy, you need to- I don't know. Leave. Bother Grian or- or Mumbo or something, just not me. I'm not dealing with this."

Tommy lets out a fake offended gasp, not at all slowing down or stopping. "Pearl Crescent Moon, don't you know I have a name? I mean, I've been here for well over two weeks at this point-"

"No," Pearl snaps. It makes Tommy's heart lurch. "I am not doing this right now. Please leave, or I'm calling Grian to come get you."

Tommy instinctively scowls, feeling vaguely offended at the idea. Is that what people are assuming? That Grian's there to keep him in check, make sure that he isn't causing too much trouble for everyone? Grian couldn't stop him from doing anything- all he does is talk and talk and talk at him if he messes up, he doesn't actually do anything that would make him stop. Maybe- maybe Pearl would? Maybe she's assuming that that's what Grian does? The thought makes his heart rate spike, but it's not like he can stop now- he already started, he's on a cobblestone tower in the sky, and he needs to see how far Pearl would be willing to go. "Grian's not my f*cking chaperone," He seethes, narrowing his eyes at her, "He can't make me do sh*t."

Pearl rubs her temples. "Why. Why right now, why-" She cuts off her mumbling, taking in a deep breath.

And then she abruptly turns around and starts to leave. Tommy feels his heart sink. "Hey- wait, where are you going-?"

"Away," She says, not even looking back at him. She leans on the edge of the cobblestone tower, just about tipping over the edge as Tommy slides from his seat and steps towards her. "I'll just- take it down once you leave."

"I won't leave," He says sharply, almost sounding desperate. "I'll keep building until I reach the limit, and then I'll sleep inside of it. You know, if you make me sleep outside, it'll be endangerment."

"What is the point of this?" Pearl snips, sharply pivoting around and narrowly missing Tommy with her wings. "Seriously, you've been- amicable enough this entire time, what's the point? Can't you get your friends to help you build a house- away from me? We haven't even looked at each other before, let alone planned out something like-"

"Oh, f*ck off, you and me both know that isn't true," Tommy snaps, rolling his eyes and ignoring her questions. "You've been shooting dirty looks at me since I got here, I should be the one asking what the f*ck's your issue."

"That's not my fault, you're the one who-" She cuts herself off, taking another deep breath to steady herself before looking Tommy dead in the eyes. They're unsettlingly similar to his a while back if you ignore the inhuman aspects- a dull, pale, bluish gray surrounded by dark eyes and pale skin. She looks tired- abnormally so, and when she breaks eyes contact she rubs her face harshly and puts a hand to her mouth. "I...really do not want to do this right now. I don't- I don't know if you think I'm joking or something, I'm politely asking you to stop building and take this down. And leave."

Tommy leans in towards her, an impish smile on his face. He narrows his eyes. "Make me."

Pearl blinks at him, her eye twitching and almost seeming to flash with something before she holds her head in a hand and groans. "This is ridiculous."

She sharply turns around, preparing to leave again, but this time Tommy isn't able to duck or jump out of the way of her wings fully- he's a little distracted by the fact that her eyes turned fucking purple. The edges of them hit him and he looses his balance, tipping sideways and letting out a yelp as he tries to steady himself and fails, his wings stuttering behind him as he starts to fall.

He screams, because of course he does, and Pearl only seems to notice for a moment- and takes another moment for her to react. For one terrifying split second, she doesn't look like she's going to do anything, but then she's jumping off the edge of the tower and diving down, cutting through the air with her wings tucked behind her before grabbing one of Tommy's flailing arms and letting them flare out, slowing their fall a considerable amount- not completely, as her wings aren't strong enough for that, but enough for Tommy to hit the grass at a speed that only mildly concusses him instead of instantly kills him.

His vision is blurry and practically doubled when he tries to focus, the sharp pain behind his eyes making him squint and groan into his hands once Pearl lets go of him.

"Eyes watching, are you okay?" She breathes, her voice moving in a way to indicate her crouching next to him. He responds with another groan, squeezing his eyes close as he tries to settle both his stomach and his brain, one churning with nausea and the urge to throw up all over her shitty jacket and beanie and the other racing with absolute fucking terror- that was so stupid of him, Prime. He can't believe- why did Pearl even catch him? She didn't look like she was going to, did she feel guilty? Did she knock him off on purpose? Probably not, but she still hesitated-

Tommy laughs through his pain, arm still pressed over his eyes as he leans back on his other one. He breathes in and out, trying to calm down his racing heart and flush the adrenaline out of his system before muttering, "Thanks. Sorry."

At least he knows her limit now- that's what he was looking for, anyways, and the fact that he didn't even have to die to get it should be celebrated all on it's own. She's impressively tolerant, in Tommy's opinion, and the fact that someone may or may not be willing to finally make it clear when he's gone too far is comforting in its own twisted way. He laughs at himself again- Puffy would have a fucking heart attack if she heard any of this.

"Oh, Christ. You're delirious," Pearl mutters, gently moving his hand away from his eyes and pulling one of them open. It makes Tommy stiffen and he has to force himself not to flinch away so her nail doesn't accidentally poke him or something. "You- might have a concussion? I have no idea, this is more Scar's area of expertise- I'll message him, just give me-"

"I'm fine, Pearl Crescent," Tommy says, cutting her off and starting to push himself off the ground. "I'm simply too-" He sways on his feet and almost falls over again. "Too pog to get a concussion."

Pearl simply stares at him and shrugs, standing up and crossing her arms. "If you don't want to talk to Scar, that's fine. You should still go lie down, it's not going to be my fault if you trip and fall into the Boatem Hole or something."

Tommy scowls at her, holding his head in his hands when the simple movement makes the back of his eyes explode with pain. "I will sleep in my tower, which is mine and I will- I will not be taking down."

Pearl ignores him, seemingly scanning around the area- looking for something? Maybe? Tommy's brain definitely isn't functioning enough to tell, and after a bit she completely disregards what Tommy said and grabs his wrist, tugging him in the direction of Grian's- fuckin'- alley thing, he can't remember the name.

He's either too delirious to react to being pulled by the arm or too tired, but it does make his eye twitch. "Where- what the f*ck? Where are you-"

"Again, I'm not going to be responsible if you fall off a cliff," Pearl repeats, not turning back to look at him or slowing down her pace. "Your house is on a cliff, my house is on a cliff, Scar's house is up stairs and/or ladders, and you probably don't want to sleep in a factory." She shrugs. "Grian has a bed store. You can lie down there. Plus, it's dark."

Tommy opens his mouth to complain, then shuts it. He might be stubborn, but denying himself the opportunity to sleep in a mattress store is not something he's about to do, especially when the world seems to be spinning around him just a little bit. Just a little.

He simply grumbles, "I'm not f*ckin' tired," but there's no real heat behind it and Pearl just ignores him again.

She only stops for the first time in front of the entrance to the alley, looking around to make sure no-one is there before turning to Tommy and asking, "You're not going to, like, tell Grian that I pushed you off the tower, right? I know you two are close or something-"

Tommy rubs his temple. "We're not close, he's a p*ssboy," He says exasperatedly, twisting his eyes shut. Why does everyone immediately think that? Grian's the one stuck to him, not the other way around. "And- wait, did you push me?"

"No!" Pearl says shrilly, her wings fluttering in vague annoyance. She seems offended at the very idea, and Tommy winces. "I'm asking if you're going to say that I did. I didn't- why would I- I wouldn't do that."

If Tommy was a little more lucid, he'd probably dwell on the tone of her voice a little longer- of course, given that he's borderline passed out from hitting the ground after falling off a thirty-something metre tall tower, it sort of just filters in and out of his mind with minimal processing. Of course, the fact that his brain is probably busted does not and will never stop Tommy from basically extorting someone. "I won't tell Grian...if you give me diamonds. A lot of them. And netherite and- and real estate."

It's a half-joking attempt that doesn't even begin to work- Pearl presses her lips together and gives him the most deadpan look he thinks he's ever seen- it makes him laugh a little, and Pearl's expression lightens up a little as she rolls her eyes, pushing Tommy in front of her. "Yeah, no. I don't care enough for that. Tell him what you want. He's either believing you or me."

"I'm the most convincing and/or trustworthy person out there, Pearl Crescent," Tommy says, half of his words slurring as he follows Pearl into the dark alleyway. "You'll see."

He can almost hear her roll her eyes. "Sure. I'll let the blackmail attempt slide since you're not in your right mind, then."

Tommy grins so wide his eyes squint. "You'll see."

Chapter Text

Tommy can't remember the last time he actually, properly slept off a concussion like he was meant to- he got rid of this one by chugging about three of Grian's shit-tasting regeneration potions he found in one of those horrific clumps of chests he leaves around in his base- seriously, the guy has an organisation problem that makes even Tommy cringe. The potions basically burned him from the inside out an he was feverish for a good hour, but that was nothing compared to the several days he would have to lie around and do nothing for. He knows his limits when it comes to potions (of course he does, he's a L'Manburgian), so why would he take the worse option?

He was better by the day after the incident with Pearl, which he's sort of proud of himself for- he got a perfect reading on her...it's good to have, if he's going to be staying here until they figure out how to get him back.

Despite all of that happening, Tommy has continued, over the past few days, to build and expand upon his little cavern. He knows, he knows he shouldn't be making a home that he gets attached to- not in a new place, not a new building that nobody would mind getting rid of (especially since it's encroaching upon someone else's property anyways), but he's so cripplingly bored that he's pretty sure he'll blow himself up if he spends another hour staring at the ceiling and doing nothing.

So he builds. And he keeps building and continuing to make it expand- the ceiling is growing taller and taller every day (to the point where Tommy is concerned of breaking through the top of the mountain) and he finally puts a bed down, setting his spawn in somewhere else aside from the decorative house Mumbo lent him. It barely qualifies as a bed- not exactly the softest thing ever, and a lot worse than the bed from Mumbo's house, but he's not about to steal such a thing (yet) and he's slept on worse. He also spends a ridiculous amount of time mining when building puts too much strain on his mind- it's mindless and actually quite enjoyable, and he's going to have to use the money eventually. As stupid as the idea of having open stores is, it does alleviate him of a bit of embarrassment and a lot of explaining.

Because he really doesn't want to talk to anyone about this. Grian has pestered him way too much about the materials he was collecting already, and he's put it upon himself to make sure no-one sees him entering or exiting- he tunnels in through the back under the cover of night and stays for hours so no-one sees him excessively entering or leaving. It seems to have worked so far, since nobody has asked him about it and it's still standing, and logically Tommy would continue to keep it hidden and stop making it bigger, but he subconsciously decided at some point that if he was on a building sever where apparently nothing was going to be destroyed he was going to build, Goddamn it.

Despite this outlook, Tommy is not a builder and is nowhere near being a builder, so it's unsurprising when he yet again runs out of materials for what he's trying to make and sets out in a different direction to do some minor deforestation.

He's never actually been in this direction for getting wood before- he needs oak, as it is objectively the best wood, but he's currently stuck in an endless birch forest- he's positive he'll never need birch in any of his endeavors ever, but it doesn't hurt to crack open the journal that he stole from somewhere (he can't even remember who- probably Impulse or Mumbo) and scribble down the coords just in case. In case of the world ending and the mass extinction of every other type of wood, sure, but just in case still. He has a map that Grian gave him with a good mark of the surrounding areas, but none of the forests are labelled as what type of forest, so he's just dicking about until he finds oak.

The first page of the book has a short list of things he needs- glowberries (a lot of glowberries- they don't have them on the Dream SMP for whatever reason, so Tommy is overcompensating), iron, copper (they don't have that either- Mumbo taught him how to keep it from aging and now it's probably the main metal used in his base), flowers, and a lot of stuff he’ll have to buy from a different shopping district, as Boatem doesn't have them and he has no idea how to make them.

Equipped with his newly made iron armour, which is the absolute limit on armour he's going to wear, and several iron axes, he's pretty prepared to go for a few solid hours. If anyone needs him- they won't, but if anyone needs him, they can come look. It's not like he tried to cover his tracks or anything, so he should be pretty easy to find. He was not, on the other hand, prepared to walk for several hours, and he finds himself bemoaning how long it's taking, thinking about how easy it would be to scout for an oak forest by flying across the treeline and not having to do all this navigation and winding through trees.

...Grian did offer to get his wings fixed. How, he has no idea, but he doesn't think Grian would taunt him with an empty offer like that. He obviously had his reasons for saying no the first time, but thinking about it, he's probably being more of a pain in the ass to himself than helping himself at all. He could probably bite the hand off of anyone that tried to hurt him or touch them or anything like that, but it's experience that he's pretty averse to. He shouldn't even bother. It doesn't matter how nice they seem now, as soon as he fucks up big time and has wings they're just going to be a more vulnerable target.

Not to mention the opportunity may have passed completely. Maybe Grian forgot, or maybe it was a temporary thing- Grian hasn't mentioned it since Tommy declined. He also might just not want to pressure the boy, which practically makes him dizzy- having to factor in genuine goodwill with these people is always a pain in the ass and makes everything so much more complicated and makes predicting the Hermits unfathomably difficult. And there are so many of these bastards on this server- he feels like he sees new people visiting Boatem every day, usually coming to buy shit, but there's almost always a new face. According to Grian, he hasn't even seen half of the people there. They thought makes him vaguely nauseous and finds himself resolving to avoid meeting every single person in Hermitcraft.

Tommy then proceeds to go through that experience where you dissociate from your surroundings so hard you forget that you're looking for something and abruptly stops in the middle of an oak forest. Normal oak. He blinks, frowning at the sheer amount of flowers in the pseudo-path in front of him- and then he looks down and swears profusely at the crushed buttercups under his boot.

He bends down, still swearing under his breath, gingerly touching the flowers as they seem to lift back up after his foot moved, just a little bit. He uses his hand to try and prop them back up. He almost apologises to the flowers, realises that would be childish, and stands back up.

When he looks forwards, he almost yelps- he doesn't, since he's gotten so used to the Hermits scaring the shit out of him for no reason, but he does visibly startle and fall back a step, pressing his hand to his eyes and groaning, "Oh, what the f*ck, man, you can't do that to me."

The person, who stands stock-still ahead of him, has the brightest orange hair he's ever seen in his life- maybe not including Fundy, but it's still bright, pulled into a braid that drapes on the side of her shoulder. She has brown overalls on over a green short-sleeved shirt and sneakers that are sort of oddly shaped. Most prominently of all are the deer antlers that poke out of the top of her head, crawling through the air and arcing behind her just a bit, dark brown in color with a lighter ivory at the tips. Her green eyes are blown wide, staring directly at Tommy without actually saying anything.

It's slightly unnerving. He supposes these are her flowers, as she has several tucked around her hair and into her braid and even tied around the base of her antlers. He shifts his feet a little and says, "Um...ayup. Sorry."

"How did you do that?" The girl breathes, suddenly bounding through the flowers between them with a grace that almost shocks Tommy before clocking that she’s literally a deer. She gets a few feet away from him before stopping, her eyes still blown wide as Tommy’s brain lags to catch up.

“Uh…what?” He asks, confused.

"You crushed my flowers," She says bluntly. Tommy winces. "But you bent down and said something and then they came back up!"

"I swore at them," he offers. The girl looks at him suspiciously. "I've got hollow bones, I didn't grind them into the f*ckin' ground or anything, I just stepped on them."

"You swore at my flowers and they were alright?"

"Swearing is the solution to everything," Tommy says with a sense of finality.

The girl's eyes narrow, and then she's practically flash stepping over to him and hooking her arm underneath Tommy's, startling him out of his spot and being guided through the flowers as he stammers out half-questions that are brushed off as she pulls him towards Prime-knows-where.

There's a trail that he somehow didn't notice, lined with stones in the coarse dirt and flowers spattered about either side, and they make it out of the forest into a bit of a clearing- there's a roundabout and then what Tommy assumes to be stores scattered all over the place. They don't pivot towards any of them, though, instead continuing forwards until they're approaching a cottage in/next to a tree (Tommy's head is spinning too much to really consider what the hell is even going on), and only then does Tommy regain the composure to shake himself out of her death grip and say, "Woah, woah, stop it- f*ck off!"

The girl stops and turns to him curiously, and he smooths down his shirt as if he he cares about that in the slightest. He glances behind her- the house is cute and quaint, and the trail of flowers leads right in front of it into spattered patches of flowers (interestingly enough, they're all poisonous- foxgloves, lily of the valley, buttercups- but he only registers it in the back of his mind) "I- sorry, but I- I'm busy, and I can't just disappear off into the woods like that, Grian'll-" He chokes on his words, having to physically force himself to continue: "Grian'll probably flip his sh*t if I just disappear, I-I should probably get back-"

"That's fine," she says dismissively, still beckoning him forwards. "I'll just message Grian and-"

She then stops in her tracks and stares at Tommy. It's slightly unnerving, but it only lasts for a few seconds before recognition flashes behind her huge eyes and she says, "You must be moon boy! I'm sorry, this probably wasn't a great introduction to this area, how are you?"

Tommy ignores the heat rising to his face, scowling and snapping, "I'd be better if I knew what that f*cking nickname meant. I've been here for weeks and nobody has bothered to explain it, it's f*cking rude, it is. My name is TommyInnit," He pauses and takes a step back. "And I am not in the habit of speaking to stra-hanjers. Especially not strange women in the woods."

The woman in question simply seems amused, sticking out her hand for Tommy to shake. "And I'm GeminiTay- or just Gem! Now we're not strangers."

Tommy, completely dissatisfied, begrudgingly takes her hand to shake and is immediately tugged along the path. He doesn't fight it this time- Grian wouldn't actually give a shit if he vanished for a few hours- hell, he came out here to do exactly that in the first place. And besides, with the grip this lady has on him he doubts he'd be able to fight it anyways.

He allows himself to be pulled into the house and is sat down at a table as Gem files through barrels in front of him, her short deer tail flicking along with the inflections of her voice as she speaks ("I don't really get a lot of visitors that aren't just here for the stores- I'm sure you would love False, you seem like the kind of person to match her energy!") and reminding Tommy, a bit bitterly, of Tubbo. She reminds him of Tubbo a lot actually- but then again, he's already said that about two or three people here, so maybe he's just being clingy.

She turns around with a flourish and presents a bowl of assorted dried fruits to him- mostly berries- with granola and honey and Prime, he doesn't think he's eaten anything besides meat and wildberries since he got here. He tries to have a little self-control as he takes it, immediately popping the first strawberry he sees into his mouth and only remembering afterwards that this lady is still a stranger and he should not have eaten without checking for poison first.

His face twists a little as he feels around the aftertastes in his mouth for that recognisable tang of poison (the amount of times he had almost been poisoned during the L'Manburg era is insurmountable, and being the potions savant he is, he's been able to catch it every single time) before shrugging to himself, satisfied that he didn't find anything. A few weeks ago, he never would have just taken something from a stranger without questioning it- maybe he's getting soft. Wilbur would always quote this dumb fucking guy in Pogtopia- good times create weak men. Tommy always thought it was bullshit, but apparently not- maybe he discredited it was because his nerves were always shot in that ravine.

"By the way," Gem says, her voice cutting through Tommy's inner monologue. "The nickname- moon boy, I mean. Do you want me to tell you where that came from?"

Tommy splutters. "Wh- yes, of course I f*ckin' do. Everyone's being such an annoying prick about it, please."

Gem giggles. "Well, I suppose...before you showed up, we were having some weird issues with the moon. As in, one of three things were happening- the moon was getting bigger, we were either getting very close to the moon, or the moon was getting very close to us. We ignored it at first, but then gravity started getting all weird and-"

"Gravity?" Tommy breathes.

"Gravity. Clumps of dirt were starting to float out of the ground, some builds were getting messed up- it was a mess. And then...you showed up! And poof-" she snaps both of her fingers. "The moon was back in its place. So we started calling you moon boy, 'cuz, well...everyone noticed that."

Tommy sits in silent contemplation. He doesn't exactly know how to react to that- as far as he knows, he has nothing to do with the moon at all. Wilbur doesn't, Phil doesn't- nobody he knows does, so he guesses it has to do with whatever sent him here in the first place- whatever opened up that portal on the Dream SMP. But that's weird- why would his arrival of all things trigger the moon to go back into place?

"That's f*cking- how long was this happening for? Days? Weeks?"

"Months," Gem says with a bit of an uncertain touch to the end of her voice- or maybe it's a lingering feeling of unease. "We were starting to get real antsy about it- it just kept growing and growing until you could see it loomin' over the horizon even during the day. We were starting to plan out an evacuation but-" She cuts herself off, shaking her head before a smile crawls back up onto her face and she looks at Tommy, her bright green eyes flashing with delight. "Now we won't have to! So I guess...you sort of saved the day?"

Tommy's face breaks into a cheeky grin, all but beaming at the woman and saying, "You know what- thank you, Gem. You have been the most helpful person on this server, I swear to Prime. Christ. You know what- Gemini Tay, you have the nicest house on this server. Grine and Mumbo Yumbo could not hold a candle to you."

Gem rolls her eyes lightheartedly. "What about Scar? You live in Boatem, don't you?"

Tommy gives short, choppy laughs, waving his hands in front of him and looking cornered. "Well- well Gem, c'mon now- you can't expect me to just-"

Gem laughs at his show, waving her hand back and forth as she uses the other to cover her mouth. "It's alright, Tommy- thank you for the compliments, especially just for my starter base."

Tommy is incredulous. "This- this is your starter base?"

Gem snorts. "Oh, come on now, Tommy. You live in Boatem, you can't expect everyone else to settle for second to them. Everyone- mostly everyone, I mean- has a starter base and a megabase. Maybe you can come see my palace someday!"

"You have a palace?" Tommy asks, forgetting any attempts to save face as his mind is flooded with images of elaborate structures and huge, curved ceilings. "Like- like Pearl's?"

"Bigger than Pearl's," Gem says, her own devilish smile making her wide eyes squint. "But it isn't finished yet, and waling around there is a complete and total safety hazard for someone of your..." She eyes him up and down and his face drops into a petty scowl nigh instantly. "Stature."

He has to stop himself from indignantly squawking- he fails miserably, of course, and Gem laughs with delight and has the audacity to continue on saying, "Oh, you remind me so much of Grian- you've got those bird bits about you, too!" His shoulders sag (and, in turn, so do his wings) as he regards her with a withering look. She waves him away with a scoff and says, "Oh, don't make that face. D'you want to go out and see the garden?"

Tommy perks up almost immediately, cocking his head to the side. "Didn't we see it out front...?"

Gem snorts again, beckoning Tommy towards the front door. "Nah, that was just for display. The real deal is in the back."

Tommy considers his options- he could tell her that he has to go since he did come out here for a reason and doesn't want to return in the dead of night, but he is wildly curious. And Gem- she seems nice. Like...a familiar sort of nice. Not like Scar and Grian's overbearing kindness or Doc's, frankly, overwhelming gentleness or even Mumbo being all fidgety around him- she's just nice. She could also kick his ass in the state he's in, so she's got a point of respect from Tommy.

He glances at his half finished bowl of fruits on the table and simply takes it with him, popping a dried blueberry into his mouth and saying, "Lead the way, deer woman."

As it turns out, the back is, in fact, the real deal.

It's absolutely flourishing with plants- flowers in rows in containers and scattered all over the grassy paths, glowberries hanging from lattices, a greenhouse swarming with bees, food growing in a field to the side- it’s gorgeous. And it's extremely distracting all over- there's so much that Tommy wants to see and do and touch, but he holds himself back for his own sake- he has no idea whether Gem would take kindly to him touching all of her food.

What he does do, though, is run over to the glowberries, marvelling at how they actually glow against their green leaves and his skin when he puts his hand up right next to them. He turns excitedly to Gem, who looks on with a grin, and asks, "What exactly are these? I mean- Grian told me they were glowberries, but I've never seen them before- d-do you do this with a potion or something?" He notices warmth radiating from the plant, and he so badly wants to pick one off and eat it, oh Prime.

Gem looks vaguely confused when he looks back at her. "They...no, they came in the new update?" Tommy blinks at her. "1.17?"

"I do not know what that means, GeminiTay," he says simply, flexing his hands around the berries and regarding the woman with puppy dog eyes- or, baby bird eyes, whatever.

"You can have some. What do you mean you don't know what that means?" she asks, holding the vine still as Tommy picks about four off of it, pressing it onto his tongue and almost falling over at the new taste. First of all, it's warm, which is off-putting but not exactly negative. It's violently sweet and almost a bit sour, making Tommy's face twist just a tad. It's good. It's really good. He puts the other three into his mouth and chews, forgetting manners and asking with his mouth full, "Does...does that have to do with server sh*t?"

Gem blinks. "Yes...?"

"Then I'll find out soon enough, Grian'll probably tell me. Am I glowing?" He sticks out his tongue at Gem, who makes a face and pushes him away gently.

"Ew, Tommy! Yes, you're glowing, Channel! Look-" She holds her hand up and waits for him to retract his tongue back into his mouth before putting her hand right in front of his eyes- he's shocked to the point of stumbling when he sees a blue light reflecting on her hand, and his heart rate spikes a bit before he realises that it's just because of the glowberries. As if to confirm his suspicions, Gem plucks a berry from the vine and pops it into her own mouth, opening her eyes to reveal them glowing green, too.

"That..." Tommy starts, discreetly pulling more berries off of the vine and dropping them into his bowl of fruit. "Is so f*cking cool."

He then frowns a bit and spits into his hand the seeds of the berries he just ate before grinning. "Aw, sick, I can plant these back at home."

Gem looks mildly horrified. "...I can just...give you seeds if you want, Tommy."

Tommy grins at her, pocketing the seeds anyways. "Sick."

He then turns his attention to the flowers, walking through the middle of the patches of the ground and looking upon them in nothing short of wonder- it's been a long time, too long, since he's seen a maintained flower patch in person. They would always get destroyed, flooded, or picked to emptiness on the Dream SMP, to the point where Tommy sort of gave up trying to maintain his lawn. When it suddenly bloomed with red flowers of all kinds after he returned from the prison, he refused to even acknowledge them.

But here's a patch of flowers that looks well-kept and untouched by hostile hands, and Tommy can't help but ruin that- he bends slightly and brushes his hands against the flowers, against the alliums and the sunflowers and everything else that's above his waist so he doesn't look like he's tying to ruin her flowers or anything. They arc into his touch and he grins.

"Now, Gem?"

"Yeah?" she replies from only a few feet behind him, very obviously trailing him (probably so he doesn't uproot her garden or anything).

There's a pause, and then: "Do you eat your own flowers?"

Silence. "What?"

He turns around to her with a half-grin on his face, trying to feign genuine curiosity as Gem's face shifts through a dozen different emotions before settling on a blend of confusion and slight exasperation. "Like- you're a deer, right? Antlers 'n' sh*t?"

"Tommy."

"Do you-" He gasps suddenly, pointing at her. "That's why you had the poisonous plants in front of your house, isn't it?" Gem presses a hand to her forehead. "So that you don't eat your garden?"

"What- Tommy, no," she says, reaching out to thwack him upside the head (lightly) but being foiled by Tommy jouking out of the way of her hand just in time (with a bit more force than probably necessary). Her face is slightly red, and Tommy is sure he's either right or that he's achieved his goal of annoying her so hard that she's embarrassed. "They just-" She huffs, stamping her foot on the ground. "No, Tommy."

"It's okay, Gemini Tay," Tommy says, sliding his way towards her again and dragging out the word 'okay.' "I understand completely. My friend- he's a f*ckin' goat or some sh*t- he moved into a snow biome so he'd stop eating the grass around his house, it's fine."

This is completely untrue- he's simply parroting a joke Ranboo made after Tubbo bit a flower straight out of Ranboo's hand when he tried to offer it to him. It does get an apt response out of Gem, though- she starts giggling and waving her hand at him, almost trying to swat him away as she laughs. "Oh my God, Tommy, don't be mean to your friend like that."

"What? What?" he says, feigning ignorance as Gem snorts with laughter. "I have no idea what you're laughing about, Gemini Tay, and I am not being mean, I am telling the truth."

She continues to wave her hand at him, even smacking him on the shoulder a little bit and making him flinch away- just from habit, but he's fine. Surprisingly and genuinely, he's doing alright.

"Now- do you want a flower?" Gem asks after wiping away her (possibly real) tears of laughter. "You seem to know a lot about them if you could clock the ones in front of my house so fast. Which one's your favourite?"

Tommy contemplates this for a moment- he knows the answer immediately, of course, but the question and its response dig up memories and images that he didn't want to have to deal with- smiling faces and warm(ish) hugs and first impressions and goodbyes. He can almost hear the voice in his head- it's not like he thinks of the guy every time the thinks about his favourite flower, but trying to ignore his aching homesickness for all this time has probably made the thought hit him just that much harder.

He hopes Gem doesn't hear the downturned lilt to his voice when he breathily replies, "Alliums. They're, uh- yeah. Big guys."

Gem hums happily, heel-turning back to the alliums and eyeing a particularly short one, bending down to pluck it from the ground (Tommy flinches) before straightening and gesturing for Tommy to hold out his hand. He does, albeit tentatively, and she gingerly ties the flower around his wrist- tight enough that it doesn't move but loose enough that the stem doesn't snap. She puts her hands on her hips when she's done and says, "There! A gift, from me to you."

"It's like a big-ass ring," Tommy jokes, turning his hand and watching the allium wondrously stay in place on his wrist. "Is this a proposal? I hate to tell you this, bossman, but I'm already sort of engaged with the Queen-"

"Oh, shut up and take the present," Gem says, cutting him off and grabbing his hand again. He's getting tired of being manhandled, but it's alright- it reminds him of his other friend and is surprising him with how tolerant he is of the contact- positively. "You've gotta come see the greenhouse- it's the prettiest thing you've ever seen, I swear."

They go to the greenhouse, and while pretty, it is, by far, not the prettiest thing Tommy has ever seen.

There are flowerpots hanging all over with vines and flowers that trail down off the edges, curling at the bottom and sprouting flowers that smack Tommy in the face. There are flowers and herbs and ferns in long planters in rows, and yes, it's pretty.

It's also filled with bees.

Tommy likes nature- he'd even go as far as to say he loves it, but he still freezes at the insects that fly around, taking some twisted interest in him despite his lack of movement and swirling around him and bumbling in front of his face, and apparently his suffering comes at great enjoyment to Gem, who simply laughs at him. "The bees won't hurt you unless-"

"Unless I hurt them, I f*ckin' know," Tommy cuts her off, holding himself stiffly in place. "But these are temperamental little b*tches and I don't trust 'em."

"The bees aren't plotting against you, Tommy."

"They might be!" he exclaims, taking shallow breaths and a step back towards the door. The bees follow him. "They're probably pissed because I offended their queen earlier- why the f*ck are they following me?"

Gem holds out a finger and more than one bee tumbles down onto it, crawling around quite cutely but still making Tommy squirmish. "I guess they like you! You do sort of have a flower tied around your wrist."

Tommy (slowly, very slowly) looks down to see about three of the little buggers floating around his allium, one of them practically landing on the flower. He squeaks. "Can...we leave...please?"

Gem cackles and leads him out, and yeah, he feels every muscle in his body untense and relax once he's out of the vicinity of the beehole. He raises a hand to wipe his forehead of sweat (because it's hot- for a fall day, it's bloody blazing out. Actually- what season even is it here?) and promptly screeches when the last bee detaches itself from his allium and buzzes around his head. Gem continues to laugh at him as he swats around his head, swearing bloody murder and still being evaded by the little bee until he tires himself out and heaves, hands on his knees.

The bee lands on his hair. Gem tells him as such and he simply sighs.

"I told you the bees like you," Gem says teasingly, and Tommy simply glares at her.

"You know what?" Tommy says, straightening up and crossing his arms. The bee lifts up to buzz around his head before landing on his allium again. "F*ck you. I'm taking this bee."

Gem blinks. "You're...stealing the bee?"

"No, he's mine," Tommy corrects. "His name is Simon, and we will be leaving now, thank you very much. It is hot and moist and frankly, I came out here with the intention of committing light deforestation and would appreciate returning to that, now."

He starts walking off and Gem trails behind him, recognising his joking tone (thankfully- Tommy half-regretted everything he said as soon as it fell from his mouth- what if she didn't realise he was joking?) and lightly asking, "Would you and Simon like something for the road?" Tommy turns around and sees her waving a bottle of honey around- Tommy has absolutely no fucking clue when she picked that up, but he still lunges and snatches it out of her hand with a pretentious, "Thank you," before turning on his heel again.

He hears Gem snicker from behind him. "Bye, Tommy. See you around!"

"Tommy is building something."

Grian sits in direct view of the blazing heat of the sun, surprisingly not sweating at all even in his jumper and the work he had just done. Glancing down at Mumbo, though, he can see his friend is not exactly as lucky- his overcoat was discarded a while ago, and some of his black hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat as he swings his pickaxe into the next block of perfectly oxidised copper, repeating the process once or twice before it dops and is put into his inventory in the next split second.

They are criminally high up- Grian is slightly higher, since he's been sitting and Mumbo has been working down the area next to him, but the both of them are still well above the hypothetical treeline, and they have a perfect view over all of Boatem. It's nice, relaxing, and a wonderful opportunity for conversation in lieu of the hectic past couple weeks its been.

Mumbo looks tortured but still interested as he looks up at Grian, chest heaving from exertion and exhaustion from the work and the heat. Grian looks down at him and swings his legs back and forth, stretching his wings into the sun as he stage whispers, "I think he's building something secretly."

"What..." Mumbo wheezes. "What makes you think that?"

"He was collecting materials for something the other day, I saw him, and now?" He poofs his hands. "They’re gone! Can’t find 'em anywhere. No chests, no nothing- not even a cleared out area.”

Mumbo furrows his brows, leaning on his pickaxe and wiping his brow of sweat. "What about that gargantuan cobble tower that was next to Pearl's place a while back? I figured that was him, on account that every other member of Boatem would blow a gasket upon seeing it."

Grian waves his hand flippantly. "Pearl told me that that was him pranking her, that doesn’t count. I mean something like, big. Like an actual build. I mean," He stretches out his entire body with a yawn, his feathers quickly rustling behind him. "I saw him go out just today, actually. He's not going to visit anyone, I'm pretty sure the only person he's met outside of Boatem is Doc-"

"Well, why wouldn't he be visiting Doc?" Mumbo cuts in, stretching his own limbs and making Grian wince when his bones crack. "Doc's- mmph, Doc's nice, isn't he? Tommy seemed to like him." He pauses. "Or, at least, he seems to like Tommy."

"Yeah, but he isn't going in the direction of the Octagon," Grian stresses, leaning on his hands and leaning further over the edge of the structure dangerously. "He's disappearing off into the forest with axes and coming back with a full inventory. And then he just vanishes!" He sounds incredulous- maybe even a little frustrated, but mostly with himself and not being able to spot the gremlin when he disappears off to wherever he disappears to. He supposes he's made it a bit of a game with himself- without Tommy's knowledge, sure, but it's not like he's going to do anything when he finds out aside from pester Tommy about his build a bit more.

Mumbo hums, cracking the last of his bones (his knuckles, which cut through the quiet air much sharper than really necessary) and beginning to swing his pick into the metal yet again. "That's...an interesting theory. D'you think he's any actual good at building, then?"

Grian shrugs. "I have no clue. The most I've seen him build is that...tower outside of Pearl's base, and that's not really the best judge of build ability, is it?"

"I suppose not," Mumbo says with a half-shrug before looking up at Grian with a desperate and also vaguely unimpressed face. "Are you gonna help with this, or am I meant to do all the work for you?"

Grian half-whines, swinging his legs back and forth. "Oh, come on, Mumbo. Let an old bird rest, my bones are hollow and weak."

Mumbo huffs, amusement in his voice. "You're lucky I'm not Pearl or Scar. They'd never let you hear the end of that one."

"I'm sure you'll bring it up again eventually," Grian jokes, leaning back on his arms further and almost tipping over in the other direction, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the sun soothe him just a tad, letting out slow, content breaths with no background noise but the digging of Mumbo's pick into the metal.

And then, Mumbo's snickering. Grian frowns and turns down to look at him- he's leaning on his upside-down pick and holding a hand up to his face to cover his mouth, tiny laughs slipping out and only doubling as Grian fixes him with a curiously confused expression.

"What? What is it?" Mumbo doesn't answer, and Grian finds a bemused smile crawling up onto his own face as he looks around him. "Why are you laughing?"

Mumbo suddenly stumbles backwards at a rapid rate, moving away from Grian as quickly as possible as he suddenly points over his shoulder and repeats, "Behind you, behind you, behind you!"

Grian whips around as fast as possible and only manages to catch two things- one, a wild grin and two, a yellow, lowercase 'i' surrounded by black.

And then he sees purple, hears a hum and a cackle, and then he sees nothing at all. The feeling of the explosion is only mildly unpleasant- like the blood underneath his skin is being warmed up and rippling around and bubbling- and then there's a stark nothing.

With a push, Grian finds himself flying up in his bed, taking in a harsh, heavy breath before kicking his legs on the bed and slamming his fist onto the surface with a groan, much like a child. He rolls out of the bed and opens up his wings, gliding to the main floor and only landing for a moment before he swings open his door and takes off again, flapping his wings in huge swings as he darts directly towards the wall of copper between the mountains, a grin on his face and a joking annoyance in his movements as he lands with a terrifying precision on the one line of copper between Mumbo and Impulse, who are both laughing as if Grian exploding was the funniest thing they've ever seen today (which, to be fair, it might have been).

"You-!" Grian hisses, jabbing a finger into Impulse's face and playfully smacking him upside the head despite the man being a solid six inches taller than him. "You little- you're insufferable."

"It was funny-"

"And you-"

Grian whirls around to Mumbo, who is on the border of breathlessness and leaning on his pick for support. "You couldn't bother to warn me before he was already behind me?!"

"Grian- Grian, you have to admit, it was a bit funny."

Grian lets out a heavy, frustrated sigh, playful in nature but enough to show that the prank did affect him and that he is properly exasperated with their antics. He regards Mumbo with a disappointed expression before suddenly freezing.

His eyes latch onto something- a splash of colours against the green, a short figure stood stock-still in their direction, bag slung over their shoulder and pick trailing behind them through the grass. There's white, red, blonde, purple?, brown, and Grian feels his wings fluff up and spread out behind him without thought- the figure takes a step back and starts booking it in the opposite direction.

Impulse and Mumbo's laughter filters out (but it was dying down at Grian's expression anyways) as he jumps off the edge of the wall, an arm outstretched and yelling, "Wait! Wait, Tommy!"

The kid is fast- too fast for even Grian flying to keep up with, which immediately takes him by violent surprise when he loses Tommy between builds and bushes alike. He doesn't even clock what he's doing properly- Tommy saw what happened and doesn't know that it's a game, all he saw was Grian explode and his friends laughing about it and if that doesn't look bad out of context, Grian has no idea what does.

It makes him think about how odd the things they do on this server would be to other people like Tommy- and then the coherent thoughts are immediately swallowed by instinct when he spots a flash of white in the corner of his eye- he turns midair and sees Tommy run into Grian's own house, slamming the door behind him.

Grian only half-consciously understands exactly what he's doing- and maybe if he was less-impulse based he'd understand that chasing the boy at high speeds is anything but helpful- but everything in him screams to go after him, so he does.

Chapter Text

Grian has never wanted to hit himself over the head more.

There's no time to dwell on it, though- that all-encompassing itch underneath his skin wills him to find Tommy, find Tommy, so he utilises the actual entrance into his house, the one that he usually uses- the entrance from the topmost and biggest window. There's really no theft on Hermitcraft, and it's not like most mobs would be able to make it all the way up there, let alone open the window, so it's conveniently unlocked as he steps in as subtly as he can, his wings fluttering as he tries to maintain his balance on the thin ledge.

The window slides to the side as he pushes it, and then he's cautiously putting a foot down, toe-first, on the nearest wooden surface. Even from here, he can hear Tommy's heavy breathing from downstairs, mixed in with a couple of ear-splitting beeps that sound far louder than they really are. Grian thinks he would prefer the swearing.

His footsteps are light, lighter than any normal person's would be (he has hollow bones to thank for that), but he still winces when the floorboard creaks underneath him and full on jumps backwards when Tommy snaps out a sudden, loud, "Who's there?!"

"Breathe, Tommy," Grian says from all the way up the stairs, continuing to walk down and not bothering to keep silent anymore. "It's just me-"

"Who the f*ck are you?" Tommy cuts him off, and Channel, that's not breathing Grian was hearing from upstairs, that's wheezing. He takes a couple more steps down and can clearly hear the high-pitched drag of Tommy's restricted breathing, and then he presents himself in full view and is only slightly relieved when Tommy's shoulders seem to droop in relief.

Only slightly, though, because Tommy is brandishing an iron sword at him- presumably newly crafted (with Grian's materials, no doubt). Tommy's brow furrows and his eyes shift around as if he just stepped from a dark room into sunlight- it takes him a moment to properly lock on and settle on Grian's face, and then he's panickedly saying, "What the f*ck just happened out there? Why did they- why did you-"

"Hey," Grian says, holding out his hands in the most placating manner he can muster. His own limbs are trembling- from what and why, he has no clue, but he does know that his mind is racing and roaring like a wave with dozens of different threads of thought that he can't quite pin down. Some of it is angry, some of it is worried- most of it is worried. "Hey. Tommy. It's alright, see? I'm alright, it was just a joke."

"A- bullshit," Tommy snarls, and then his posture shifts so drastically that it makes Grian take a step back up the stairs. He looks two seconds away from lunging at Grian with his sword, clearly, and he doesn't know what to say to make the kid calm down. He was not prepared for this today. "He- I saw you die. Again. You can't-" He draws in a breath and it's such a struggle that Grian almost winces. "You can't say that that was a joke, you can't, that's not-"

His grip on the sword loosens a little bit and his offensive position falters, and Grian takes a few more steps forward, still trying to be as nonthreatening as possible and trying not to make the sudden movements that he sort of wants to make- there's a not-completely-human itch in the back of his brain that makes his wings fluff up as he approaches, which is annoying as hell when he's trying to ignore such thoughts. Nevertheless, he wrangles his instincts into place (though he can't fully get over the feeling accompanied by seeing Tommy's wings so dull and droopy and desperately in need of a good preening) and advances, getting about halfway across the room from Tommy before he speaks again.

"Tommy," he starts, his voice as soft as he can make it. "We play pranks like that all the time. See, I'm fine-" He holds up his a arms and twists them around. "I'm not even scarred. There's no war going on, there's nothing wrong, okay? I promise-"

"Don't," Tommy says harshly, his wheezing getting louder as the speed of his breathing increases. "Don't say that, you f*ckin' bastard, don't lie."

"I'm not lying, Tommy," Grian starts, but he's cut off by Tommy suddenly fixing his grip on the sword again.

"You always f*cking do this, Wil, you say nothing's wrong and then something's f*cking wrong! You can't- you can't trick me about this, okay? You can't-" He suddenly stops himself, cutting himself short and taking a step back. As if he realised what he said just a bit too late.

"Will?" Grian asks, unable to control the curiosity that suddenly swells in him. Who's Will? "I'm not Will, Tommy, I'm-"

"Grian- f*ck-" Tommy gasps, nodding as if he figured out the same thing at the same time. He takes two steps back and collides into the wall behind him, and Grian finally untenses when he starts to slide down until he's sitting with his knees slightly pulled up. The sword is still in his hands, though, and Grian isn't quite sure that he's here enough to not skewer Grian all the way through if he makes a mistake, so he tentatively walks over and only sits down next to Tommy when he doesn't see a reaction.

His chest is still heaving, but he turns his head away from Grian the moment he sits down, pulling in on himself more as if he's trying to hide how obviously bothered he is. Grian...really does not know what to here. Maybe- maybe Tommy just needs someone to be with. He doesn't want to make it worse, but...

He tries to devote a most of his thought process to Tommy, who is still turned away (and is holding himself very still), but another part of his mind races. Who's Will? Someone from the Dream SMP, no doubt, but who are they to Tommy? And why does he seem so...not exactly scared, not exactly angry- he doesn't know what emotion Tommy's voice conveyed, but it certainly wasn't all flowers and rainbows.

And Channel above, is Grian even more concerned now. Was a simple explosion enough to set him off that badly? What the hell had gone on in that server to make someone react like this? What happened?

He's interrupted by a sniff, another wheeze, and then a quiet, "Sorry," that's muffled by fabric and skin.

Grian blinks rapidly. "Wh- to me?"

Tommy nods stiffly, head still turned away and leaning on his arms crossed over his knees.

Grian is incredulous- his wings fluff up a little more as he says, "You don't have anything to apologise for, Tommy."

Silence. Grian waits for a moment, then clears his throat. "Do you...want to...talk about it?"

"Not really."

"That's alright."

No response again. Grian lets his next words churn in his stomach before speaking again. "Well- I mean. We...we're probably gonna have to talk about this, Tommy." Tommy doesn't respond, so he continues, "I-I don't mean that you have to tell me details- you definitely do not have to, but we need to...y'know. Lay out what's cool and what's not. Otherwise, we come from such different environments that this kind of stuff is just going to keep happening."

"Sorry," Tommy mutters again, and Grian's heart twists.

"It's not your fault, kid," Grian says, actively having to force his hand away from his shoulder before he upsets the kid even more. "I don't know what happened on your home server, but from what I've heard, you don't seem to be the bad guy there. I just want to know what you're okay with so I- we, the Hermits, can try to make you more comfortable."

There's a delayed pause as Tommy thinks, and then he turns his head so it's resting on his arms facing out. Grian notes a redness to his eyes (which are a duller blue colour than Grian is used to seeing) as he asks, "And- and you're sure that that wouldn't bother anyone. No-one would- would get mad because of it or something?"

Grian shakes his head. "They're all insane, but they're not mean, Tommy. I promise that nobody will get mad if you lay out boundaries for yourself. We don't want to unnecessarily upset your or anything like that, okay?"

"...sure. Okay." Tommy lets the iron sword fizzle into his inventory, using the freed hand to scrub at his eyes and sit up, pushing himself against the wall and letting out a really hard, wheezy breath. "You sound like my f*ckin' therapist." Grian only manages to get out a half-laugh before Tommy is wringing his hands and nervously saying, "Okay, okay. Sh*t, this is hard."

"You can start with the explosions," Grian offers.

"Right, um...sh*t, I dunno," Tommy winces, shrugging and looking over to Grian for the first time in this conversation. "Just don't...do them? Sh*t, that's a lot, I just- I don't know how I'll react to that for now- I mean, I'll probably be okay, I can deal with it, but-"

"Tommy," Grian interrupts, nudging his shoulder. "That's okay. We don't use explosions for much else besides that game, and I honestly think Impulse just wanted to prank me- we haven't really done that in a while. Consider it done."

The shaky breath of relief that leaves Tommy's mouth does not go unnoticed. "Okay. Okay, um...I really don't like, uh- being grabbed, I guess. Or, just- harshly grabbed? Gem actually- GeminiTay, I met her a few hours ago and she did it a bunch and I thought it would bother me but it just didn't, for some reason, so I guess it has to do with intent? And I don't like my wings getting touched- well, it actually just sort of hurts, so, uh..." Tommy's eyes widen and his eyebrows furrow at the same time as he glances away. "Do with that information what you want."

What the hell does that mean? Surely, Tommy doesn't think he would use that information against him, right? And- and his wings hurt when they're touched? How long has he been living like that? He opens his mouth to clarify but Tommy rushes to cut him off, saying, "A-And I really hate it when I get pushed, o-or when people put their hand between my wings- Doc already did that, but he was a real king about it- and, um." His voice shrinks, as if he's saying something embarrassing. "I don't like...small rooms. Or heights, if I don't have a water bucket."

There's a pause, and then he quickly rushes to say, "Actually- don't tell anyone about those two."

"But-"

"You said everyone here is nice or whatever, yeah?" He averts his gaze again, letting his legs fold into a cross-legged position. "Nobody is going to shove me in a small box. It'll- I'll be fine."

Ever skeptical but not wanting to press, Grian agrees. Tommy lets out a heave of a sigh and says, "You know, I can't really think of anything else."

Grian hums. "Are you okay with people just generally touching you? Like, pat on the shoulder, hugs, that kind of stuff."

Tommy grimaces. "Uh...good point. Depends on the person, I guess. You know how it is."

"I'm gonna mark it down as a 'no' for the Hermits, then?"

"I didn't say that," Tommy says quickly. He leans back into the wall with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut and saying, "Y'know what, I'll- I can do that one. I'll let people know myself if I need to."

"If that's what you're comfortable with," Grian hums.

More silence, and then: "This is f*ckin' awkward. You- you do it too."

Grian is vaguely startled by this. His wings flap a little as he turns to Tommy. "What?"

"You- I don't f*cking know, you make rules, too. What should I not do?" Tommy huffs, his brows pulling in on one another again and making a wild gesticulation. "I've been d*cking around this server for Prime knows how many weeks now, and nobody will give me one concrete f*cking rule about how I should act and what'll happen if I- y'know. F*ck up. It's-" His voice drops in intensity, his hands falling back down into a resting position in exasperation. "It's f*cking terrifying, man. I don't want to get in trouble just because- just because I don't know what the rules are."

...it's not an odd request, really. It's just the way he says it that makes Grian concerned, as if him getting in trouble will constitute anything more than a harsh telling off at the very, very worst. "There really aren't many rules, Tommy...aside from, y'know. Don't blow up people's builds, don't do any ugly griefing, don't-"

"No, no," Tommy cuts him off in frustration. "I know about those. I mean- personal shit. Like- I don't know, talking back, eye contact,  interrupting. Sh*t that'll actually get me in trouble, not just...normal rules."

Grian can't catch himself before he asks, "Are those things that would get you in trouble on your home server?"

Tommy snorts. "Depends on the person, but yeah."

Grian stares at him for a few seconds, at a slight loss for words before trying to recover and saying, "W-Well. Nobody on this server has any rules like that, unless it's very specific, personal stuff. And you're not going to get in any...very bad trouble for anything." He half-smiles, nudging Tommy again and saying, "Depends on the person, I guess."

The boy blinks a few times and simply replies with, "Huh."

They sit, quietly, for a few more minutes, processing the conversation before Tommy abruptly says that he's going to leave. Grian doesn't stop him, of course, but the house feels unnervingly silent once he's gone.

It takes another several minutes of mulling over the conversation for something to click, and when it does, it makes his heart suddenly drop into his stomach.

Will. Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.

The person that Tommy said was his brother on his first or second day here- that was the person Tommy confused him for in the midst of- what Grian thinks was a panic attack? A very, very small part of him is sort of enthralled of the idea getting mistaken for Tommy's brother, but most of him is cripplingly curious and slightly mortified. Calling him a liar? Probably had something to do with conflict back on his home server? It's gnawing away at him, so he does the first thing that came to mind (that he put off for the sake of Tommy's privacy- but they're trying to get the kid home, so what's the issue with finding out more about who he's going back to?).

Grian flicks up his communicator and starts to type.

╔══════════════╗

You whisper to XisumaVoid: do you think you could run a search on that guy tommy mentioned?

You whisper to XisumaVoid: WilburSoot?

╚══════════════╝

Chapter Text

╔══════════════╗

XisumaVoid whispers to you: no

XisumaVoid whispers to you: sorry

You whisper to XisumaVoid: wdym

XisumaVoid whispers to you: i mean not right now

XisumaVoid whispers to you: i have a list of things to do

XisumaVoid whispers to you: tommy's mysterious origins are like

XisumaVoid whispers to you: 7th on that list

You whisper to XisumaVoid: ??

You whisper to XisumaVoid: jsut move it up??

You whisper to XisumaVoid: or just do a quick search it doesn't take that long??

XisumaVoid whispers to you: reordering the list defeats the purpose of the list grai n

XisumaVoid whispers to you: i will get nothing done

XisumaVoid whispers to you: being an admin is a busy job you know

You whisper to XisumaVoid: i literally also have admin geans

XisumaVoid whispers to you: geans

You whisper to XisumaVoid: youre terrible

XisumaVoid whispers to you: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

╚══════════════╝

"Are you guys actually working to get me home?"

Tommy keeps his gaze trained on the dirt in front of him, caking his hands in soil as he delicately shoves wheat seeds into the ground, working with a gentleness that probably surprises Grian a bit, judging from how he keeps glancing over at Tommy every few minutes.

They're both working together to replant the entire massive wheat field that Boatem partially utilises for food production—or, rather, Tommy started (because an empty wheat farm just looks sad and dry) and Grian joined after Tommy made him promise not to start talking about, quote, "boundaries and shit" again.

"...why do you ask?" Grian replies tentatively—nervously. Huh.

Tommy shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. "You said that that was your first goal when I first got here. Did something change or...?"

Grian heaves a sigh of relief. "Oh, well—no, but...y'know. Things came up."

Tommy doesn't know whether he's talking about issues with actually trying to get him back or the amount of time spent doting over Tommy for some indiscernible reason. Not about to embarrass himself, Tommy replies with a simple, "Oh. Right," and tries to move on in peace.

It's been a couple days since that entire debacle in Grian's house—with the explosion and the poorly-timed panic attack and everything. Since then, both Impulse and Mumbo have apologised to him (that was horrifically awkward—he just said it was alright and that neither of them could have known he would be upset by it. Mumbo is about as jittery around him as Tommy originally saw, and he finally was able to clock Impulse as nice enough—according to the standard that blowing up your friends is okay, at least) and he has been left to his own devices a little bit less than he had been before. It's nice for the Boatem members to spend more time with him, really—minus Pearl, they're all very kind to him (which is becoming less and less weird every day that passes)—but damn, he really does need some time to work on his base. These guys are more stifling than...most of the adults in his life.

It's been about a month since he got here and he just feels like he'll be staying here longer and longer with every second without updates ticking by. He was already homesick, but it seems to flux up and down in waves because he thought he was getting used to it after a while—and then it hit him like a truck in that tiny house Mumbo lent him one night; how much he left behind. When he left it—he disappeared from the server on the day Dream was let out, and Prime knows that he's basically the only person that knows how to deal with Dream and actually will. He's had nightmares about that happening—Dream escaping from prison, hurting his friends while Tommy is helpless and unable to do anything—and now it's become a reality in the biggest "fuck you" the universe has ever given him: he doesn't even know if anything is happening.

There's no way for him to find out, there's no way for him to communicate with them—it's hellish. The entire server could be destroyed and Tommy would be absolutely none the wiser, and he doesn't really have too much time between the panic to think about how narcissistic thinking that is (that he's the only person that can save the server from Dream's wrath), but he somehow manages. He's practically an expert in worrying and siccing responsibility onto himself. He locked himself in his house for two months because he felt like he didn't have a purpose, but he isn't thinking about that right now. He's desperately trying not to think about him right now, partially because that's just going to make his worrying worse and partially because he'll instantly remember his little slip up in the midst of his panic attack the other day and instantly cringe himself into a 2-D shape.

It isn't his fault Grian also has brown hair and seems around the same age as Wilbur. And they look pretty fucking similar otherwise, anyways.

"You, uh..." Grian clears his throat and Tommy looks up at him. He's moving substantially faster than Tommy is, but he's been mulling over this one patch for a bit of a while. "Do you want to get home, like...as soon as possible? Or—are you—is it that you're homesick? Or is there something you need to get back to, or..."

Tommy half-laughs, awkwardness and nervousness making him glance away, back to the seeds being covered in dirt. "I have friends back at home, big man."

"Right! Right, yeah, that makes sense."

Tommy allows a cheeky grin to rise up on his face. "Aw, Grian, are you gonna miss me when I'm gone?" At the lack of a response, Tommy grins wider. "Have you gone and gotten yourself emotionally attached, Grine?"

"Grine?" Grian huffs exasperatedly, pointedly ignoring the rest of what Tommy said. "I'm not going to get 'emotionally attached' to someone who can't even pronounce my name right."

"It's not my fault your name simply sounds better mispronounced," Tommy bites back, moving onto the next patch of soil and digging the seeds out of his inventory. "It's a bit sh*t, innit. Green."

"Grian," Grian enunciates. "It's got two syllables, Tommy."

"Oh my God, two whole syllables?!" Tommy sarcastically gasps before deadpanning again. "It sounds like you're mispronouncing green. You should change your vibe to that, stop stealing my f*ckin' colour scheme."

"I can't change the colour of my wings, Tommy."

"You simply haven't tried hard enough."

Grian and Tommy cackle in tandem, throwing banter back and forth at each other as they continue filling up the field. Tommy makes it a point not to look behind him- he realised a little bit ago that Grian is not, in fact, throwing glances at him. His eyes linger on the ground behind him and narrow, and then he turns back to his work. Tommy can wager a guess as to what he's looking at, but acknowledgement is basically incrimination.

They settle into a comfortable silence. He's gonna be honest- that whole "boundaries" conversation set off about every alarm bell in his mind at first; Grian was literally asking him to explain his weaknesses in detail. It sounded like a recipe for disaster, really, but Grian did promise to only use it for what he said he would, so he supposes he can see how far the little information he gave will go. Tommy is no stranger to broken promises, but Grian agreed that if anyone in Boatem tries to use his limits against him that Tommy is allowed to kill him (he didn't explicitly say that  he thinks Grian thought he was joking, but he most certainly was not...or at least, that's what he said to himself).

"Tommy?"

Tommy is pretty sure this guy is worse at being quiet than he is. "Yeah?"

Grian doesn't respond for a long enough time that Tommy turns to him, raising an eyebrow when he notices the torn look on the older man's face. "What's up, Big G?"

He struggles for a few moments before wincing and sighing, pointing behind Tommy with an infinitely puzzled expression on his face. Tommy, again, does not turn around. "How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"That," Grian stresses, gesticulating behind him, and Tommy finally, finally turns around.

It's basically as he expected—where he started planting, there are small, green sprouts coming from the ground. This wouldn't be unusual if not for the fact that they started planting a little under an hour ago, and he doesn't have any bonemeal. They're more grown in some patches and less in others, particularly tall where Tommy had stopped moving for an extended period of time.

"Oh," Tommy says, mild intrigue in his tone as he makes a slightly surprised face. "Would you look at that!"

Grian fixes him with the most exasperatedly confused look. "You didn't tell me you had magic."

"If you call a particularly green thumb magic, then..."

"Tommy."

"Fine, fine," Tommy says, rolling his eyes. He doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish as he shrugs. "You caught me, I'm magic. But—you can't say sh*t, because you and all of your friends are magic, too."

Grian splutters. "Wha—me? Magic?"

"And Mumbo Yumbo," Tommy reminds, as if Grian doesn't know. "And Pearl Crescent. I don't know about the other guy, but—"

"Tommy," Grian interrupts with a laugh, making Tommy's mouth snap shut as he glares. "Just because we have inhuman traits doesn't mean we're magic. Pearl doesn't have anything magic about her, unless you count her charm and her affinity for making things end up wrong-side up."

Tommy gapes at him. "What...are you talking about? I literally saw her eyes turn f*ckin' purple the other day."

"What?"

"Yeah."

Grian looks absolutely flabbergasted—as if this information is completely surreal to him. He can't have triggered something with his...less-than-genius outburst that's so rare that one of her long-term friends doesn't know about it, that's absolutely ridiculous. And yet...something about Grian's expression makes Tommy think that he really has no clue what he's talking about. Either that, or Grian is a much better liar than Tommy originally pegged him for.

He hasn't the slightest idea as to why Grian would be lying about something so obvious, but if that sort of reaction only comes from Pearl when she's hopping mad, then he supposes he can wager a guess.

"I'm sure you find that hilarious," Grian says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "But I've known Pearl for years. She doesn't have magic."

"Ask her yourself, then," Tommy says with a half-sneer, half-smile. "And you owe me half of your hourglass if I'm right."

"Not a chance, Tommy," Grian says smoothly. "Also, why are you trying to brush over the fact that you have magic and you didn't care to mention it?"

"It's not that big a deal, G-Man, really! Plants just like me—and I like plants, so it really works out."

"But—you—" His voice sounds strained as he gesticulates, and Tommy lays his palm against the seeds that he just embedded in the ground. There's really no concentration put into it—he doesn't have to put his fingers to his temple, he doesn't have to close his eyes, he just...feels the seeds in the ground. And they want to grow, and he has the ability to help them grow, so they latch onto him and...well, grow. There's green that grows around and between his fingertips pressed into the dirt, and Tommy has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as Grian stares, wide-eyed. "You haven't tried to like...use this for anything? I mean, imagine the farms you could make—"

"You find out I have magic and instantly try to capitalise on me," Tommy says, still allowing the wheat to grow. It's starting to brush against his face, so he leans away as he shakes his head and says, "I'm incredibly disappointed, Grine."

"You seem like the kind of person that would try and capitalise on your own magic," Grian snipes back, making Tommy lay a hand across his chest, mock offended. When Tommy doesn't immediately reply, Grian grins. "Oh, you totally have tried, haven't you?"

"Okay, well," Tommy starts, taking his hand out from between the fully-grown wheat next to him. Grian keeps flicking his gaze between him and the wheat as he shifts to sit cross-legged in the soil. "I have maybe tried it. Once or twice. But, I mean—it's easy when I'm doin' sh*t like that, but growing an entire wheat field over and over is as lot for even someone like me, believe it or not. And, I guess...it feels weird to immediately kill the thing I just grew. Sorta makes eating it feel hollow." Grian nods as if he understands, but Tommy does add on, "To be fair, I literally lived off of a 3x6 farm under my house that I would just grow up whenever I need to. It's not the weirdest thing in the world."

Grian's face twists, as it does sound sort of unusual, but then he concedes. "I suppose that does make sense."

There's a slightly awkward pause. "I suppose that does make sense," Tommy mocks. "You have a bit of a stick up your arse, you know that, right?"

Tommy only gets sight of Grian's shocked expression at the word getting through the filter before turning back to the field and continuing to plant, hearing only Grian's offended squawk as he continues to mimic him under his breath.

Grian eventually explained to Tommy what exactly was going on with the wait—apparently, the server's admin was "busy," but when he was free he was going to run a search on all of the names Tommy had mentioned and see if they can pinpoint the Dream SMP and try to send him back. Tommy willfully chooses to ignore how reluctant Grian sounded when he said he would be sent back. It's irrelevant, really—Grian doesn't even know half of it.

Still, that left a lot of downtime—he thinks. He doesn't know exactly how long an admin's "to-do" list is meant to be, as Dream was apparently as neglectful as an admin as he possibly could manage (seems on-brand for the guy, honestly), so he really has no time-frame for how long this is going to take. So he works on...various projects that he's collected in his time.

Grian has gotten suspicious enough that Tommy's been forced to start actually building a house—this proves difficult, as while Tommy can make himself a decent-looking cave, he's confident that whatever he would end up building would give the Hermits hives from being in its proximity. He eventually settled on plain old cheating—he's planning on sending GeminiTay a whisper sometime soon to try and coerce her into building it for him. If that doesn't work, he'll just pay her to do it—Prime knows he has the diamonds (though, if Grian's hourglass is any sort of reflection on how much the Hermits actually have, he supposes the economy must be in shambles and his measly half-stack of diamond blocks will get him next to nowhere).

He spends a lot of time travelling, actually—going on foot to places makes it a bit hellish, but he's not particularly keen on traversing an unfamiliar Nether and he's being held back from fixing his wings by his own terror. So he walks. Sometimes he goes with Grian, but usually, he's alone—he went with Gem once, and that was actually very nice. She's something special, Tommy's sure of it, and if he didn't live so far away from her he'd probably visit more often. More often than he already does, that is. He tries very hard to ignore the fact that she reminds him of too many people at once, because then that'll make him feel like she's just a replacement and she's not.

Until he gets to that point where he can confidently purchase Gem's assistance with his "build" without bankrupting himself, he spends as little as he can in buying things for his actual base, still working on it into the middle of the current night (which is weird—the "middle of the night" isn't really a time that exists often on this server, as it's usually reverted back to blinding daylight the moment the sun starts to set and a good chunk of his exhaustion is wiped away) when his communicator pings.

He genuinely thinks this may be the first time he's gotten a sudden message from someone, as people usually just mention him in main chat and Grian doesn't bother with whispers—he just shows up at Tommy's front door. He got one not too long ago, actually—Grian basically had to break into Xisuma's base to get his attention long enough to remind him that Tommy still didn't have a communicator, and then he went through some weird process of actually getting the thing and watching as Xisuma connected it to...him. His "code," as the guy had described it—he didn't ask and he didn't want to know.

He pulls it up with a flippant wave of the hand as he finishes placing down the slabs meant to act as wooden beams before glancing at it the screen and having all the colour drain from his face in one go.

╔══════════════╗

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: hey tommy can we talk?

╚══════════════╝

Tommy blinks. Scrubs at his eyes. Rereads it once, twice.

What?

He almost types as such before his thoughts catch up to him, and then he's falling off of his rickety scaffolding in absolute panic. The fall doesn't do much but bruise his ass and, quite annoyingly, remind him that he has wings (a fact that he much prefers to ignore most of the time), but he doesn't even think about the pain as his mind only thinks about the fact that he's further away from Pearl's house now.

What—how does she know that Tommy is awake? And why would she of all people want to talk? Surely, she wouldn't be inviting him out to kill him, he knows that nobody on this server is like that, and while the reassuring thought should make him feel a bit calmer it doesn't. It's like, the thought is there and he acknowledges it and he knows that it's true, but it just doesn't sink in. It can't.

So, yeah, he's a bit terrified. Honestly, the first thought is to destroy his communicator and hide underground for the rest of his life, but he finds that slightly impractical and tries to think of a better option—maybe he could fight his way through it. He really should have netherite gear by now, he's been on the server for a month, but...

He heaves a deep breath and goes to collect his things. Honestly, if he can't fight his way out of the situation, then his next best option is to try and get Grian to help. As humiliating as that may be, he'd much prefer it over dying again, and he's pretty sure Grian wouldn't do anything to hurt him. Pretty damn sure. Not one-hundred per cent, but close. If—if the person hurting him is one of Grian's friends, though, would he still help?

Tommy squares his jaw and digs through the chest next to his bed, rolling into it to make sure his spawn is set before grabbing all of his iron tools and pulling out his communicator again.

With shaky fingers, he starts to type.

╔══════════════╗

You whisper to Pearlescentmoon: Okay

You whisper to Pearlescentmoon: Where?

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: boatem hole?

╚══════════════╝

Tommy attempts to ignore the violent shiver that runs through him at the reminder of falling in (jumping in) and dying and respawning again. He won't let it happen again. That was not something he'd like to repeat. If she's trying to be friendly, she'll "respect" that.

╔══════════════╗

You whisper to Pearlescentmoon: can we meet somehwer eelse

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: uh yeah sure

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: my base?

You whisper to Pearlescentmoon: omw

╚══════════════╝

It doesn't take long for Tommy to exit his cave, wait for a few minutes to make it seem like he was travelling from somewhere, then show up at Pearl's front door. As he has mentioned multiple times at this point, the build is absolutely massive, almost incomprehensibly vast and a bit vertigo-inducing. He tries very hard to focus solely on her front door, take in a deep breath, and knock.

The door opens almost instantly. Pearl looks just the same as she always does—brown hair poking out from underneath a beanie, celestial-adjacent jewelry hanging from her ears, wings fluttering behind her...but she looks a bit different. A bit more nervous.

One discreet glance makes Tommy ten times more on edge—her milky-white eyes are already blemished by a hint of purple. He tries not to visibly gulp as he meets them and croakily says, "Hi."

Pearl's eyes narrow, as if that simple greeting was an admission of guilt, and then she allows herself to smile. She looks incredibly tired. "Hi. Come in?"

She steps to the side, and Tommy walks in. Once he finishes marking every single possible escape route (including what he assumes to be walls that only have the outside behind them and windows), he takes note of how nice the place looks. It's big, yeah, but it's definitely lived in.

His eyes falls on the cat in the corner. It's a completely normal-looking cat—aside from the fact that it is staring at him upside-down. It meows, looking completely undisturbed by this, and he looks back at Pearl.

She's busying herself away from Tommy, walking further into the house and asking, "Do you—thanks for coming, I, uh...do you want a snack or something?"

Tommy blinks rapidly. He says, a bit too bluntly, "It's the middle of the night."

Pearl seems to wince with her entire body, her butterfly wings fluttering behind her. "Right. That's a bit weird, isn't it—I mean, Bdubs usually skips the night every single time, it's crazy actually getting to see the moon, yeah?"

"Uh..." Tommy trails off, scratching the back of his neck. This is less murderous and more wildly uncomfortable. She's trying for...amicable, and Tommy clearly does not know how to respond to it. "I guess? Look, you called me here for a reason—what is it? How did you even know I was awake?"

She sends him a half-hearted shrug and a sheepish smile. "Saw it. Hey, you've been here for a month now, yeah?"

Tommy is actively struggling to keep the pace of this conversation—it's breakneck, how fast she changes the topic, so he simply nods. She looks—almost nervous, at that. She's looked nervous this entire time, but she looks like she has to take in a deep breath before continuing, "Yeah—yeah. I suppose I just wanted to—you came in at a bit of a...weird time? You know about the moon being big, yeah?"

"Yeah?"

"Okay, well, that's not exactly the only thing that's weird about the...you just..." She takes in another heavy breath, but Tommy just—can't deal with how she's talking.

"Okay, no, you can't just...ignore everything that's happened, man," Tommy interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest and half-hugging himself. He meets her eyes, torn with a few different emotions that Tommy kindly doesn't go out of his way to pinpoint. "Can't you talk about this after you've addressed the whole f*ckin'..." He detaches one hand and waves it around. "Y'know. Why you hate me."

She stares for a few moments too long before rubbing her face, spending a particularly long time rubbing at her eyes as her wings flutter so rapidly that they cause a bit of a buzzing noise. "I don't hate you, kid. Honest—you just caught me at a...very bad time."

Tommy eyes her suspiciously. "What time?"

She splutters a bit before insisting, "A bad one. I'm sorry for being rude, Tommy. And for—almost killing you. I don't know what else there is to say."

Tommy fixes her with a contemplative look. That was...surprisingly easy. He's kicking himself for being a bit of an ass with it, but he's tired and his filter has broken away even more than usual. He supposes he should have expected this—how many times and by how many different people had Tommy been told that everyone on this server was kind?—but something about it makes Tommy feel sort of ill. As if he had been holding onto this one misconception that Pearl was mean, that she would kill him if he pissed her off (like she was supposed to) and everyone would ignore it to convince himself that this place wasn't as good as it quite seemed.

This twisted hope shattered when Pearl's soft, almost lavender eyes fixate on his blank expression and she asks if Tommy's alright. He realises, with quite a sudden start, that this place is much better than the Dream SMP.

Better than his home.

The thought triggers something in him that makes him even sicker, so he sits down in the nearest chair and smiles as if absolutely nothing is wrong. As if she hadn't just added the catalyst to make Tommy start thinking that maybe going home wasn't the greatest idea of them all. That he maybe, maybe has another, better option.

His stomach flips at the thought. He leans on his hand easily and says, "So, what was it you were going to tell me? Something about the moon, and...?"

There's a suspicious pause before Pearl speaks again. "Honestly? I can't really give details—that'll make it worse, you see, but I just wanted to warn you since you seem..." She stumbles over her words before settling on, "Antsy, around the other Hermits."

Tommy plays up his offence, pressing a hand to his chest. "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. I love all of the Hermits, especially the ones that blow up their friends. So yeah, all of the Hermits. 'Specially Grine and Mumbo Yumbo and GeminiTray—what is a Gemini, by the way? I heard that that's a very bad and evil thing, y'know."

Pearl cracks a smile. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm offended."

"You're also incredibly distracting," she says with a roll of her eyes, cracking her knuckles as she drops into the seat nearest to Tommy with a heavy sigh. "I'm supposed to be warning you about something and then you go off about zodiacs."

"I have no idea what a zodiac is," Tommy says seriously, meeting her eyes with a deadpan expression. "And it would probably be a bit easier to warn me about something if you explained what you were warning me about."

"I can't, Tommy. Look, all I'm trying to say is that—tonight might be a little rough. And tomorrow, most people are going to be...a little on edge, I think."

"But why?"

Pearl ignores him. Tommy can't tell if she's trying to help or make him feel even more on edge—either way, she's definitely achieving the latter. What kind of event would make the entire server be "on edge?" He can't even make up an idea that would fit this server, though on the Dream SMP he could probably think of a few. Last he checked, though, Hermitcraft didn't have any wanted criminals that weren't just scammy businessmen (a type of person Tommy can actually appreciate).

"You're probably going to be a little bothered tomorrow, too—maybe even this morning?" Pearl mutters the last part to herself before looking up at him. "Do you often have nightmares?"

The question startles him. His face furrows to a slight frown, and his shoulders hike up defensively. "What kind of a question is that?"

"You might have a nightmare tonight," she responds quickly. "And you probably won't remember it, but if you wake up in the middle of it then...Eye knows what'll happen then, really."

Tommy's face lightens up into one of confusion. "...what'll happen?"

Pearl looks similarly confused before realisation dawns on her face. She snorts, then corrects, "No, not I as in me—eye as in..." She points at her own eye. Ah. "Eye."

"Oh," Tommy says, and that's about it. Really, if Tommy knew every single god underneath the sun his head would probably explode from the knowledge. He doesn't really care—he has Prime, he knows a couple others, and that's all he really needs to know. He scowls, crossing his arms again. "Is this magic sh*t? Are you—is the entire server gonna have shared hallucination or something like that?"

Pearl tilts her hand back and forth. "Eh. Usually, it isn't the entire server, but...it's happened. And no, I'm not the one that does it. I just...know that it happens."

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Did you know that Grian doesn't think you're magic?"

She doesn't look surprised. She shrugs, then sort of stiffly says, "It's for the best." She then tries to brush off the fact that she just said that and quickly continues, "I-In any case, I just wanted you to know since...you know, you've never been here before. You might not even experience it, honestly, I don't know how this stuff works. You just...be safe. Okay?"

Tommy, through his suspicion and confusion, nods. Pearl smiles at him (and her eyes are definitely a fuller purple now) and stands, so he does so too and starts to head for the door. This was a surprisingly uneventful interaction. Probably for the best.

When the door opens, he's hit with a blast of cool air in stark contrast to the warmth insolated in Pearl's palace. He pulls his limbs closer to him and shivers, and starts walking in the direction of Mumbo's mountain—since Pearl still thinks he lives there. He turns and walks backwards and grins at her—she smiles back, some of that lingering exhaustion still in her expressions but not making her look as absolutely debilitated as she was before. "Goodnight, Pearl Crescent."

She rolls her eyes, which are most certainly glowing purple at this point (if this doesn't just happen when she's mad, how the hell does Grian not know—?), and says, "Goodnight, Tommy. Stay safe!"

He rolls back into a forward-facing position but is stopped by Pearl calling out from behind him, "Wait, Tommy?"

"Yeah?"

She looks hesitant to say it, but she takes in another one of those deep breaths, closing her eyes and opening them to an even deeper purple. "If you need...help, with anything, you can—you can just show up. If you want."

Tommy grins again, the smile making his eyes crinkle as he shoots her a thumbs-up and takes off into the night.

Despite Pearl's vague warnings making him sort of anxious, it doesn't take long for him to fall asleep once he hits his bed underground. It's unusual, really—almost like he was dragged to sleep instead of falling, pulled under the threshold of consciousness instead of drifting below it.

Either way, it's still nighttime when he wakes up again.

Chapter Text

It feels like the world is on fire.

Tommy wakes up underneath his blanket absolutely drenched in sweat, as thin as it is. His first, half-conscious instinct is to kick it off, but even when he does so the air is still dry and so unbearably hot that he feels as if he has to push himself up just to make sure that his new base isn't on fire.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark—it isn't completely pitch black, of course, as the glowberries and slightly magical torches emit a low glare that makes it easier for him to fall asleep, but it's still a cave and as magically impressive as he is, he doesn't have night vision. Once he blinks the sleep out of his eyes and clarity sinks into them, though, he realises two things.

One: he's still absolutely exhausted. It definitely isn't morning yet.

Two: the blanket that he had kicked off of him more than a couple of minutes ago is still drifting slowly away from him, moving through the air as if it was water.

Tommy stares as it it continues to drift, unbothered by gravity in this tiny, dark space of his. It's completely surreal—the blanket is nothing but wool, and it certainly isn't him causing the effect, so what could possibly...?

Tommy feels the sweat bead across his face and roll down to drip off of his chin. He needs fresh air. It is so, so, hot.

He rolls out of bed and almost shrieks—where he should have almost fallen to the floor, he floats, gently, like the blanket. It mentally confuses him so bad that his wings jerk, wondering whether he's finally flying again, but no. This is to flying as drifting is to swimming—that is to say, in the same vein but with a distinct lack of control that makes him start to panic. He grips the railing next to his bed and swings himself so he's touching the ground, but that does little to nothing when he tries to take a step and it requires so much more force than usual for his foot to connect with the ground. He has to push his own weight down with the railing until he reaches the open steps, and then he tries to descend the stairs and simply floats off of the stone and falls very, very slowly.

He has no idea what's happening. Is this some weird quirk that this server has that was just never mentioned? Random bouts of zero-gravity? Or was this caused by something—or someone? With how insane some of these server members seem to be, he wouldn't exactly say it's out of the question. Some of the buildings owned by Doc and Ren look completely capable of causing gravity to shut off, but something burrowed deep inside of his chest tells him that that isn't it. That there's something incredibly wrong—not wrong, something...different. At the very least.

It's hard to focus on anything when his head is swimming from the heat—when he finally touches the ground near the wall of the cave, the only thing on his mind is taking his shirt off completely, or at least rolling up his sleeves for some sort of reprieve. He decides to go with the latter, because Prime knows that this might just be some normal thing and he's overreacting—as per usual. The thought does nothing to soothe his nerves, though, that odd feeling inside of him and the heat making his head swim as he moves with as much force into the small exit tunnel as possible, walking with his hands pressed against low ceiling so he can leave without bouncing off the walls like a helium balloon.

He breaks through the exit of the cave, around the back of Pearl's mountain, facing Cubfan's mesa (he's pretty sure that's the guy's name), and is immediately hit with a wave of cooler air. Not cool, but cooler—it's still unbearably hot, but it doesn't feel like he's being lightly roasted inside of an oven now that he's out of an airtight space. He hears a loud hum in the background but pays it little mind—honestly, he's only been here a month and already knows that some new machine randomly cropping up isn't anything to blink at on this server.

He was completely right about it still being nighttime, and from where he is he can't even see hints of the sun rising...and yet, it's still so bright. It's hot, it's bright, everything feels so upside-down that he's got half a mind to march up to Pearl and tell her to un-Dinnerbone the universe.

He blinks at the random thought and frowns. Pearl—wasn't he just talking to her? Didn't she warn him about something happening tonight? Albeit in the most infuriatingly vague way possible, but...

He walks out to try and get a better look at her palace, tripping over the lack of resistance against his movements and sprawling through the air with a squawk—and that's when he sees it.

He looks up at Pearl's palace. Behind it, making the outline of the massive building shine, is the moon. About a billion times bigger than it should be, and definitely on fire.

All of the breath leaves his throat before he makes some strangled noise of disbelief, pathetically paddling through the air to try and get a better look at it from the front side of Pearl's mansion. It spans across his entire vision and doesn't end, even when he turns his head. He reaches the front, eyes still glued to the massive aberration in front of him, and he can't help but laugh when he sees it in full. Or, at least, as close to in full as his vision can fit.

His hysterical laughter suddenly turns into terrified hyperventilating, and when he twirls around because that damn hum from earlier just seems to be louder and louder, his heart drops into his stomach at what he sees.

For one, and this catches his eye much easier, he can see green and white arcs of lightning going off in the distance—from around where the Octagon should be. Logically, he shouldn't be able to see more than a glimpse of the edge of a building from the Octagon on a good day, but these bolts of electricity are so inherently massive that they light up the sky almost as much as the moon itself does. And then, right in front of him, he sees a spaceship. Or, at least, something quite like it—Tommy has never seen one in real life and has never cared to think about it, but Tubbo was obsessed and had books with models and that looks very much like a spaceship except upside-down, positioned directly over the Boatem Hole—directly over the void.

The moment he thinks about Tubbo, his heart lurches. He is never going to see Tubbo again. He is never going to see anyone ever again. The moon is hurtling into the planet, and he is going to die.

Tommyinnit is not unfamiliar with death. He's experienced it more times than anyone should, in both simple and borderline torturous ways, but never in his many lives has it felt so imminent. So all-encompassing. So unavoidable. So terrifyingly permanent. It's like that inevitability coils around his throat and strangles him—he is going to die, and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

The spaceship's humming kicks into another gear, and Tommy realises with a start that there are people in there. Surely, the rest of Boatem would be running around in terror like he wants to if they didn't have some sort of escape plan. A short glance around reveals the obvious—the inside of every building is dark, bits and pieces of them breaking off floating around as their inhabitants are all safely piled inside of the machine of copper and glass that floats high above him, held in place by magic and balloons. There are figures that pass behind the yellow-tinted glass, recognisable shapes that make Tommy's hope suddenly swell. With all his panic and desperation, he doesn't have his normal reservations about whether they would let him in or not. He has a chance. He might live.

The ship hums louder. He's on a time limit—not a limit, a sentence, because if he doesn't get on he's about as good as dead, and he's crouching to take advantage of the low gravity and kick off to reach a place where they could see him when the world starts to tremble.

The noise that accompanies it is deafening, a consistent roar that, coupled with the horrible shake that makes his vision blur, just about makes Tommy's eyes well up with terrified tears as his breathing gets faster still. It only gets worse when gravity decides to shut off completely and, having lost his footing and tripped backwards, allowed Tommy to go careening up and through the air with no sign of stopping.

Tommy screams, of course he does, but the shrill sound is all but swallowed by the grinding of the earth against itself and the now spiked intensity of the hum from the spaceship desperately trying to keep itself in place as gravity is forgotten altogether. Tommy can do nothing to stop his sharp trajectory as he cuts through the air, his screams and cries disappearing into the ceaseless noise as his thoughts catch up to him like a freight train hitting a brick wall.

There is nothing in his path to stop him. He is going to keep floating up and up and up and up until he can't see the ground and he's surrounded by this midnight black, starry sky all around, and then the atmosphere will be so thin that he'll pass out and wake up to the feeling of his lungs struggling to drag in what little oxygen is left for him until there's nothing until his lungs are squeezed to implosion with air exiting them but not entering, until he's in a horrible bit of pain and he's dying and oh, fuck. Prime save him, he's going to fucking die.

This throat is raw from screaming and his limbs are heavy and achy from thrashing when he feels downwards movement again. The rumbling peters out and the ship's hum dulls (but not by much because they're about to leave, they're about to leave Tommy to die), and then Tommy is kicking, clawing through the air to reach the ship. His tears and sweat roll off of his face and hang freely in little globs as he moves, and it feels like it takes an eternity but he finally, finally reaches the window of the spacecraft.

When he grabs hold of it, he can feel it rumbling. His heart drops into his stomach.

He bangs on the window and sees five heads immediately turn to him. The first person to reach him is Grian, and though his voice comes out incredibly muffled behind the glass and the roar of the spaceship, he can clearly hear the man panickedly call out, "Tommy? What are you doing?!" Similar exclamations of shock come from the other Boatem members (who seem to be dressed in some weird amalgamation of a crash dummy outfit and a spacesuit), and Tommy couldn't care less about how terrified he must look to them as his fist connects with the glass and he screams for their help.

He sees Grian yell something at Scar, who stammers something back that makes Grian's eyes blow wide as he sprints out of view. Impulse and Mumbo move to fill the empty space, the former pressing the tips of his fingers lightly to the glass and saying placating phrases that Tommy can't quite hear but can lip-read easily enough ("It's gonna be okay, kid, we'll get you inside.") as Mumbo throws terrified glances behind him, towards where Scar and Grian went, and tells Tommy to just hold on.

Pearl does not move. Her face is dismayed and twisted into a sort of violent pity, and Tommy's dread sinks into his bones and makes him feel far heavier than gravity ever could.

When Grian and Scar reappear, Grian's face is as white as a sheet—whiter than Tommy's knuckles gripping tightly to the copper of the ship like it's a lifeline (because it sort of is, isn't it). He looks...off, somehow, but Tommy can't put his finger on it. All he can really see of the guy is his face, heavily contorted with emotion, but there's definitely something wrong. Something different, unusual, but there's some sort of mental block him from really nailing it down. Maybe it's the panic.

The first 'no' falls from Tommy's mouth before Grian even says anything. If the man's face can fall any further, it seems to. "Tommy," he starts, and Tommy cuts him off with a stream of 'no, no, no's as Grian tries to explain to this terrified sixteen-year-old that he is being abandoned and left to die on a world doomed. "Tommy, I'm so sorry."

Clearly, Tommy's begging must do something to move him, because it doesn't take long to turn back around to Scar with desperation in his movements—Tommy isn't able to catch a word of what he says besides an "anything," which comes through clearly because now they have to yell over the rumbling of the ship to hear each other, and then Scar is shaking his head at Grian. He catches the end of what Scar replies with—"suit, anyways,"—and Tommy gets the sudden sinking feeling that he was doomed from the start.

It does nothing but fuel him more—if they aren't going to let him in, he'll break in himself. He doesn't want to die. He can't die, not here, not now, not when he has so many things to do, not when he hasn't made it back home yet, no. He grips the sides of the window so hard his knuckles burn, but he barely feels it, using the leverage to kick the glass with as much force as possible as Scar forcefully pushes Grian, Mumbo, and Impulse into their respective corners of the ship—all three of them go out of sight on either side of him, leaving Pearl in the far right corner and Scar floating up towards him.

He presses his hand fully against the glass and Tommy flips forwards to meet it, nails screeching against the smooth surface as tears flow freely from his eyes. He begs. He doesn't want to die.

Scar looks strained when he speaks—Tommy doesn't register a word, but some part of his mind that's still somehow functioning reads it as, "Get to the Nether or the End, okay? Nether or the End, Tommy—stay safe."

He can really only watch as Scar backs into the far left corner of the ship, shouting out one last "Stay safe!" before twisting his eyes shut and tensing his entire body.

Tommy's thin figure is trembling when he turn to look at Pearl. It's hot. He's so tired. But he still doesn't want to die.

He lets out one last small, pathetic, utterly broken, "Please."

Pearl stares at him, eyes a milky, pearlescent white.

She lowers her head.

Her eyes are the last he sees of them. He blinks, and the entirety of Boatem seems to have vanished.

The corners the were standing on opened to release them with such a violent pressure that all of them go rocketing downwards and into the Boatem Hole at such a speed that they simply look like tan streaks in the sky and against the vantablack backdrop of nothingness. They just keep going and going and going and going, and when they finally hit the place that they should all start suffocating and taking damage, the darkness simply...folds over them. Collecting the five Hermits into its creases and encompassing them in the safety of the void.

Tommy is completely, utterly alone.

He doesn't even get more than a moment for it to sink in before he's blown back by the force of the ship releasing whatever magic was keeping it in place as it shoots up and into the sky, making him float down and back just a bit. He's almost completely unmoving when he gently drifts to the floor.

He crawls over to the edge of the Boatem Hole, fears and reservations long forgotten in the sudden, stark certainty of death as he stares into that unrelenting void. With how quickly and silently they went and with Tommy's memory of his initial involvement with this unrelenting eternity—his relatively safe passage from the Dream SMP, that is—he can't help but feel as if they escaped safely and he wishes it could pull him in just as quick, hold him in its dark embrace and take him from this horrible reality, even if he dies and doesn't have to deal with this debilitating, crushing dread anymore.

He sits there, unmoving, for an uncertain amount of time as the heat and whatever the lack of proper gravity is doing to his brain make reality swim as he wallows in his grim realisation. 

He could make it to the Nether, probably, but the best armour he would have would be unenchanted diamond, and if he didn't end up starving to death he'd be speared through by a piglin's sword or hoglin's tusks. He might trip and fall into lava—or, upon realising that most of the Hermits are dead and there was physically no method of escape, he'd pitch himself into the lava instead. The thought makes him violently shudder, a full-body chill running up and down his skin, but he knows that a year ago, he would have done the same thing for less. 

He stares into the Boatem Hole. The fluctuations in gravity and the searing heat make the ground around it break off and fall into the void just a bit faster than they should, considering the overall state of air as a whole. The bits and pieces of rock and soil seem to actually fall, not drift, and it baffles Tommy to the point of him leaning over to look and see if they really are just dropping straight down in this expanse that's apparently separate from the rest of the Overworld. 

As soon as his head pokes over the edge, he can feel it- a light tug that he can't decipher from reality or his imagination, a drag towards nothingness that feels like its own gravitational pull. It isn't forceful at all, really—it's more of a gentle call of finality, a beckon that reminds him that truly, no matter how much he struggles, every situation will end in his death. The world is ending, and who is Tommy to try and outrun fate? 

He frowns at that, shifting his footing and sending more rocks tumbling into the emptiness below him. That isn't right. That isn't him—maybe at a time he would have thought that way, but not now, not anymore. Maybe—maybe he could message Xisuma. He's got to have some sort of contingency, there no way he could have been blindsided by the moon crashing into his own server. Or—or maybe Gem, or Tango, or literally anyone else that he possibly can message. He can't just ignore the possibility of hope and die without fighting. Without trying. That's not him, he swears up and down to himself that that isn't him, and once he screams at himself to live long enough to at least try, he starts to stand up to back away from the edge. He only manages to move an inch before—

The world trembles. 

Tommy sucks in a breath as everything starts to shake, and he drops back drown to his grouching position to find purchase in the ground, digging his fingernails into the dirt to try and hold himself in place. He twists his eyes shut, trying not to induce even more of a headache as his vision shakes in time with everything else, just trying to stay still so he can get up and go somewhere, find someone, live.

The world seems to have a different plan. Within the loud roar of the earth moving against itself, he hears another crack, or maybe it's a crunch, and when he opens his eyes because of how ridiculously loud it was, he's frozen in abject horror at the sight of the thinner tops of Pearl's base cracking and snapping off from the intensity of the shaking. It's obviously heavy, heavy enough that when it breaks off it starts moving in a downwards trajectory despite the weakened gravity. It's because of the weakened gravity that it doesn't fall straight down—instead of hitting the base of Pearl's palace or the mountain, it starts falling at an angle.

Directly towards where Tommy is.

There really isn't any time for him to move, because it's moving fast. All he can really do is brace himself, dig his nails further into the grassy soil and hold himself still as the huge piece of rock and concrete skids into the ground just in front of him, spraying debris painfully against his already stinging skin and, quite predictably (even to Tommy), making him tip backward.

The trembling continues to break the ground around the Boatem Hole, and his nails inn the dirt only helps it break apart even faster.

The feeling of déjà vu only hits him when he's in the air, falling into the void on his side while still reaching, as if he could grab the edge before the pull of gravity really hits, but no. He falls, and once he passes over the rim of that hole he's really falling. Spending so much time in on that low-gravity surface makes the normal pull feel like he's really being pulled, like he's being snatched into the depths as the surface gets smaller, smaller, smaller still until the world above looks like a floating disc of slightly-brighter-darkness amidst the smooth and endless black.

His entire body is braced for the feeling from before, that horrible point when he starts to take damage, but there's nothing he can do to really prepare himself.

He isn't moving fast enough to break through the suffocating, endless fabric like the rest of Boatem was—instead, he chokes around nothing, the distinct lack of oxygen making his lungs instantly start burning in pain. He tries to hold his breath but eventually it just hurts too much, and every time he opens his mouth its just searing carbon dioxide leaving and nothing coming back in. It isn't the fast process that it was before, either—that only took a few seconds, but it's been almost half a minute and all he can feel is a pressure behind his eyes (which are steadily producing tears) and the fire that settles underneath his skin. It's pure, unfettered pain, he's sure of it—nothing could be worse than this. Nothing could be worse than having every drop of air squeezed out of you until you can feel every individual cell start to choke along with you and die. He envies them because they get to die so quickly, this is so much worse why can't he just die—

He hears a loud pop, a crack, and then he's flying up and bed with a hand pressed to his throat, tears streaming down his face silently as his brain forces him to breathe, holy shit, breathe.

He was definitely suffocating in real life—he can feel his throat burning and the lightheadedness is real, it has to be real, but he still watches his blanket to make sure that it properly falls when he kicks it off. His body is wracked with violent coughs and even more painful drags of breath, like every lick of air grates against his raw throat—raw from screaming? It clearly must've been from earlier, since he woke up with his throat closed and his head swimming and oh, Prime, he was dying.

His breathing somehow spikes in rate even more as he pulls his legs up towards himself, his arms wrapped around them and pulling every bit of him closer upon himself, making himself small as possible as he heaves sobs into his knees. It's still so hard to breathe.

He stays like that for some time—seconds, minutes, hours, he can't tell amidst fading in and out of consciousness from panic and exhaustion—before his soul is startled out of his body be someone in the distance of his cave whispering a quiet, "Tommy?"

He screams—he isn't ashamed to admit it, he presses himself against the corner of the wooden railing and the wall, and his heart beats so fast it feels hollow. The room is much brighter than it should be—the glowberries hanging are projecting much more light than they usually are, and he notices the vines curling around and around the wooden barrier and almost seeming to reach out towards him in the middle of the air. The torches, on the other hand, are dimmer than usual, so the furthest corner of the room is dark, darker than it would normally be.

Shrouded in darkness, he sees two specks of purple.

...it's looking at these that Tommy realises with a sudden start what was off about Grian in the nightmare. It wasn't his voice or his hair or even what he did, though leaving him behind was scarier than Tommy ever would have expected from the avian.

No, it was definitely his eyes.

They were purple.

He presses himself further into the corner, terrified of...something, he doesn't know what, but he doesn't want to see Grian right now, he doesn't want to be reminded more of what happened by seeing him pity Tommy's pathetic state, see how his skin is damp with sweat and tears and how messy and tousled his hair and outfit are.

Instead of Grian, though, steps out Pearl. It's a relief for about a split second before he's ninety-nine per cent sure his heart beats so fast that it collapses inwards. She found him. At the worst possible fucking moment, she found him.

He can't even get a word out—she's already moving up towards him, taking the steps up towards his bed two at a time, but she doesn't draw a weapon or even yell. Instead, she sits at the edge of Tommy's bed and just...stares. If Tommy was of more sound mind, he'd hold his breath, but his throat is still raw and he's still dizzy from suffocating in his sleep, so all he can do is hyperventilate, barely managing to get out an, "I'm sorry," from behind the pressure on his chest.

Pearl frowns at that. "For what?"

"For," Tommy sucks in a gasp. He's getting lightheaded. "Your—under your base, I—"

"No, Tommy, c'mon," she interrupts, shifting slightly closer. "I don't care. The build is nice, mate, I'm not—do you—are you alright? Stupid question. Do you need a...hug, or something?"

She parts her arm from her body just a bit and holds it out towards him, and he almost leaps for it—almost. He's panicking, not insane, and he's pretty sue that any touch will just remind him of the pressure of nothing all over his body, squeezing and suffocating and—

The words are tumbling from his mouth before he even registers them. "Can you talk?"

"What?"

"Just—talk. About shit. Stuff. Things. To—to distract." His voice cracks as he adds, "Please."

Pearl talks. She starts off slowly, clearly nervous and a bit confused, but she flows into a one-sided conversation about herself and her builds and how annoying the lighthouses accompanying her base are to wire up, how she's going to have to ask Impulse how to make them work. She talks about a prank she and Grian played on Impulse, and then she delves into a huge prank that all of Boatem played on the Big Eye Crew—several huge pranks, actually, ranging from an exploding boat that covered their docks to a giant boat being built over their entire district and creating so many mobs that the area was basically inaccessible due to lag. She talks about how weird lag is and how she doesn't understand how it works, then starts pointing out how it feels like being really sleep-deprived and then starts talking about how she's on a different sleeping schedule from basically everyone else on the server.

It's complete nonsense, but it helps. She's clearly running out of ideas for what to talk about before Tommy sniffs and shifts into a more normal sitting position, and then she trails off and simply regards him with those glowing, purple eyes until she asks, "...you alright?"

He makes a non-committal noise and says, "Better."

"Oh! That's—that's good." She smiles sheepishly and continues, "I didn't really know what to talk about, so I was just hoping you meant—"

"Yeah, it was fine. Thank you."

Pearl looks like she relaxes intensely after that, leaning back on the cold stone wall Tommy's bed is pushed up against. He stares at her for just a moment, wondering dimly how someone can just barge into what is meant to be a secret base and completely disregard the fact that it's a bit weird for them to be there. He clears his throat, because he feels like the air has suddenly gotten awkward (but he'll take the awkwardness over feeling like he's dying any day), and asks, "...how the hell did you know I was down there?"

Pearl blinks a few times before looking over at him. Her smile is still a bit nervous as she simply replies, "I saw."

Tommy huffs. "That's stupidly vague, I hope you know."

She half-shrugs, sitting up and turning slightly towards Tommy. "I don't know what else to tell you, kid, I saw you and I figured you'd be freaking out, so...to be fair, you were freaking out—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Tommy huffs, pulling his body in and shifting so he's sitting cross-legged on the bed. "You're...shut up."

"Do you...remember your dream?" Pearl asks tentatively, and then Tommy is shooting her a glare so mean that he can see her eyes widen as she scoots back.

They're different, but so, so similar to the ones that looked at him with nothing but pity and left him to die, but that was a dream and it wasn't her fault...still, it's a question that makes him have to take in a deep breath and twist his eyes shut before he irritably answers, "Yes, of course I fuckin' remember. I don't want to think about it."

He is...mildly surprised by the swear bypassing the filter, but not enough to put too much thought into it, and definitely not enough to dwell on it more than the colour suddenly draining from Pearl's face.

"You're—you're sure you remember everything?" Pearl asks, suddenly sat up straight and staring him dead in the eyes.

"Yes," he snaps, face twisting into a scowl as his heartrate picks back up. He can feel that pressure on his chest again, and the confusion is evident in his voice as he stutters out, "Wh-why do you care so much?"

Pearl doesn't answer. She's silent for a moment, clearly thinking something over, and then he sees a bit of realisation flash behind her eyes before her gaze shifts and she seems to be looking through Tommy instead of at him.

"Oh," she says simply, her voice high. "That—that makes things a bit complicated."

Tommy is just about to ask her what the hell she's talking about—with the proper amount of expletives since the filter seems to be broken—when he's suddenly hit with the groggy realisation that this dream—this nightmare—is probably what Pearl was warning him about yesterday. Today? He has no idea what time it is.

He blinks at her a few times, mind rushing to conjure up any sort of explanation before deciding to just ask, voice hoarse, "Am I not supposed to remember?"

Pearl shakes her head slowly, still staring at Tommy. Almost searching through him, sifting for something that she can't quite find before remembering that she's supposed to answer a question. She clears her throat and glances away. "Uh—no. Not...not really."

Tommy gapes at her. "You're being really fuckin' weird."

"I'm not!"

"You are," Tommy snaps back, not trying to disguise the exasperation in his tone. The tiredness—the exhaustion. He's so tired, and piecing this together is making his already pounding headache turn into a migraine. "Just explain, I can't be that hard."

Pearl makes an odd noise—like a high keen in the back of her throat. Her voice is breathy and pitched when she replies, "I can't," and she doesn't sound like he's just being evasive.

Tommy rubs his temples with his thumbs, squeezing his eyes closed as he sighs. Okay. Sure. She physically can't tell him—or something along those lines? Perhaps whatever it is is so steeped in godly magical nonsense that she isn't allowed to explain? Speculating is starting to make his headache worse. "Then—can you at least explain what you can?"

"Can you ask instead?" Pearl says, cracking her knuckles nervously. "It makes it easier."

"Oh, sure!" Tommy replies, a sarcastic brightness to his voice. "What the hell was that dream? Why did—why did it feel so real? And why am I not supposed to remember it?"

"You've started out with a very difficult question," Pearl says after a pause, and when Tommy's only reply ends up being an unchanging stare, she sighs. "It's...complicated? The dream is sort of, uh...a manifestation of a very real happenstance pulled from someone's mind. And projected across the server."

"What, so, one person made me have that dream? Made everyone have that dream?"

Pearl nods. "Yes, and don't ask me who. I can't tell you."

Tommy eyes her suspiciously. "It isn't you?"

"No."

"Then why can you remember it and not anyone else? Why can—why can I remember it?"

Pearl helplessly shrugs. "I don't know, kid. Are you magic? Godly? Something like that?"

Tommy looks vaguely affronted, glancing at the spiralling vines that are still reaching out towards him and saying, "Yeah, I have magic, but so does, like, literally everyone else here. You can't be telling me that that's the only reason you've got."

"Maybe it has something to do with where you came from, I don't know," Pearl stresses, bunching up the sheets on either side of her. "I don't have the answers when it comes to you, alright? You're—sort of a mystery to everyone. Even me."

Tommy scoffs, pushing himself further into the corner again. "What does that mean? You didn't answer my question, why are you able to remember? Is there anyone else that can?" Tommy quickly adds on, "And answer both of the questions."

Pearl rolls her eyes. "I can't tell you why I can remember. Sorry, I genuinely can't. And yes, someone else on the server can remember."

"The person that made the dreams in the first place?"

"Yep."

"...who we're sure isn't you?"

"Tommy—"

"Fine, fine," Tommy interrupts, leaning his head back against the wall. He thinks for a moment, trying to pick out exactly what could be so weird about Pearl that would make her so different, and then the answer comes to him and he sits up so fast his bones crack. "Wait. Wait. Does this have to do with the purple eye shit?"

Pearl winces. "Y...es," she answers slowly, as if tasting the word, before definitively answering, "Yes."

The pieces click together in Tommy's mind so fast he almost makes himself dizzy. "The same purple eye shit that you said that Grian doesn't know about."

"Yes."

"Even though you're obvious about it and do it all the time."

"Well—yes."

"Is it Grian?" Tommy breathes, watching Pearl's face just to make sure that if she lies, he catches it. "'Cause—you were bein' all ominous about him 'n' shit earlier, and he—he had the purple eyes in the fuckin' dream! And—is he doing it on purpose? Why would he do that? Is it him?"

The last few questions come out like he's moreso desperately asking himself than Pearl, trying to rationalise the thought to himself. He couldn't possibly imagine Grian doing something like that on purpose—then again, maybe that's because he doesn't know him—

Trying to fight away that mindset—that innate lack of trust buried deep within him—is getting harder and harder as each second of silence passes. Pearl looks like she's struggling with herself to form an answer, her eyebrows twitching as she frowns in response to something, but after a few moments, she just sags.

"I can't tell you," is all she says, and that's answer enough.

Fully awake now, Tommy runs a hand through his hair in his own attempts to soothe his growing panic. "What the fuck. What the fuck. He's—what the fuck?"

"Hey, Tommy—"

"Don't fuckin'—stop it," he says sharply, and Pearl's hand stops in midair as he returns to his internal spiral. "You—y-you—why would he do that? Did you—why—how? H-How could he—does that mean that he left me on purpose in there?"

"No!" Pearl suddenly says, slapping her hand over her own mouth immediately after in shock at her own outburst. After a moment of silence, the air stilling as she waits for something, she lowers her hand and takes in a deep breath before turning fully to Tommy. "Just—you don't have to trust me on anything else, but I promise you that none of that was on purpose, okay? That was—that was just circumstance."

Tommy laughs bitterly. "It was a dream. If he could control it, why did he put me through that?"

"Because it wasn't really a dream, Tommy," Pearl says, frustration pinching at her brows—though whether it's at herself or Tommy, he can't tell. "It was...sort of a projection. Like, these things could have absolutely happened if things went a different way, so there's no control over it. It's sort of like...an alternate timeline? It's created by the...the person who made them, but it's perpetuated by everyone in it. The environment and the people in it are completely separate from the Weav—th-the person that made the dream. It isn't their fault. Nothing except the concept is their fault, and even that may be out of their control."

"And how the fuck would you know?" Tommy snaps, suddenly pushing himself off the bed and standing over Pearl. Her purple eyes are basically pleading with him to calm down, but this is too much—this is way too much. "You're—you've got the fuckin' eyes, too, you're like him."

Tommy realises the harsh choice of vocabulary as soon as the words tumble from his mouth in his panic, but the damage is already done. Pearl not only looks hurt and a bit sad, she also looks pissed, and the shift in expression, no matter how subtle it is, makes Tommy take a step away so his back is pressing against the railing. It looks like it takes a considerable amount of effort for Pearl to not spit her next few words: "You don't have to say it like that. I'm not evil."

"He—he might as well be!" Tommy exclaims, taking in a dragging breath that teeters on a wheeze. He does not need a panic attack right now, not in a room with someone that doesn't like him and might kill him and—shit, he's supposed to be trusting. How is he supposed to trust her? Or Grian? Or anyone else here—he still can't believe that he would do this. It reminds him too much of—bad people. "I-I mean, why's he making these...these...concepts, huh? Just to see people suffer? I—I fucking died, I suffocated, Prime fucking knows what happened to the people that were still on the planet when the moon fucking crashed!" He's shouting now, but over the roar of blood in his ears, he can barely tell. He might as well be whispering. "Is it just as vivid for everyone else? Is he just doing it for fun? For—for good fucking fun—?"

Pearl swiftly reaches for him and he yelps, but all she does is tug Tommy by the arm back onto the bed. She shifts her position and plants both of her hands on his shoulders, staring him dead in the eyes from just above him as she kneels in place. "Tommy," she says, and he's suddenly very aware of the pressure on his shoulders and the strained patience in her voice. The scene is familiar—too familiar, and it reminds him too much of another time, a similar scene. Tommy presenting a problem and panicking, and the source of the problem staring him in the eyes and grounding him in place and asking—telling him to "calm down"—she even looks the part, minus the purple eyes. Brown hair smothered under a beanie, bags under her eyes.

Tommy might stop breathing for a moment.

"Do you hear me?" Pearl says, shaking his shoulders just a little bit, tousling him back into reality. "Calm down. Okay? Breathe?"

Tommy sucks in a gasp—when did breathing get so hard? Maybe it was the cigarettes—maybe he was smoking again. It's so dark, what happened to all the lanterns?

"Breathe, Tommy," Pearl repeats. Pearl. Right. He's on Hermitcraft, not—there. Hermitcraft. He doesn't know anyone here. His brothers aren't here. "In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. I—I think. Can you do that for me? With me?"

Tommy tries his hardest to listen—he really does, but it still takes a few minutes for him to start matching her breathing. Her hands are still on his shoulders and it's making his skin crawl, but he does it. It makes it easier to perceive her breathing in the dark, anyways.

"Are you—are you back?" Pearl asks after a bit of silence, of Tommy's chest rising and falling at an only slightly rapid pace. "Just...listen to me, okay? I—yes," she says, and she really does spit out the word like it's poison. As soon as she does, her entire body seizes and then slouches, and she slides her hands down to the sides of Tommy's arms. "Yes, yes, it's Grian. We're—we're the same, but Tommy, I swear to you that he doesn't do it on purpose. It's been happening for years at this point, and he doesn't know how to stop it, and nobody else remembers, so there's really no way for him to help himself."

"But—" Tommy interjects, and talking is so difficult. "But why don't you—?"

"I can't," she says, bitterness evident in her voice. Tommy twists his mouth shut. "If I tell him anything, he just forgets. I don't know why, but he does, so there's no way to help it. It usually isn't as...bad. As this one was. It's usually games, I-I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be a game right now. The moon being big was just...more pressing, I guess. Look, I—" She stops her rambling, closing her eyes and taking in a breath. "I know you've only known him for a month, Tommy, but he isn't the type of person to just...torment people like that. He does harmless pranks, he doesn't actively traumatise his friends. I've known him for years, a-and I know you've really no reason to trust me, but please. He's not...bad. He's not doing it on purpose. If he could stop himself, he would. Just—you can watch him. He isn't like that."

Tommy silently considers this for a while before nodding—if only to get Pearl's hands off of him, which works. He immediately pulls his legs and arms closer to him, basically clutching himself in an upright fetal position and rests his head on his knees.

Characteristically, the first thing that leaves his mouth is a quiet, "Sorry."

Pearl shakes her head. "Don't apologise for having a very justifiable panic attack."

Tommy huffs out something akin to a laugh. He's so, incredibly tired.

He's only half thinking when he mutters, "Um...could you not...do...that. Again?"

Pearl blinks at him. "What?"

"Grabbing me," he says through suddenly gritted teeth because shit, he literally just yelled at her and now he's—he's asking for something so trivial? "By the shoulders, it was—sorry. I—nevermind."

"No, no, I'm so sorry!" Pearl says panickedly, holding out her hands in a placating manner. The distress on her face somehow both makes him feel more guilty and pulls him out of that apologetic mindset at the same time. "I—Eyes watching, I didn't even consider—i-it's just, the only person I've actually helped with a panic attack usually responds better to being grounded by—I'm so sorry, Tommy, good God."

"It's—it's fine," Tommy says, mindlessly putting a hand on hers and bringing it down. "I get it. Sorry."

"Don't apologise for setting boundaries, kid," she says, pressing a hand to her heart. "I'm such a moron."

"You're not," Tommy says, frowning. "You're—I was overreacting. You're probably right, anyways."

He thinks that both of them know he's moreso trying to convince himself of that fact than stating it as a fact. Pearl sighs, picking at her nails before Tommy tentatively asks, "Do I...mention this? To—to Grian, I mean. Tomorrow. Later. Ever."

Pearl winces. "Ah, uh...probably not. I'm—I'm sorry, but it'll probably just scare him for the day before he just..." She makes a 'poof' motion with her hand. "Y'know?"

Tommy nods before settling his head back down on his knees.

A few moments of silence pass again before Pearl slides from the bed, standing up and stretching—her wings flutter and blow Tommy's hair back before she turns to him. "I should—I should probably go."

"Oh."

"You should—I mean, you should probably get some sleep—"

"No, yeah, it's—yeah."

"Sorry. Just—yeah."

She descends down the stairs quickly, speedwalking towards the exit to get out of there as fast as possible before Tommy stops her with a sudden, "W-Wait! Wait."

She turns back to him, one hand on the corner of the exit. He fiddles with his hands for a moment, trying to compose his words. "I, uh—thank you. For—for being here. It was a bit creepy, I mean, but you—getting through that first freakout alone would have been...bad. So. Thanks."

Pearl smiles, weary and so much more tired than they looked when she came. "It's no problem, Tommy."

"And—could you make sure to not tell anyone about this? Originally, I was just hiding it from you, but...now it's a bit."

Pearl chuckles. "Sure, Tommy. It's a nice build, by the way."

"It's the greatest build," Tommy insists, a shallow mirror of the joking ego that he usually presents. "I'm the greatest builder. Ever."

"Sure, kid."

And then she's gone.

Tommy doesn't fall back asleep.

Tommy's next day is mostly uneventful—he found out that Pearl was right, on both the front of nobody remembering the dream and everyone being irritable because of it, to the point where the not-so-subtle hints that Tommy was dropping got some more annoyed responses than they normally would have.

He finds himself, sometime in the middle of the day, staring into the Boatem Hole. Going as far as to kneel next to the edge and dip his hand inside—gravity stays the same. He feels no difference in the flow of blood in his arm.

"Um, Tommy?"

He startles so bad he almost falls in. Instead, he squawks (a very noticeably bird-like squawk, which he tries to dismiss as anything other than being because of who's talking to him) and pushes himself away from it, whipping around to look at Grian, who stands with his hands twisted within one another and his wings hiked up in obvious discomfort.

His expression twists into a confused frown. "What—"

"Can I give you a hug?" Grian asks, steamrolling over whatever Tommy was trying to say without even making eye contact with him. He sees the man's wings shudder all the way through as soon as his mouth clamps back shut, his hands almost violently fidgeting together, and Tommy feels his own wings twitch in sympathy.

The guilt on his face almost chokes Tommy. Oh.

"Uh—yeah, big man. Are you alri—?"

He's cut off by Grian running into him, delivering one of the stiffest hugs Tommy has ever received. He can practically feel the embarrassment radiating off of himself and Grian, but he manages to reciprocate the hug with a disbelieving laugh. "You okay, dude?"

"I'm sorry," Grian says with a heavy weight to his tone. "I know you don't know for what, but I'm really, really sorry." It takes him a moment to scramble for something else to add, but then he weakly clarifies, "F-For all of...this. Stranded stuff."

Tommy has to fight the urge to laugh. He still can't believe he's getting an apology. According to Pearl, there was nothing he could've done to stop what happened, but he's still...

It feels so foreign. It makes his chest ache.

"It's—it's alright, big man," he settles upon, patting the space between his wings. "It wasn't—it's not your fault."

Grian laughs, though it's dry and humourless. "You have no idea."

Tommy has no idea how to respond to that without making it obvious that he does, so he just says, "Fine. I still forgive you, though. I'm not—you can't stay guilty about that kind of sh*t."

It takes a moment for Grian to respond, or for anything to happen at all, but then the he pulls away and smiles at Tommy. It's a lot more nervous than it should be. "Thanks."

Tommy tries to give back his most genuine, award-winning grin. "No problem, Big G."

Chapter Text

It feels like it takes years for Xisuma to finally get back to Grian about searching up Tommy's background. The server was in a slump after the most recent full moon, as per usual, but days passed and things had gotten back to normal and there still was no sign of an answer from the server's admin.

It wasn't until a solid five days afterwards that he finally, finally received a message about it—but what he got was a lot more frantic than he thought it would be.

╔══════════════╗

XisumaVoid whispers to you: grian

XisumaVoid whispers to you: you and tommy need to come over right now

You whisper to XisumaVoid: why

XisumaVoid whispers to you: i got to tommy's server on the list

XisumaVoid whispers to you: it's not good. its really not good

You whisper to XisumaVoid: what do you mean "not good"

╚══════════════╝

Grian watches with a sinking feeling in his stomach as Xisuma's typing notification appears and disappears, once, twice, before a message is finally sent.

╔══════════════╗

XisumaVoid whispers to you: it's difficult to explain but i think his server is either broken

XisumaVoid whispers to you: or he was kidnapped

You whisper to XisumaVoid: WHAT?

XisumaVoid whispers to you: just come over ill explain everything

╚══════════════╝

Grian blinks at his screen. His mind has already started racing in about a trillion different directions, but the most prominent of all is the sudden need to go find Tommy. Not in the sense that he just needs to go tell him that they need to go to Xisuma's—it's just a bit different, a bit more...buried. It's like a sudden itch in the back of his mind that is mortified at the idea of Tommy being stolen from where he was meant to be—but that's ridiculous, surely, Xisuma must be mistaken.

...there's still a pep in his step—or, rather, in the beat of his wings—when he flies up to Mumbo's mountain, skidding to a stop in front of Tommy's house and praying to Channel that he's inside. The kid has a bad habit of never answering on comms unless he's being spam mentioned by half the server or in whispers, and he isn't confident that he'll be paying attention enough for that to work and doesn't want to draw attention to...whatever it is they're about to do.

He knocks on the door rapidly and calls Tommy's name, and when he gets a loud crash and a violent, "What?" in return, he heaves a sigh of relief (and that itch in his mind is scratched).

"There's—there's something we need to talk about, Tommy!" Grian yells into the door, rocking on the balls of his feet.

It takes a few seconds, but the door swings open and Tommy pokes his head out with a mildly disgruntled expression. His hair is pushed back by the green bandanna he usually wears on his wrist and there seem to be pins in his mouth. The subsequent "What is it?" comes out very muffled before he reaches and takes the pins out, his hand disappearing back into the house.

Well," he starts, trying desperately not to snicker at the image of Tommy's (unnervingly) long neck poking out from the door and nothing else—it looks very cartoonish, and he has to actively try to think about the news that Xisuma dropped on him to keep a straight face. "I've just got news from X about—something. About your home server, I think."

Grian doesn't miss how Tommy's face drops—just for a second, less than a second, and then an eyebrow is raised at him. "What did he say?"

Grian shrugs. "I have no idea. He wouldn't explain anything, just said we had to show up at his place and go from there. It's, ah..." He bites the corner of his mouth before saying, "He says your server might've been broken."

Tommy snorts, shutting the door with a very quietly muttered, "'S not news to me," before it shuts completely. Grian waits for a few moments before Tommy completely emerges, and Grian can't stop his eyebrows from shooting up at his chosen outfit.

The bandanna back to being wrapped around his wrist and he's wearing all of his normal clothes—the only difference is the addition of a knitted, blue cardigan that reaches his waist with a slight droop, adorned with a surprisingly well-made pin of a flag Grian has never seen before. It's a bit of a different style for Tommy, but not an unwelcome change.

His eyebrows raise as Tommy closes the door behind him. "That's new."

Tommy looks down as if he doesn't know what Grian is talking about, a red tint rising to his cheeks. "Yeah, it's—yeah."

"I like it!" Grian says, a grin spreading across his face. "Actually, whether I like it or not completely depends on which shopping district you bought it from. There is a right answer."

Tommy scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I didn't buy it, d*ckhead, I made it."

Genuine surprise makes Grian's grip on himself falter, and he acknowledges in silent horror how his wings hike up with pride at the new information. Tommy definitely notices—Tommy notices everything—his eyes flicking to Grian's multicoloured wings and then back to his face. The redness pitches a shade deeper, and Grian has to talk while he's mentally forcing his wings to please, for the love of Channel, smooth back out. "Oh! I-I didn't know you could knit."

"Your first mistake was assuming I couldn't do anything, prick," Tommy says, sticking his hands into the pockets of the cardigan and starting to walk down the mountain. Tommy has long since accepted Grian's insistence to walk with Tommy instead of fly, and he sees that as progress. "Of course I can knit. I can sew too, y'know—I probably made, like, half of the outfits on my server before there were so many f*ckin' people."

"How big is your server again?" Grian asks curiously, not exactly subtle in his attempt to get any possible information about the server out of him.

Tommy shrugs, tilting his hand from side to side and answering, "I dunno, like, thiiirty people? Probably a little more?"

Grian hums. "Right, well. I like the sweater. I think it suits you."

There's the blush again—Grian simply couldn't imagine wearing something so bright if it was going to embarrass him every time someone brought it up. "Thanks, Big G. I mean, of course it suits me, but—I-I have another one at home. It's, uh...special, I guess. An old..." His face twists up into one of confusion as if he was deliberating something with himself. "Friend? I guess? Made it for me. It was a cooler jacket than this, but I didn't really have the time to make another one, so." He shrugs with his hands in his pockets. "This'll do. It isn't the same, though."

Grian has to mentally smooth down his feathers again. He cracks his knuckles and stretches to try and disguise it, saying, "I'm sure whoever made it for you would appreciate you trying to remember them."

Tommy scoff-laughs, glancing to the side. "Yeah. Sure."

It sounds a bit sad and it makes Grian frown, his fingers itching to lean and give him a hug—even just a side-hug, or many he'd straighten out those feathers because they're so out of place that it's bothering Grian, so it has to be bothering him—

Channel above, there has got to be some way to fix this.

He distracts himself by pointing and asking, "What's the pin for? Did you make that yourself, too?"

"Oh, Prime no," Tommy shakes his head. "I don't know how to make pins, that was Niki and Puffy's—" He freezes, glancing at Grian as if he said something wrong before continuing slowly, still watching Grian's face, "Niki and Puffy's thing. I got Scar to make them for me, but he robbed me of my diamonds first."

Grian half-laughs, a confused furrow to his brow as he notices Tommy starting to fidget slightly—wings twitching, twisting his fingers. It didn't feel like when he would mention...Dream. Usually, that would be accompanied by a bit of panic, or bitterness, but this time he just seemed worried. Like he had messed up somehow. Is it just that he doesn't want to release any information to Grian about his old server? Because that's fine, of course, but if it isn't...

"You know you can...talk about your old server with me, right?" Grian says tentatively. Tommy stares at him with a surprised expression. "I'm not gonna get mad at you for reminiscing, o-or missing your home. It is your home."

Tommy seems to freeze a little at that, and Grian is worried that he said something wrong, but Tommy just lets out a breathy laugh. "Sure, big man."

"I'm serious, Tommy. If I got stuck there and couldn't get back, I wouldn't shut up about wanting to go home."

Tommy snorts. "You would be begging to go home, Grine. You'd break into hives at the first creeper hole you see and die on the spot."

"I'll have you know that I would at least make it past the second or third before the hives come about."

That makes Tommy laugh, and Grian grins. "No, you know what? I'm taking you home with me. I'm going to force you to make the server look nice and then I'll let you come back. I will make you my S to the L to the A-V, if you know what I mean."

It takes Grian a formidable amount of time to form words through his cackling, but he does manage to ask, "Your—your Slav?"

"Exactly."

Tommy seems defiantly proud of what he's said, and Grian can't keep the fondness out of his laugh when he sees Tommy's wings, broken and battered as they are, fluff up just the tiniest bit—presumably at being able to make Grian lose his composure like that. As soon as he realises, though, he stops laughing—it's not like he tries to, but being bashed over the head with your awful, nigh uncontrollable instincts every time you're around a person is bound to make even the happiest of people just about go insane.

Instead of letting the awkward silence linger, he slowly starts off, "So..."

"So...?"

Grian clears his throat. "Who are Niki and Duffy?"

Tommy snorts. "Niki and Puffy, Big G. And she's my, um." His eyebrows pull together a little bit. "She was my therapist. She quit a while back, though—I think she figured that everyone on that server is beyond helping, and she was dealing with a buncha sh*t after her son died...I think she got wrapped up in some cult stuff, and then she had to kill someone?" Tommy waves his hand flippantly. Grian has to keep the slight horror off of his face. "It's nothing. That all worked itself out. Niki, though, she's like, the coolest ever. Basically my sister, I've known her since...like, forever. She and my brother, Wilbur, they've been close for ages, so she sorta acted like my big sis for a very long time when I was little." There's a tiny, almost loopy smile on his face when he says, "She hated my guts for a few months, but we made up. Oh, Big G, you have got to try her baking sometime—she's—she's f*cking incredible. Genuinely, I think she's the best baker in the world. The entire universe."

Grian grins. "You think I'll be able to try someday?"

"You'd f*ckin' better," Tommy warns, crossing his arms with a scowl that looks far too much like a pout for Grian to take him any sort of seriously. "I'll drag you into the Boatem Hole myself and shove cookies in your mouth until you choke and respawn back here. That'll show you."

Grian splutters at the mental image—Tommy's completely deadpan face does not help stop him from laughing in the slightest, and all he can think to ask is, "And—and she'll be okay with that?"

Tommy's immediate smile has a twinge of something vaguely menacing. "Oh, yeah, she's cool like that. She once tried to nuke me with Jack f*ckin' Manifold. Back when she was pissed at me, I mean."

Grian stops dead in his tracks, laughter coming to a sudden, hysterical stop in his throat. He's sure he looks positively bug-eyed as he stares at Tommy's manic grin, but he can't bring himself to care. "You—I—she what?"

Tommy's smile grows ever wider. Grian is becoming convinced that the kid is genuinely off his rocker. "She tried to nuke me," he repeats again. So Grian didn't mishear him. "Y'know, big bomb, pshewwww." He makes an exploding motion with his hands, then shrugs. "She missed, though, so it's alright. And I'm simply too giant of a man for radiation poisoning to affect me."

He looks...genuinely proud when he says that. Grian can hear the cogs turning in his own brain as Tommy flashes him one last pearly smile before turning on his heel and continuing to walk down the mountainside.

It takes him a solid fifteen seconds to rub his eyes with the butt of his palm and fervently shake his head. Nope. Nope. He'll think about it...later. He'll unpack all of that later. Surely.

Getting to X's base is the easiest bit of the day, despite getting lost in the maze of Nether portals for enough time that Tommy started to get dizzy and complain about how much of a mess it was. He then explained that everything on the Dream SMP was close enough together to walk except one or two particular places, and Grian supposes that's because of a lack of elytra to actually get around.

Which, by the way, Grian still finds absolutely mental—not the fact that the End is inaccessible, as that's a thing that a lot of servers do, but the fact that Tommy didn't even know what it was. 

When they finally do reach X's place, he's waiting at the front door for them. Tommy predictably takes a moment to take in the base and the surrounding area (Grian finds himself staring at Bdub's crescent-moon starter base in the distance) before approaching. Xisuma immediately stands a little straighter upon noticing them, and Grian greets him with a wave and a smile while Tommy greets him with an insult.

"Hello, pink man," Tommy says, making X immediately take in a deep sigh of a breath. Grian resists the urge to snicker. "Heard you had some news about my 'ome."

Xisuma nods at that, beckoning the two of them inside. "Yeah, I..." He clears his throat. "I wanted you to be able to see it for yourself. Felt like telling you over comms would've been...it wouldn't have ended up with the greatest results, I guess."

And with that ominous beginning, he walks inside of his base, stiff as a board and not bothering to look back at the two avians that turn to look at each other with incredibly puzzled expressions.

Tommy's face is as white as a sheet, and while he may not be visibly shaking, he looks like he's holding himself so stiffly that he looks like he'll explode if he moves a single centimetre. Grian lays a hand on his shoulder and he turns, meeting Grian's eyes with something that he's recently identified as false confidence. Tommy uses that look a lot.

He tries to smile as genuinely as he can, squeezing Tommy's shoulder and saying, "C'mon, Tom. It'll be fine, it's not like anything server-related can't be fixed with a little admin magic, yeah?" He waves one hand and wiggles his fingers, and Tommy rolls his eyes, cracking a smile.

"Admin magic?" Tommy repeats incredulously, shrugging off Grian's hand with a nervous laugh. "You don't have to give me baby talk, G-Man, I'm si—a big man."

Grian politely ignores the slipup. "I'm serious! Worst case scenario, the server is on the verge of crashing for one reason or another and you'll have to copy everything onto a new world. Simple as that!"

If anyone notices how hard he's avoiding the Tommy may have been kidnapped part, no they don't. Grian's smile is perfectly real, and he obviously isn't anywhere near as terrified or bothered about the entire situation as Tommy is. It's Tommy's server. He cares for the kid, obviously, but it's not like he's there. He's here, on Hermitcraft, safe and sound, and he's happy about that a completely normal amount. He isn't, in any way shape or form, growing more and more concerned as every second passes about exactly where the hell this kid came from. He has a completely normal amount of curiosity and an equally normal amount of fondness for the kid. He's just some coincidentally avian kid that Grian and the rest of Boatem have to take care of while they work to get him back home, and no, the idea of sending him back to where he came from does not fill Grian with a sense of looming dread. It doesn't.

...yeah, right.

Tommy pulls Grian out of his denial spiral with a slightly more genuine smile, and the two follow Xisuma through a very convoluted path until they reach a long drop with water at the bottom. Once they reach the bottom, Grian looks to his left and sees—darkness. A perfect...well, void, that seems to stretch on forever. He's sure it's black concrete, but it just looks so real, like he's staring into the bottom of the Boatem Hole instead of into a solid wall.

And then X, in all of his pink and anti-climactic glory, reaches out and seems to shift the void to the side, pushing it away like a curtain that reveals...a slightly lighter darkness. Tommy fixes the server admin with a scowl and asks him what the hell is going on, but X just ushers the three of them inside the room before breathing out a heavy sigh of relief, made louder due to his helmet.

His entire body seems to relax once they're fully inside and the curtain is closed behind them—Grian can't help but reach out and try and touch it, but it's gone. There's no wall where they came in, and there are no walls in the room, either. Though it seems slightly lighter, it's still just an endless expanse slightly lighter grey that makes Grian a bit dizzy when he thinks too hard about it.

Tommy has no such qualms, though, allowing his jaw to basically drop as he exclaims, "What the hell, man, that's so cool! Where—where did the door go?"

Grian can almost hear a smile in his voice—tired, but a smile all the same, as Xisuma replies, "There was no door. Just a whole lot of nothing. Some people—like myself, people that are in tune with the actual Void—can...shift it. Make wrinkles? This," he trails off, gesturing at the 'room' they're in. "Is one such wrinkle."

"What, so, this place has an end, then?" Tommy asks, pinching his brows together in that way he does when he's trying really hard to wrap his head around something.

"No."

"But if it's a wrinkle—"

"Wrinkles don't have ends," Xisuma says, rolling his eyes. "They just unwrinkle. If you go out far enough, I'm sure you'll end up reaching the actual Void." There's a huff of a laugh in his voice as he mutters, "You'll be walking for a long, long time, though."

Tommy seems to contemplate this for a moment, nothing but a simple, "Huh," falling from his mouth before he slowly asks, "So you can make...wrinkles anywhere you want?"

Seemingly caught a bit off-guard by Tommy's continued line of questioning, Xisuma fumbles for a moment before resolving to say, "Uh—yes? I mean, not big ones, not in comparison to...y'know. Eternity. I mean, this place is just a blip, but a big one would probably take a little more power than I have, even with the admin nonsense. Or a thinning event, but those are fairly rare and I really have no reason to try and do something that...draining."

Tommy frowns. "What in the world is a 'thinning event?'"

Xisuma sighs heavily, the sound coming out very loudly again, but Tommy doesn't falter. To be fair to Tommy, it's a valid question—Grian wouldn't have the slightest clue as to something like that if it wasn't for his...monthly incidents. Frankly, he'd much prefer not to bother with magic—it makes everything a tad more confusing in a bad way when it's not being handled by someone who knows what they're doing, like Scar and Xisuma. "It's, like...a point in time when the lines dividing the Overworld and other dimensions and other magic nonsense get...thin. Basically. So magic stuff becomes really easy to do and sometimes people's instincts go haywire—it's a whole mess here sometimes, honestly, but we've—I've—mostly managed to keep the possibility of any negative effects under control."

"Okay...what happens to cause one?"

Xisuma blows out air through his lips, reaching to scratch the back of his—helmet? Probably a force of habit, whatever. "Uh...mostly celestial things, stars or planets or moons aligning, full moons count as minor ones, sometimes earthquakes, o-or specifically in places that lightning strikes? A lot of that kind of stuff. The moon being big sort of just continuously thinned the line, it was an absolute nightmare to try and wrangle all of the stuff popping up..." He clears his throat, fidgeting a bit and clearly wishing for this impromptu magic lesson to be done with. "But, ah...that doesn't really matter. We really have to focus on this, it's very important."

Tommy pauses for just a few seconds—long enough for Grian to get vaguely suspicious about what he's thinking about, and then he nods and says, "Thank you, Big X. You've proved yourself useful to the great Big Man Innit."

Xisuma snorts, summoning his communicator and turning away from the two avians, tapping on his screen before wryly saying, "Wow, I've graduated to Big X, now? I'm honoured."

"You should be."

"Har, har," Xisuma drawls, double tapping something on his screen before flinging his hand up. All of a sudden, the space around them is full of different things—screens and monitors with dashing and ever-changing lines of code, things levelling levels that Grian doesn't at all want to dig up the meaning of, a large keyboard in front of the admin—it looks like a nightmare to him, honestly, and makes his head hurt just looking at it, but Tommy bounds up to Xisuma's side and practically yells from excitement.

"Woah—holy sh*t! I mean—sorry, sorry, but—wow. Can I—?"

"No," Xisuma deadpans.

"You didn't even let me finish."

"I can guess. No, you can't touch, and no, you can't do this with your own communicator." Judging from his tone, Grian can only imagine his expression being one of a vaguely pleased cat as he says, "This is for admins only."

Grian walks up to the two of them as Tommy continues lobbing insults, but Xisuma manages to quiet him down after a moment and turn to the screen.

"Right, well. Grian told me to start doing research on your home server so we could start working to get you back home. I did the most obvious thing—ran a search on some of the names you had mentioned. Easy as that, right?" Both Grian and Tommy nod, and Xisuma shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat again. "Well. It didn't exactly...work out. How we would have wanted."

"What happened?" Grian asks, leaning forward and trying to squint at what's currently up on the largest screen. There's a search bar on top with a bunch of sprawling profiles listed underneath, names Grian has never seen before and probably will never see again, sorted there by default. "Is something...broken?"

"Uh. Not quite?"

"Just show us, big man," Tommy half-snaps, stressing the first half before tapering out into something like pleading. "You're making it worse with the suspense, you know."

"Right, sorry. The thing is—I started out with the guy you mentioned as your brother. Wilbur Soot, right?"

"Right."

"And you..." Xisuma takes in a breath, turning his full attention towards Tommy whilst still keeping his hands on the keeps. The pit of dread in Grian's stomach only deepens. "You're sure he's on that server with you?"

Tommy lets a half-laugh fall from his mouth. "I mean, yeah. He's my brother, we've lived on that server for ages."

There's a moment of silence before Xisuma goes, "Right. That's what I was concerned about. Because I looked him up, and..."

Xisuma quickly types in the name WilburSoot into the bar and presses return. Only one profile shows up, thumbnailed with a picture of a grinning young man with brown hair and glasses, and when Xisuma double-taps to pull it up in full, Grian swears the void tries to grab onto that hole in his stomach and in his heart and drag him into the floor.

╔══════════════╗

WILBUR SOOT

WilburSoot

[PHOTO HERE]

Birthday: September 14th

Age: 25

Height: 6'6"

MISSING

Last Server Recorded: SMP Earth (#0192211-WS)

Last Date Seen: April 11th, 2020

Last Date Active: July 12th, 2020

╚══════════════╝

The silence that hangs over them is weighted. It feels real, physical, and it's clogging up Grian's throat and stopping him from speaking outside of strangled imitations of what a word should sound like.

Missing? Missing? For almost two years? Grian can't stop himself from staring at Tommy, who's eyebrows are furrowed as he scans the profile again and again and again, seemingly wracking his brain for some sort of explanation before lets out a laugh fake enough that even Grian can tell.

"Come on, Big X," he says, though his eyes are still glued to the screen. His smile visibly wobbles on his face, but he tries to push it up anyways. "That's not a funny joke."

Xisuma almost seems to sound sheepish as he shakes his head and replies, "It's not a joke, Tommy—"

"Well, what the f*ck do you want me to think?" Tommy snaps, flinging out his hand towards the screen. "I've seen Wilbur on the Dream SMP, I don't even know what the f*ck an SMP Earth is! We talked to each other less than a month before I showed up here, so what the hell is that supposed to mean to me? Two years? You think I haven't seen him in two years?"

"No, Tommy," Grian says quietly, putting his hand back on Tommy's shoulder and being mildly shocked when it isn't immediately shoved off. "I...I don't think that's what he's saying." Xisuma sends him a grateful look, but Grian just narrows his eyes and turns back to the screen. "Is...he isn't the only one missing, is he?"

Xisuma shakes his head, moving his hand so Wilbur's profile is dragged onto another monitor for visibility. He goes in to search again, this time for someone named Tubbo_. It's virtually the same thing with a different person—name, universal name, photo, age (eighteen?), height, and a huge, red, "MISSING." Grian notes that the last place he was recorded on was Hypixel: Skyblock, which immediately leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He has his own opinions on where Hypixel can go shove it, but—but that doesn't matter right now.

What matters is how Tommy's breathing seems to pick up as Xisuma pulls up the profile of one "Quackity," who follows the same pattern of everyone seen so far. Each one seemingly going missing from a generally normal-looking server sometime in 2020.

"No," Tommy mutters. "No, this is—this is bullsh*t. What is this supposed to mean? I-I mean, people don't just go missing like that, and they're all on the server. I've seen all of them, I don't—"

Grian squeezes his shoulder and, in an admittedly fast bit of judgement, pulls him slightly closer and gives him a side hug. It's awkward, due to the towering height difference, but it's enough for Tommy to at least stop shaking so damn hard.

If he's being honest, Grian has never quite seen anything like it himself. He's right, people don't go missing like that—"missing" usually implies that someone is trapped on a broken server, or that some terrible admin interference on a private server has disconnected it from the main system. From the snippets he's heard about Dream, he honestly didn't even think the guy was competent enough to pull something like this off.

That doesn't explain the memory loss, though. Or, he supposes, it does, if Dream really is to be seen as a talented admin, but to wipe the memories of everyone on his server would take an insane amount of power that not even a public server admin could muster up. It's almost too insane to even consider.

"I'm sorry," Xisuma says as gently as possible. "I don't understand either, but...you're also listed as missing, Tommy."

Grian thinks both his and Tommy's breathing stops in sync.

╔══════════════╗

TOMMYINNIT MINECRAFT

TommyInnit

[PHOTO HERE]

Birthday: April 9th

Age: 16

Height: 6'1"

MISSING

Last Server Recorded: Hypixel: Skyblock (#0191306-P-HYX-SB)

Last Date Seen: June 13th, 2020

Last Date Active: July 4th, 2020

╚══════════════╝

The first thing to come out of Tommy's mouth is, "No f*cking way."

The first thing to come out of Grian's mouth is, "You're sixteen?!"

Tommy looks on the verge of punching him in the face when he pulls away and fixes Grian with a glare that could kill a soldier. "You—out of all of this, that's your f*cking issue?"

"I mean, obviously this is more important, but—" Grian finds himself spluttering, looking back at the picture when he was even younger. "You're—you're a child!"

"I am not having this f*cking discussion right now," Tommy snaps, almost shoving Xisuma out of the way and going to type in a number of different names—Nihachu, CaptainPuffy, Eret, Technoblade, Fundy, Ph1lza—

"Hang on," Xisuma says, laying a gloved hand across Tommy's to stop him from typing. "Ph1lza? As in Philza Minecraft?"

"You've got Technoblade on that server?" Grian breathes, staring up at the profile glaring him in the face, proudly displaying his last date seen as July 13th, 2020 and his last date active as September 23rd of the same year. "I—I didn't even know he was missing!"

"I mean, he and Phil are sort of recluses?" Xisuma reasons, tilting his head to the side. "Nobody really bothers to check on them, I don't think. Especially Philza, I mean, the guy is known for his hours in solitude, I doubt anyone is actively trying to keep track..."

Tommy blinks at the two of them, opening and closing his mouth a few times before asking, "How the f*ck do you know my dad?"

"Sorry, your what?"

Tommy stares at them as if they're the stupidest people he's ever met. "Phil, my dad? I thought I told you this ages ago?"

Grian gapes at him as if he's grown a second head. Xisuma makes some noise that Grian couldn't even begin to explain, and then his frills are straightening out in slight alarm as he exclaims, "I thought you were joking about that."

Tommy looks flabbergasted. "Wh—why would I be joking about my dad being my dad? Am I missing something here?"

"Well, yeah, he's Philza Minecraft—"

"Wait, if Philza is your dad, does that mean Technoblade is your brother?"

Tommy continues that wide-eyed stare as he directs it solely towards Grian. "Yes?"

Xisuma's indignant spluttering continues in the background as Grian puts a hand to his temple. Christ, okay, sure. He—sure. The kid that randomly showed up on their server is The Philza Minecraft's kid, who just so happens to be related to Technoblade. Okay. Sure. Right. Surely, that isn't the most insane thing that Tommy has revealed about himself—far from it, actually. He supposes that explains the magic. Channel above.

"How was I supposed to know that you were being serious about that, I didn't—"

"I have wings, you f*ckin' moron!"

"Not every blonde child with wings is related to Philza Minecraft!"

"Why do you keep saying his name like that?" Tommy asks with his borderline trademark scowl. "How do you even know him?"

"I—"

"Okay, look," Grian butts in, gently pushing both Tommy and Xisuma slightly away from each other. "We can go over this some other time. Tommy, finish putting in the names of your server, we're supposed to be looking for anyone that isn't listed as missing. Right, X?"

Xisuma is still staring at Tommy as if he just descended from the clouds or something, but he shakes his head and forces out a, "Right. Right," and tries to calm himself down. Grian has to resist the urge to laugh.

Tommy hesitates before typing out the next name—Dream.

╔══════════════╗

DREAM WASTAKEN

Dream

[PHOTO HERE]

Birthday: August 12th

Age: 23

Height: 6'3"

MISSING

Last Server Recorded: Dream SMP (#0202404-DW)

Last Date Seen: April 24th, 2020

Last Date Active: July 4th, 2020

╚══════════════╝

"Right, this is what I meant," Xisuma says, crossing his arms. "I feel like it's weird that only the server owner shows up on the server before also being listed as 'missing'—it's not glitched or anything, so I'm starting to think that...maybe everyone on the server was kidnapped onto it?"

"That makes no sense," Tommy mutters, rubbing at his eyes with a groan before holding his head in his fingertips as if he has a bad headache. "I've lived on the Dream SMP for my entire life, I remember meeting Eryn when I was like, twelve—oh, holy sh*t, Eryn—"

Tommy quickly scrambles to search up this "Eryn Cyberonix," looking incredibly relieved when he shows up as the regular missing that everyone else had.

He then enters the name "Ranboo," and Grian watches every drop of blood drain from Tommy's face at once.

╔══════════════╗

RANBOO BELOVED

Ranboo

[PHOTO HERE]

Birthday: November 2nd

Age: 18

Height: 6'9"

DECEASED

Last Server Recorded: Hypixel (#0131304-P-HYX)

Last Date Seen: November 26th, 2020

Last Date Active: November 26th, 2020

╚══════════════╝

"Oh, Christ," Xisuma breathes, staring at the profile in front of him, eyes lingering on the grey "DECEASED" like everyone else in the room. "That's...that's a kid."

And indeed, it is a kid. One of the weirdest-looking kids Grian has ever seen, sure but the roundness to his face and spark in his smile is unmistakable. Grian wonders for a split second how different he must look after spending time on Hypixel, participating on that nightmare of a public server as an enderman hybrid, and then dealing with the Dream SMP, and then sets in and the realisation hits him like a freight train—this kid is dead. One of the few people Tommy purposely decided to mention upon his arrival is dead, and as Grian watches Tommy's mortified expression, he realises that the boy must have no idea how or why.

"No," Tommy mutters, taking a step back and shaking his head. It's amazing how much older he immediately looks—as if all of the maintained levity disappeared from him all at once, and now Grian is left with the husk left behind—and yet the terror and confusion on his face makes him look somehow even younger than he is. "N-No, that doesn't make sense."

"Tommy—" Grian starts, turning to him with a placating outstretched hand.

"No, shut up," Tommy snaps, cutting him off. "He—he was alive when I left! There's no reason—unless—oh, God."

"What?" Xisuma says, taking a step towards Tommy. "What is it?"

"Dream must've gotten 'im," Tommy says, voice high. "No-one else would kill him, he's friends with f*ckin' everyone—f*ck."

Tommy takes another step away from the monitors, larger this time but still with his eyes affixed to its display. All Grian can think is that that's a horrible way to find out that your friend died. He obviously didn't know the kid, but Tommy's sorrow and confusion practically radiate off of him, and Grian ends up just wanting to give him a hug. His voice clips his name with something that isn't entirely human when he says, "Tommy. I—I don't know what to say, I'm...I'm so sorry."

Tommy resumes shaking his head, reaching a hand across his torso and tugging at some of his feather within reach, as his wings are slightly spread out. "No—this has got to be a mistake, o-or some sort of glitch, or—" He lets go of his feathers harshly, and biting halfway through his tongue is all Grian can do to keep himself from letting out the distressed bird noise that he wants to at the sight of the now-worsened feathers. Tommy's hands then crawl up to the hem of his shirt around his neck, pulling on it and stuttering out, "F*ck, I can't—I can't breathe. I-I need some—air."

It takes a couple more seconds of staring at the profile before Tommy abruptly turns on his heel, tripping over his own feet and stumbling a little before dashing back the way they came. Despite Grian calling out a, "Wait, Tommy!", the boy pushes aside the patch of void that served as their entrance and disappears behind the curtain.

Grian finds himself looking back and forth between the screen and the last place Tommy was before turning to Xisuma with half-panicked irritation. "What are we meant to do now? Why would you open up the exit for him?"

Xisuma doesn't answer. He's staring, unmoving, at the aforementioned exit, the small bit of void that acted as their "wrinkle" or something. Grian impatiently waves a hand in front of his face. "Hello? X?"

Xisuma turns to him slowly. Despite the metal shielding his entire face, Grian can faintly see his wide eyes behind the pink-tinted glass and all of his frills stood on edge. "I...I didn't," he says, an air of bewilderment making his voice pitch upwards at the end.

"Didn't what?"

"I didn't open up the door for him," Xisuma clarifies quietly, turning back to stare at where Tommy left. Grian suddenly does, too. "He...he shifted the void by himself."

Grian finds Tommy standing at the Boatem Hole.

He's not going to lie (mostly because its so obvious that it wouldn't do him much good), the sound that leaves his mouth when he realises is entirely birdlike, and there's only a small part of him that feels guilt when he sees Tommy's red and white wings fluff up as he instinctively takes a step back from the edge. He throws his gaze behind him and his expression quickly shifts into a scowl—it doesn't do much to deter Grian, as he has to quickly turn back around and scrub at his eyes before the man actually reaches him.

"F*ck off," Tommy snaps with absolutely no heat behind it. He sounds on the verge of tears again, and Grian is nothing if not a bit weak to his own emotions, so he pulls Tommy by the shoulder (away from the Boatem Hole) and engulfs him in a hug.

It's nothing like the awkward one from five days ago, the one Tommy could barely begin to understand—Grian almost doesn't want to embarrass Tommy in his own mind by describing what he feels as pity, but Channel above, the kid practically cries himself to silent pieces into his jumper. It's a bit concerning how little sound actually leaves him, but silent criers are a thing, so it's not like it's a signal of anything bad. Tommy's nails, bitten to the beds as they are, try to find purchase in and next to Grian's wings, but before he can do anything close to painful, he spreads them out and also uses them in the hug.

"I'm...really sorry, Tommy," he says after a bit, voice softening when he feels Tommy stiffen. "You seemed to be good friends. I wish I could help."

There's a pause before Tommy speaks, and when he does it sounds like he's forced all of the thickness out of his voice despite him still having his eyes buried into Grian's shoulder. "I just—" He takes in a deep breath, letting it out in a loud exhale before abruptly pulling away. Grian lets him, obviously, but he watches with concern as the kid scrubs at his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater, scrunching up his face and pulling in his eyebrows in an attempt to stop himself from crying. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"Tommy," Grian interrupts, forcing his hands down to his sides before he goes in for another hug. "What could you possibly be sorry for?"

"I don't—I don't f*ckin' know, man, I just..." He trails off, unceremoniously dropping himself into the grass and wrapping his arms around his legs, a stark mirror of the position he took during the aftermath of the End crystal incident. He looks frustrated with himself as he speaks into his knees, "I just want to go home."

Grian ignores the way that twists his heart—ignores how he wants to assure Tommy that he has a home right here, with him and the other Hermits, because that isn't what he needs—and lowers himself to the ground next to Tommy. "Tommy," he starts, hesitating as he tries to pick out the right words. "We talked about this earlier, didn't we? It's okay to miss  your home. It's your home."

"Yeah, but—" He throws up his arms. "It just feels so f*ckin' wrong to you guys! Because—I mean, you're all great! You're—you're all amazing, and I feel like an absolute d*ckhead for wanting to leave because I—I don't even know. I mean I miss my friends, obviously, but I could make more friends here, and you guys wouldn't—hurt me. Like on the Dream SMP." Tommy takes in a shaky breath, pulling his shoulders in on themselves as he tenses his entire body. "I just feel like an arse, I guess. You guys don't—I'm just homesick. You're all giving me a f*cking dream, and I'm homesick. It's f*cked up."

"It is not," Grian insists, slightly mortified at what Tommy is trying to insinuate. Part of him still wants to hug him, and part of him feels like tearing whoever it is that made him think this way into a dozen pieces. "You're—Channel, Tommy, you don't need to choose one or the other. You can still be homesick while enjoying your time here and...wanting to stay?"

He phrases the end more like a question, since Tommy never explicitly said that, but he ends up nodding anyways. "I do. I do want to stay. But I also—" He takes in another shuddering breath. "I thought I could purposely try to not think about home once I realised that this place was...different. But every time, I just remembered when I left and...it's not safe back there, anymore. And I guess I was hoping that nothing bad would've happened while I was gone, but I knew that that was impossible. A month can't pass on that server without...someone or another losing a life, but I didn't think he would've..."

Tommy's face twists up again, tears filling his eyes, and Grian does not even hesitate for a second before stretching out his wing and giving Tommy a side-hug. The kid lets out a watery laugh, giving himself a second to cry before pulling up his sweater and wiping at his eyes and mercilessly saying, "You've got a worse f*ckin' birdbrain than Phil does."

Grian, despite the circumstances, short-circuits. "What?"

"You're worse at hiding it than Wilbur, too," he continues, leaning on one hand propped up on his knee. He doesn't look the slightest bit embarrassed. There isn't much emotion on his face in general, aside from slight amusement, and Grian decides not to bring up the 'dead best friend' thing if Tommy is trying to distract himself. "You're just all-around more birdish, really. Towards me, which is a bit odd."

"I-I didn't you'd have noticed," Grian sulks, half of him wanting to pull away the wing for the bit and the other half thinking that that's the worst idea he's every conjured up. He succumbs to the second half. "And it isn't my fault, the only other avian on the server is False, and she lives all the way out in the woods with Gem. You know how bird instincts are."

There's a moment of contemplation before he lets out a breathy laugh. "I guess I do," he says, and Grian's eyes are glued to his wings as they twitch, just the tiniest bit. "I've sort of been sitting on this for a while—mostly because I was still holding out hope that I would get home before I started liking it here too much to stay, ha. But—I mean, I've already made stuff here—stuff that you don't know about—but if I make a house or something...something bigger...I don't...have to stay, right? Or if I do something—more permanent. If I can get back, I can still go back without accidentally being a d*ck, right?"

"Nobody's going to get upset at you for wanting to go back home," Grian says placatingly. "And besides." He lightly elbows Tommy in the arm, making him turn to look directly at the older man. "Nothing's stopping you from coming to visit."

Grian politely ignores how Tommy tears up again.

Scrubbing at his cheeks, Tommy lets out an audible sniff and presses the butt of his palms into his eyes, splaying out his hands and saying, "Okay, okay, okay," under his breath. He fully turns to Grian, takes in a deep breath, and says, "I think I want to fix my wings."

Grian blinks.

Tommy almost immediately panics and backtracks. "I-I mean, that's only if the offer still stands—I know that was a while ago, and I know it'll probably be a really difficult job, and, I mean you could just tell me how and I can manage it myself—"

"No, nonono," Grian speaks over him, not cutting him off until he raises his voice to a squeak. "You—I—" He clears his throat, hiding a pleased trill at the thought of those damn wings finally getting preened. "Of course I will. We can. I can. Do it, I mean. Fix them. Your—wings."

Tommy cracks a genuine smile. "Calm down, bossman, you look like you've just won the lottery."

Grian lets out an affronted squawk before he can even think about it. "We already have this conversation! Your wings look absolutely miserable, it isn't my fault that I'm happy to see them fixed."

"Yeah, yeah, Big G," Tommy says, waving his hand nonchalantly. "I get it. I'm just poking fun."

Grian huffs. "It's less poking and more stabbing, I think," he says, ignoring how his wing tugs Tommy slightly closer, completely independent of his own conscious thought. Channel above.

"It isn't my fault you're weak to knives," Tommy says, as if it made perfect sense.

"What?"

"You heard me," he replies, not a trace of a laugh in his voice as he leans on Grian's arm. Ah. Ah. Right—that made it worse. That made it about a billion times worse. He is not about to chirp in front of some kid he met a month ago, he is not. "You'll find out eventually. Just need to get my hands on some iron."

If Grian wasn't completely focused on trying to keep his hands firmly out of Tommy's wings, he would probably have a better reaction to being blatantly (jokingly) threatened. Unfortunately, he is, so all he can muster up is a slightly woozy, "Uh-huh."

Tommy snickers at him, staying silent for a few seconds before muttering, "F*ckin' bird people, I swear."

"You are literally an avian."

"'S not my fault you can't control your f*ckin bird-erisms."

"Birderisms?"

"You heard me."

Tommy will not chirp.

Tommy will not chirp. He won't. He hasn't since—Pogtopia, maybe? It might've slipped out during exile once or twice, but it wasn't long before he learned to smother his instincts—chirping would not bring Dream back any faster. It would do the opposite, so he just stopped doing it altogether. Dream would get pissed at him when he did in his presence, anyways—why, Tommy had and still has no clue, but it doesn't matter. He is not about to chirp in front of some guy he met a month ago, he is not.

Grian is fucking with his wings. He doesn't know what's going on back there, but he's well and aware that he definitely hasn't been preened by anyone else since Pogtopia, and it's—it's messing with his head. It's making him feel all fuzzy and shit, and while he can't say he doesn't enjoy it (because he does, and he enjoys the feeling that comes along with it, too—that weird, familial feeling that he and Wilbur always got while preening each other that made them sappy for ages afterwards), it certainly puts him a bit naturally on edge. The idea of being that level of relaxed in a mostly-foreign place is always going to innately make Tommy nervous—

Grian's hands move towards the base of his wings. Tommy chirps.

Fuck.

Except, apparently, when that happens. He almost forgot how sensitive wings were meant to be—it's sort of hard to figure out those sorts of nuances underneath pain, differentiating between sensitivity and a white-hot stab when something that was broken is shifted in a way that hurts. He honestly expected this to hurt, as sad as it sounds, but apparently phantom membrane is literally some sort of miracle substance because his wings—his wings don't hurt. It's genuinely been a over year since they didn't hurt. Prime.

He can distantly hear Grian snicker at him, but his head is still in the clouds, so he doesn't respond in any way besides grumbling pathetically.

"You are impressively quiet, Tommy," Grian muses, and while that does sort of make his heart lurch in a bad direction, that isn't Grian's fault. He ignores his mind trying to drag his thoughts back towards Dream, instead sitting up slightly more to show that he's listening. "I think a lot of other Hermits can tell you—actually, mostly Scar and Mumbo can tell you—that I still haven't wrangled the bird sounds."

"Yeah, well," Tommy sighs, leaning on one hand propped up on his knee. "You've sorta got to learn how to keep your mouth shut when you're, like, in a war and have to preen yourself.  Mostly not to bother other people, but other sh*t can easily alert—" He abruptly stops, rolling his eyes at himself. "I mean, there's that, and also the fact that my brother and I used to play this game to see who could last through a preening without peeping for the longest."

"Peeping?" Grian asks, amused. Tommy disguises another trill in a cough as he feels Grian shift a particularly unruly feather back into place. Shit, man, when did he stop feeling how much his wings itched all the time? "Not even chirping?"

"Nope," Tommy confirms. "We both could not chirp for fuckin' ages, but you had to use special tricks to get out a peep. Wilbur's wings are all tiny, so it was a lot easier for me than him."

"Sounds like fun," Grian says simply. Tommy hums in response.

"Yeah. It was." Tommy hesitates, the fog in his mind clearing before he says his next sentence recklessly. Grian told him it was fine to say, so he shouldn't be making him feel too bad. "...I miss him, I think. He was a d*ck sometimes, but...I thought we were getting better? Before I—left. I miss him."

Grian completely unabashedly coos, like, a proper bird coo, and while it would feel incredibly patronising coming from literally anyone else, Tommy knows he's genuinely sympathetic. He shudders at the feeling of fingers between his feathers, combing out the wing that was just finished. "Aw, Tommy. I'm sorry. Y-You know, I've been thinking—maybe you could do something to help with your homesickness? Like, do something to get out your feelings since you still seem sort of..." Grian pauses. "Uncomfortable. In sharing it with other people."

Tommy almost laughs at his reluctance to say what he did, but it's overpowered by his sudden curiosity. "What'd you have in mind, then?"

"Well," Grian starts, moving to Tommy's other wing. He suddenly remembers the shock of white feathers at the base of his wings, silently cheering that it wasn't brought up. Grian probably thinks its just part of the patterns on his wing, as he already has white lining the edges. "I was thinking—you know how some people keep journals or diaries?"

Tommy's mind immediately goes to Ranboo. He's quite sure he visibly wilts, but he pushes it out of his conscious thought for now and says, "Yeah?"

"Well, I was thinking—maybe you could basically do that, but sort of...directed at the people on your home server? Like letters, or something."

Tommy blinks. "Letters."

"Yeah! I mean, people do things like that—you could write a letter addressed to the people on the Dream SMP and then...I dunno, toss them into the Boatem Hole?"

"D'you think they'd actually go through?" Tommy suddenly asks, almost turning around to look at Grian.

Grian shrugs. "No idea. I mean, people die in the void because of suffocation, but a letter can't suffocate, so...maybe? It'd be weird if the Boatem Hole worked as a two-way portal, though, so—"

"Big G," Tommy interrupts, digging through his inventory before summoning a book and quill in his hand.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and let me write."

Grian simply cackles at him before sighing and going back to preening his wings.

to the dream smp,

HELLO BIG MEN AND OR WOMEN AND OR OTHERS

hold your aplause, i know, i know. ive been gone for fucking AGES, the server is probably destroyed by now without me. i mean, ranboos fuckin dead so youre basically on your way there arent you??

sorry. that was mean. i am going to cross all of that out and start over now.

i am on a shit server called hermitcraft. there are a lot of people here, most of whom are absolutely fucking batshit. the server admin coded it so that I CANT SWEAR. can you believe that??? i cant swear out loud, its so shit, the server admins name is isuma xisuma and he is a wrongen.

i live with big man grian in this weird town, holy FUCK everything here is huge. seriously though its absolutely fucking mental. the people in the town have these giant fucking hourglasses that they put their diamonds in. DIAMONDS. and theyre like TWENTY METRES TALL. theres someone here with a PALACE and a facotry and like three different people MADE THE MOUNTAINS??? you know how big q made the desert las nevadas is in. its like that but actually impressive.

everyone here is really nice, which is really weird. im safe, in case anyone was fuckin' wondering. i know that dream is out of prison now, and i promise i got here by COMPLETE accident, seriously. i fell through a hole and i was just...here. it was weird. everything about this is WEIRD

its really hard to write right now because im getting my wings preened and my entire body feels like fuckin sand but i promise ill write another one of these later, ok? dont forget about me haha

- BIG MAN TOMMY INNIT

Grian squints at the paper. "Is that much swearing really necessary—"

"Shut up, man."

Chapter Text

Perhaps being afraid of heights as an avian is something to be ashamed of.

In Tommy's defense, he barely counted as one when he developed the fear. It's not like the option of simply stopping his fall by opening his wings was present during exile—even before his wings were broken, Dream would have gotten pissed at him for even trying.

So even if the ground below him comically dolly zooms as he stares with wide eyes, knuckles white as his fists are painfully dug into Grian's jumper, Tommy refuses to be ashamed. And in any case, it's Grian's fault for trying to start him off on a mountain instead of, like, a roof, but Tommy will be damned before he asks to start any lower. It has nothing to do with anything besides a completely normal amount of embarrassment at not knowing how to do something he should have known how to do by age six.

Still. His teeth are chattering—despite him having his sweater on, he tries to convince himself that it's due to the cold, thin air and not the terror that grips his throat as he roots himself into the ground.

His hand shifts and Grian suddenly chokes. "Tommy—Tommy, my jumper—"

Tommy spares a glance towards him and sees the collar of Grian's jumper digging into his throat, so Tommy lets his grip loosen just a bit. Grian lets out a breathy laugh, putting a hand on Tommy's shoulder and trying to coax the kid's nails out of the fabric of his top. "You were never this scared when you were living up here."

"That's because I was never expected to jump off the damn cliffside," Tommy snaps, his grip tightening again. "Didn't have some b*tch trying to get me killed—"

"Tommy, we are jumping together," Grian says, again unsuccessfully trying to pry Tommy's fingers out of his jumper. "Even if you don't manage to propel yourself, I'll be there to catch you."

Tommy squints at him suspiciously. "You couldn't carry me. You're not a large enough man."

Grian splutters throughout his laughter. "You—what?"

"You're shorter than me," Tommy says bluntly, purposely being daft so he can stall just a little longer.

Grian outright laughs at him. "Tommy, you have hollow bones."

"So do you, b*tch—"

"Yeah, but I have muscle," Grian interrupts. "Something you are severely lacking. Now come on—"

Grian starts to pull them both over the edge, and of course, Tommy instantly lets go of him and falls backwards on his ass, scrambling away from the edge and pointing at Grian with a, "No, f*ck you, I am not jumping off this f*cking cliff."

Grian turns to stare at him. "This was your idea."

Tommy's laugh is high-pitched and wheezy. "My idea was to learn to fly, not to jump off a f*cking mountain!"

Grian shrugs. "Best way to learn is experience," he says nonchalantly. "Unless—I mean, we can move to a lower part of the mountain—"

"No!"

"Then get up—" Grian walks over to him and reaches out his hand. Tommy begrudgingly grabs it and allows himself to be hoisted to his feet. "And let me show you how this works."

Tommy wrinkles his nose as Grian puts a hand on his back, considerately placing his hand above his wings as he's moved back to the edge. Tommy's hand finds its way back to Grian's jumper, but he allows Grian to actually speak and explain everything this time.

"All you need to do," he starts, "Is spread out your wings like you know how to do already. Catch the air in your wings, focus on staying in the air as long as possible and having enough height to comfortably flap them to propel yourself upwards."

"Grian, what you've essentially said here is 'just fly,'" Tommy snarks, trying very hard not to stare at the ground miles away from him.

Grian lets out a huff. "Excuse me for not being the greatest at this. I told you this before, the only other avian I know is False, and I obviously don't need to teach her how to fly. It should come naturally, Tom, you just have to try."

Tommy stares at the ground, in spite of his better judgement. Okay, fine—maybe he knows how to glide. Maybe Grian will hold him and make sure he doesn't plummet like a stone. Maybe he would respawn unhurt even if he did die. But Tommy is still terrified—he just is.

He shifts his grip to Grian's arm, takes in a deep breath, twists his eyes shut, and shrieks, "Onetwothree go!"

He jumps off the cliff, Grian letting out a startled squawk as he's pulled along with basically no warning.

They plummet before the both of them open their wings in nigh tandem, Tommy screaming and thrashing as if he's in any actual danger all the while.

It takes an, in Tommy's opinion, morbidly embarrassing amount of tries for him to manage to create lift, and an even longer time for him to do the same thing without clinging to Grian like a child, but he manages it. Tommy flies for the first time in...almost two years? He gets tired quickly, his back and wings ache, but it all feels right. Grian practically does loop-de-loops in the air, whooping and cheering once Tommy is able to maintain himself in the air, arms spread out as he tries to maintain his balance.

Grian then proceeds to crash into him (he's moving too fast and Tommy is moving far too slow), and they both end up knocking each other out of the sky and crash landing on one of Pearl's many roofs, narrowly avoiding getting skewered on a sharp peak and bursting into laughter from pure adrenaline.

Tommy, in his opinion, simply couldn't be happier.

Grian does not necessarily dread Boatem meetings, but they certainly are a hassle to plan. He doesn't remember who set the precedent that every single meeting needed to have some silly twist to it (certainly, it wasn't him), but it's really starting to grind his gears, especially considering how he feels as if he needs to make something new for every single meeting. He doesn't know what possessed him to use shulker boxes for a meeting, but it feels as if he blinked and Zedaph was waving him goodbye after helping him set up a death contraption.

All of the members of Boatem stand just out of range of the shulkers, and when Grian turns back with a devilish grin and asks, "Ready?" he's met with the appropriate amount of reproach.

"You've really outdone yourself here, Grian," Impulse laughs, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks up at the stretching tower that goes up to around the build limit. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

There's mumbled discontent from the rest of them, but for Grian, one is more than enough—he takes a few steps forward and is promptly smacked in the shoulder by one of the bullets. The rising effect makes his stomach drop, and he watches with glee as all of the other Boatem members similarly get lifted up into the sky. Grian spreads out his wings so the rest of them can catch up to him, and their meeting commences.

Pearl lounges upside-down, hair spread through the air as she defies gravity and asks, "So, what's this meeting about, again?"

"Well," Scar begins. "I think Mumbo is supposed to go over earnings or something like that, since he's our delightful CEO. And then we're supposed to bring up whatever we want to bring up after that."

"Right, but nobody cares about our quarterly earnings," Impulse says with a smile, still trying to balance himself midair. "No offence, Mumbo."

"None taken at all," Mumbo says, waving his hand. "I didn't want to talk about them either."

Grian and the rest of the laugh as they all get clocked in various parts of their body by another shulker bullet. "I think what we really want to talk about is—"

"Tommy's flying!" Scar interrupts, throwing both of his hands in the air with enough force to make him spin backwards in a circle.

"Tommy's flying," Impulse agrees, a grin still present on his face. "All thanks to Grian—"

He gestures at Grian and starts to clap, the other three members also politely clapping as Grian bows in the air. "Thank you, thank you."

"—who would really love to give us an update on the Tommy situation right about now!" Impulse continues cheerily, and the way Grian freezes is absolutely comical.

Pearl outright laughs at him. "You've really enjoyed keeping us in the dark about him, haven't you?" Before Grian has a chance to defend himself, she crosses her arms (still upside-down, mind you) and teases, "Wanted to momma bird over him in peace?"

Grian doesn't really get embarrassed often (it's a trait he curated out of himself ages ago, honestly), but that, in front of the entirety of Boatem, makes his face go a furious shade of scarlet. "Wh—what—"

Scar claps his hands together gleefully, tilting them to the side in tandem with his head. "Aw, Grian. You don't have to be embarrassed, we know how instincts can be—"

"I am not embarrassed!" Grian shouts, trying to force the redness out of his cheeks. "And I do not mother bird over Tommy—where did you even get that from?!"

"You did teach him to fly," Mumbo says, as if that means anything at all—which is doesn't. "That's pretty mother birdish of you, if we're being honest."

"He already knew how to fly, his wings were just broken!"

"You did reteach him to fly," Impulse says with an impish grin.

Grian plants his face firmly in his hands. "Insufferable," he says, voice muffled. "You're all absolutely insufferable."

"We try," Pearl snickers. "Now, if you'll please give us that update..."

Grian hesitates, the smile freezing on his face as he realises exactly what such an update would entail. His wings shift uncomfortably as he clears his throat and takes a deep breath, slowly saying, "W-Well. We found out a couple of things about Tommy's home server thanks to X. He—ow—"

They get hit with another shulker bullet. Grian scowls and shakes it off. "Right, he showed us...basically a bunch of missing posters for his entire server. Including him. And the server admin. And a bunch of people he saw just before leaving, which I guess means that the entire server is just..." He opens his hands and half-shrugs. "Off the grid?"

Impulse laughs nervously. "That doesn't really happen, though—"

"Unless a server is half destroyed," Mumbo interrupts, "Or if the admin is clever and knows his stuff about coding."

"Or if—" Pearl starts, hesitating and glancing at Grian. "Or if—if there's a glitch? Maybe?"

"That's what I originally thought," Grian admits, crossing his legs as they continue to ascend. The air is beginning to get thin—it doesn't really bother him, due to his nature, and it led him to forget that for everyone else, this meeting is on a time limit. "But something about the dates all seemed to make sense. Like, a few of them all apparently went missing on the same day, and those were all the people that were listed to have been on the server before disappearing. Everyone else seemed to go missing sometime after that, and in clusters." He crosses his arms, too, squeezing his frame due to the cold. "I went back to look after I dealt with Tommy. He...didn't react very well. Especially since one of his friends was said to be...to have passed away."

The immediate tonal shift is so sudden it almost shocks Grian—Mumbo looks nothing but shocked while Scar and Impulse just seem sad. Pearl is hard to read as always, but she visibly winces at the last part, wings fluttering with apparent nervousness.

"Wow," Scar breathes. "That's...wow. That kid is crazy." He shakes his head, a disbelieving smile appearing on his face. "I think I'd genuinely lose my mind if I got told I was living on a busted server and one of my friends died as soon as I left. Man."

"He took it way better than I thought he would, if I'm honest," Grian emphasizes. "Like, once it registered to me, I was sort of like, 'Oh God, Tommy's gonna be torn to bits about this,' but when I found him..." He takes in a breath and sighs heavily, shoulders sagging. "He was upset, but he just seemed used to it. And he—he blamed himself for wanting to go back. To his home server, I mean."

Impulse groans and leans back so far he loses his balance and makes a vaguely violent motion with his hands after steadying himself. "God, sometimes I feel like shaking him by the shoulders and telling him to stop apologising." He releases his hands from their tense position and insists, "He does that with everyone, right? He apologises for breathing wrong!"

"No, yeah, he does it with me, too," Mumbo assures, crossing his arms. Grian could almost laugh at how he seems to be standing midair, not bending his legs past a few degrees. "I think he apologised for looking a bit bored while I was going on about some redstone thing or another." He laughs, then cuts it off himself. "You lot do that almost every time I talk about my contraptions. I think I went into shock."

"But he isn't doing it as much as he did when he first showed up," Scar placates. "I mean, the fact that he's having normal conversations with any of us at all is already improvement."

"Especially since our...us-ness—Hermit-ness?—seems to brush up really badly against his...you know." Pearl makes some vague motion with her hands. "His issues."

"I felt so bad after that thing with the end crystal," Impulse gripes, putting his face in his hands. Mumbo's shoulders also hike up at the mention. "He looked so upset, and then it was just so awkward when we apologised."

"If it's any consolation, he doesn't blame you or anything," Grian says. "We talked about it and he gets that it's just our way of pranking each other."

"I hope you didn't tell him to get over it or something," Impulse says, holding up a finger towards Grian. "I am never doing that again if it's gonna freak him out so bad."

Grian looks nothing but affronted. "Of course I—" Another shulker bullet, the last one. "—I didn't tell him to 'just get over it,' Impulse, who do you think I am?"

Impulse raises his hands in surrender as Pearl sighs. "Look—all we can do is keep doing what we're already doing. I know we're trying to get him back home or whatever—actually, are we still doing that?" Grian shrugs and Pearl waves her hands around. "Whatever. We just need to keep helping him feel...safe here, I guess. Even if he's going to leave." Pearl crosses her arms and shakes her head slightly. "'Cause no matter now annoying that kid is, I don't want to add onto whatever happened to him on his home server. It feels like kicking a puppy."

"A puppy that barks very loud," Mumbo adds, hand to his chin and more muttering to himself than anyone else. "And bites you. And then feels bad about it afterwards?"

There is a silence as Mumbo looks up and around at everyone looking at him, only broken by Scar coughing, wheezing in an inhale, and saying, "Cool—can we please go down now?"

Grian shrugs. "'S not up to me. That's for our CEO to decide."

Mumbo rolls his eyes. "We're already at the top. We've just got to wait to drop."

"Wait—" Scar says, eyes widening. "Didn't you make us put our elytra in the chests down there?"

Grian grins, says nothing, and waves as the levitation effect ends and Impulse, Scar, and Mumbo drop like stones, shrieking all the way down as Pearl and Grian simply meet eyes and flap their wings to stay in place.

"Fancy seeing you here," Grian says, crossing his legs midair as if he's sitting on a throne.

Pearl huffs. "You are ridiculous."

"I prefer the term eccentric."

"You think you could drop all the way into the Boatem Hole from here?"

Grian scoffs, feeling the three communicator pings as the rest of Boatem hits the ground and dies. "Easily."

"I'll race you."

And with that, Pearl folds up her wings and starts to plummet, Grian squawking in surprise before turning midair to divebomb headfirst back towards the ground, only losing by a few inches because Pearl masterfully stuck out her leg and kicked Grian in the shin as soon as he got too close.

The void swallows them both, and Grian respawns safely in his house.

The past few days have been some of Tommy's best.

It's weird, when it registers—the idea that one of the best weeks of his life was spent talking to relative strangers and relearning something he should already know. There's a bittersweet feeling to it, knowing that he missed out on so much just because of one person, that makes any attempt to bask in the pure joy that flying gives him tainted with a tang that oftentimes makes him scowl.

He can't say it's all bad, though—the sky and him feel like old friends, and whenever he's dozens of metres in the air, high above it all and confident that he won't get shot down or fall, the breath is knocked out of his lungs by the sheer beauty of it all. If Hermitcraft was breathtaking from the ground, it's even better from the sky. The bird's eye view of all these sprawling mega-giant-superbases or whatever just shows the scale of it all, how even the prison was a shack in comparison to the size of some of these builds. The mansion Ranboo and Tubbo commissioned from Foolish? Grian showed him a save of the mansion he built about a year ago (travelling through servers was a weird experience he doesn't exactly want to recall), and even though the back wasn't done, it made Foolish's look painfully out-of-date.

Still, he thinks Foolish and Sam would enjoy being on Hermitcraft. Tubbo too—not because he's the best at building, but he seems exactly the type to match energy with so many of the Hermits that Tommy himself is matching with—Gem, Scar, Impulse, and Doc all seem like people Tubbo would really enjoy hanging out with. They're all in a similar vein of nerdiness, especially Scar and Doc.

Honestly, a lot of the folks on the Dream SMP would probably get along well with the Hermits. It's crossed his mind more than once how much Fundy would probably lose it over the redstone that goes on here, and he thinks Wilbur would probably like Grian in that weird, sort of rivalish banter kind of way. Phil would probably enjoy meeting Grian, too, if only because meeting another avian would probably make him petty happy (and because they're both some of the best fliers Tommy has ever seen, as much as he hates to admit it, and sort of wants to see how they'd fare in a race against each other). Techno never particularly strikes Tommy as someone that would get along with any one type of person—he'd probably enjoy talking to the other hermit Hermits, like Etho and TFC (neither of whom has he ever spoken to—he's simply heard of them, or seen them over comms), since they could bond over living thousands of blocks away from everyone else for no good reason.

His mind lands on Ranboo despite himself, and he only manages to think that he and Bdubs have the same dynamic as him and Tubbo before realising and feeling his entire body sag.The air around him seems to get just that much colder, and his jaw sets in a way that makes the inside of his mouth hurt. He's not thinking about this right now. He doesn't want to think about it at all.

He stops in mid-air abruptly, scanning the aerial view of Boatem for literally anything to take his attention away. He's already exhausted most of his friends—most of the Hermits, he means, outside of Boatem (the Big Eye Crew felt his pure energy earlier in the day, namely Tango having to deal with him perching on all the roofs and breaking into the stores from the topside, and then Gem managed to jump a clean three feet straight up, grab him by the ankle and literally pull him out of the sky when his wing beats uprooted a few flowers), and he eyes up the mountain he was already heading towards. He sees the smallest of figures standing straight in front of some of the houses, back turned to the rest of Boatem—and Tommy.

He flies straight up to gain height, tucks his wings behind his back, and nosedives straight for the poor, poor frame of Mumbo Jumbo.

Naturally, when he gets close enough to the man and shrieks "Hello, Mumbo" at the top of his lungs, Mumbo screams, and Tommy crashes into the grass painfully.

He doesn't get up, instead groaning as he tries to get the taste of earth out of his mouth and Mumbo tries to force his heart back into his chest, sounding as if Tommy really scared the life out of him. It only lasts for a while, though, and then Mumbo tentatively asks, "Are you...okay?"

Tommy rolls over onto his back, body aching. "No."

"Oh—"

"This is your fault," Tommy interrupts, closing his eyes. "You've killed me, Mumbo Yumbo."

"Oh, dear," Mumbo says, almost sounding genuinely concerned as he walks up to Tommy's side, if not for the wavering laugh in his tone and the smile Tommy sees when he cracks open his eyes. "I suppose you're siphoning off your life energy into my lawn, then?"

"Huh?"

Mumbo nudges him with his foot. "You're making my grass all tall and it's such a pain to cut."

Tommy immediately sits up, turning around and almost laughing at how his body makes a visible silhouette in the now egregiously tall grass. Tommy grins, makes direct eye contact with Mumbo, and starts doing it on purpose. "I am so sorry," he says emphatically. "I can't control myself. Here—" He digs into the grass and reemerges his hand with a stem of buttercups. "A token of my flavour."

Mumbo gingerly takes the plant, turning it over in his hand and staring at it as if it was magic—technically, it is, but it isn't really. It's just growing what was already there. Deep underground, in practically microscopic form, but it was still there. "Uh...don't you mean 'a token of my favour?'"

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Not even a 'thank you,' Mumbo Yumbo? A grow you an entire flower and I don't even get a thanks?"

"You expect me to thank you for an apology gift?"

"Yes," Tommy deadpans, still making the grass in a decently wide radius grow while staring Mumbo dead in the eyes. The man sighs.

"Thank you, Tommy. Don't you mean 'favour?'"

"No, Mumbo Yumbo, I do not," Tommy says through a dramatic sigh, leaning back into the grass as if this train of questioning is idiotic and Mumbo should already know this. "I mean 'flavour.' It's edible. You should eat the flowers."

Mumbo stares at him. Tommy stares back. Mumbo's eyes flick to the flowers, then back to Tommy, then back to the flowers, and he slowly starts moving his hand towards his mouth before Tommy starts shrieking, "Nonono, you moron—"

He practically jumps from the grass and snatches the flowers out of Mumbo's hand, startling the man into laughter but also into stumbling backwards and almost off the mountain. "What? You told me to eat it!"

"These are—" Tommy takes in a breath, rubbing his temples before shaking the flowers in front of Mumbo's face. "Lesson time! These are buttercups. They are poisonous. I know death doesn't matter on this server, but instead of dying, you will have a horrible fever and probably get paralyzed or something. You shouldn't even—" Tommy sighs, closing his fist fully around the plant, crumpling it up, and tossing it back into the jungle-like grass. "Nevermind. You are an idiot."

"I didn't expect you to try and kill me!"

Tommy snorts. "I can't help but feel like that sounds like a you-problem."

Mumbo gapes at him, mustache twitching (not really), blood red eyes rapidly blinking before he shakes his head and huffs. "You are something else, mate."

"Mate?" Tommy suddenly repeats, stepping up to Mumbo's side and taking his hand. "You know, Mumbo—"

"Oh boy."

"—my father calls me mate. Did you know that?"

Mumbo looks mildly terrified with one of his body parts being within Tommy's grip. "...no? Wh-Who's your father, then?"

Tommy grins. "Philza Minecraft."

"What?"

"He also calls me other things," Tommy steamrolls on. "Like 'little sh*t' and 'gremlin child.' You are like a father to me, Mumbo Jumbo, have I ever told you that?"

Mumbo splutters out a laugh, using his free hand to press to his mouth and muffle his cackling. "Wh-wh-what? Wh—what?"

"Yes," Tommy says seriously, his voice mocking the violent posh-ness of Mumbo's own tone. "You're the closest thing I have to a father on this garbage server. You're the dad, Grian's the brother that bullies me, Pearl is the wine aunt—"

He gets cut off by Mumbo actually throwing his head back to laugh at that and, unable to smother his own smile, Tommy's own laughter begins to cut through his own words. "Scar's the uncle that sneaks you drugs—"

"What?"

"—and then makes you pay for them, and Impulse is like the cool uncle that sneaks you out to get ice cream when the parents are fighting."

"What—what are you even talking about anymore?" Mumbo says, practically folding over himself and having to balance himself with a hand on his knee. "Wh—who would I even be arguing with?"

Tommy makes a non-committal 'I-don't-know' noise, letting go of Mumbo's hand and crossing his arms with a shrug. "Mums are for d*ckheads. Actually, wait." He walks up to the edge of the mountain and points at the giant, very alive tree with the van in its grip, Mumbo following him (but saying away from the edge by a fair amount) to look as he says, "The mum can be Treesa."

Mumbo just stares. "You are ridiculous."

"I prefer the term ingenious, thank you."

"You've just given me work," Mumbo complains, gesturing back at his grass. It looks like the lawn surrounding an abandoned house—unkempt, wild, and perfectly natural, in Tommy's humble opinion. But alas, if the man wants to cut it, he'll cut it.

Tommy gives him a two-fingered salute. "Then I'll leave you to it, dad."

Mumbo looks genuinely mortified. A look of realisation dawns on my face. "Did you just make me mow my lawn so you could call me—"

"Bye, Mumbo!" Tommy cuts him off, bending his knees and taking off from the edge of the mountain with a little less of a falter than usual. He glances back at Mumbo from a distance, sees him shake his head and take a hoe out of his inventory, and he flies away with a ridiculously large grin on his face.

Chapter Text

"We've been staring at this table for, like, an hour, Grian," Tommy moans. "We've figured everything out. There's nothing left to see."

"Correction:" Grian starts, not even looking up from his page. He knows exactly the table Tommy is talking about—a mockup of all the dates the members of the Dream SMP joined and went missing that Grian and Tommy worked together to make a while after everything was...discovered. "You've been staring at the table for an hour. I've been researching."

Tommy only slouches further into his seat. "You're reading, don't make it sound cool. My eyes hurt and I am bored."

"Your eyes hurt?" Grian asks incredulously. "You're not the one that has glasses. And I have a headache from trying to focus, here, so maybe—"

"Look, Grian, I don't even know what we're doing in here. We know how its possible for the server to be busted already." Tommy starts counting off on his fingers. "Admin's a b*tch and coded it that way, server itself is broken, or gods 'n' magic 'n' stuff. We figured this out on the same day of us finding out about the issue."

"Yes, exactly," Grian snipes. "You're meant to be looking up how an admin would be able to do that and how to fix it."

"And what are you doing?"

"I'm looking up the 'gods 'n' magic 'n' stuff,' Tommy," Grian replies within a sigh. Tommy groans obnoxiously.

"Right, you gave me the boring one—"

"Tommy, you can look up the magic stuff if you want, just do something."

Tommy mutters a quiet 'mimimi' under his breath, but he does slide from his seat and disappear around the corner and into the depths of the castle library, grumbling all the way out until the sound is swallowed by the crackling of torches and Grian's inner voice as he goes back to reading the page he left off on.

...to interact with servers from an almost metaphysical, completely detached standpoint. While we interact with servers as if they are separate, isolated bubbles in the Incipisphere, cut apart by the Void, gods and those in touch with the Void see reality more like a honeycomb, with each server being an individual cell in one confined space, viewing it from the outside and therefore, in the case of those in touch with the Void, being able to interact with those dividing barriers and cut through them, create pockets inside of them, or bypass them entirely. Gods, unlike Voidwalkers, hold the honeycomb within their palm and can manipulate their sectors of it at will, whether that be servers specifically, the Void, or certain pieces of reality as a whole.

Different gods (and Voidwalkers, which are separate and endlessly unique in their talents but similar in their methods of perception) typically hold jurisdiction over different things. Lady Death, for example, holds power over a plethora of different things; as there is no god in control of life and the creation of it at the time of the writing of this book, Lady Death not only watches over all things relating to death and the Void, She also oversees the lack of death—i.e., life—to make up for the absence of a god of life. These such combinations are not necessarily common, but they—

"You look like you're having fun."

Grian shrieks—he completely and unabashedly shrieks, almost falling on his ass from his chair before managing to steady himself by flaring out his wings just in time. He lets out a breath and glares at the culprit, who regards him with little emotion aside from mild amusement.

Cleo shifts the bag of materials she has slung over her shoulder, standing over Grian with her brightly coloured workout outfit and the sickening scent of rotten flowers that always accompanies her (a long-lasting attempt to mask the smell of literally being an undead construct—Grian won't lie and say it didn't used to make him gag a little bit, but he'd take it over the actual smell of rotten flesh in a heartbeat).

"You gave me a heart attack," he mumbles holding a hand to his chest. Cleo rolls her eyes and smiles slightly.

"You just weren't paying attention," she bites back. "It's not like I snuck into the room. You were just too absorbed by..." She leans over and lifts up the cover of the book he's reading, Grian scoffing in mock offense when he has to lean out of the way. "Di Immortales!: Gods and Other Beings, for Dummies. By E.W. Licious."

"Why did you read it with so much distaste?" Grian says among his laughs, face gone just a bit red as Cleo picks him apart with her eyes.

"Because you're reading a For Dummies book in a library," she practically spits, obviously finding it hilarious. "You know there's better informational books in here, right?"

Grian groans, ignoring how something in his brain points out how much he sounds like Tommy when he complains, "Yeah, I tried that, but I've got to read the page nine times to actually understand anything, and then I've gotta read it another nine times because it's just so boring that I forget."

Cleo snorts. "Sounds like a real issue you're having. Is Tommy here?"

"He just left to get more books. I don't..." He squints into the distance. "I don't actually know how long he's been gone. I think he might've just left me here."

Cleo pats him on the shoulder. "I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. Or not." She shrugs. "The kid got lost on his way to Gem's once and I found him underneath the floorboards three hours after I saw him walk into the castle."

Grian stares. "What?"

Cleo waves her hand dismissively. "Not important. I'm just saying—he knows how to disappear. You should take notes and write down anything you find that's important so you can tell him later, since he's probably not going show up."

Another groan. Grian slinks back into his chair and puts his face in his hands. "You're probably right."

"Have fun, then," Cleo says, completely uncaring about his plight. She shoulders the bag of whatever-it-is she's holding and says, "I've got to put this stuff away."

"Bye," Grian says miserably, muffled by his hands.

Cleo doesn't even dignify him with a response. He just hears a door in the distance open and slam shut, the sound reverberating around the library and startling Grian into the realisation that such a loud noise would have startled him out of his reading—which means Tommy never left the library. He stares into the distance, noticing how the library just seems to go on, and he tentatively calls out Tommy's name and doesn't exactly expect a reply.

It's weird, but it's also Hermitcraft weird—he's sure Tommy's fine.

This library is huge.

Tommy has seen his fair share of libraries in his life—sure, Ghostbur's little hole was more of an archive, but it had a decent amount of files, and Karl's library in Kinoko is big, but this is just ridiculous. He doesn't know how the books are sorted, and he feels like he's been walking through rows and rows of books for a longer amount of time than it would take to talk from one end of the castle to another. And he's just in one room.

He abruptly turns and examines the shelf next to him—the tomes aren't particularly large, but they're well-worn, definitely having been read over and over by different people. Which is weird, since this library technically was constructed in the past couple of months.

He squints and lays his finger across the spines of some of the books. The Shadow in the Mist. Marked for Vice. A Whisper of Iron. This Empty House. They seem like shitty crime novels that Ranboo would be so into all the time, which immediately makes Tommy turn on his heel and keep walking forward. He can see the end of this row in the far, far distance, and he decides halfway through that he'll be turning right once he gets there. He's finding these books out of spite at this point, magical library be damned.

Only, he makes it to that junction, and gets the shit scared out of him by a man with bright green hair that makes his heart stop for half a second before he realises that it's hair and not a sweater, and then he's holding his hand to his chest and half-screeching, "Prime a-f*cking-bove—you scared the sh*t out of me, man."

The man blinks, then looks apologetic. "Oh, moon boy! Sorry for frightenin' you, I forget myself sometimes."

Tommy squints, a frown tugging at his lips. The man is shorter than him by a few inches, his hair almost completely a vibrant lime green with brown roots growing out. He has a blue shirt with an '@' symbol, a frankly terrifying amount of facial hair, and glasses that flicker in tandem with the torchlight above them. He does genuinely look apologetic, so Tommy just huffs out a sigh and says, "I have a name."

"Lunar lad?"

Tommy blinks. "Wh—no?"

"Artemis' apprentice?"

"What?" Tommy asks, wrinkling his nose before a sudden realisation dawns upon his face. "Oh, Prime. You're like Techno."

"Excuse me?" the man asks, a weird twang to his voice that makes Tommy cross his arms.

"You're a Greek mythos nerd," Tommy says, as if it's an insult.

The man laughs, a wide smile growing on his face. He puts a hand to his own chest and chuckles, "I'm an everything nerd, orbiting offspring." He fans his face as if it really was a funny notion. "Everything ever."

Tommy stares. "Are you the librarian or something?"

The man laughs again. "No, I'm just a frequent visitor. Of the library and its owner."

"You know Cleo?" Tommy asks, utterly baffled at the idea of the woman having a friend that seems so nice. Don't get him wrong, she doesn't seem mean, she's just...a bit prickly. Dry humour, sarcastic, relentlessly teased Tommy after finding him hidden in some weird dungeon area he found under a trapdoor that he got lost in—honestly, she reminds him of Tubbo. This guy seems like the kind of person that would just get on her nerves—and then he remembers something. A friend she always fondly complains about that Tommy never bothered to ask for the description of. "Wait—are you Joe?"

The man smiles and holds his hand out to shake. "Yep! Howdy there, planetary preteen."

Tommy scowls deeply. "Howdy-z nuts. Joe Mama. F*ck you."

Joe laughs in a way that sounds eerily familiar—the kind of laugh that Techno would give him while bugging him, the "I could kill you in a heartbeat but I'm too endeared" kind of laugh, so Tommy shuffles backwards but still maintains his pout.

"You're pretty deep in the library for your first time here," Joe notes, which Tommy finds completely unnecessary. He looks around and sees the endless rows of shelves and thinks, yeah, no shit. "I'm guessing you're looking for something specific?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would, indeed!" Joe says, nothing but bright. He puts his hand on Tommy's shoulder and leans down to talk into his ear—which is weird, since he was pretty sure Joe was shorter than him. "You asked if I was the librarian, see. I know my way around these parts better than Cleo."

"What are 'these' parts?" Tommy asks, pushing Joe away with an ever-present confusion.

Joe just hums, straightening and starting to walk past Tommy and to the left of the corridor he originally came out of. "I think the section on immortals is down this way...might be wrong, though. I tend to avoid that area, too much embarrassing stuff I might accidentally come across."

Tommy blinks. "What the hell does that even mean?"

Joe doesn't stop walking, so he just calls back, "It's embarrassing, nebular nipper!"

"What the f*ck is a nipper?" Tommy mutters to himself, but he still runs to catch up with Joe before he turns into any of the rows. "How did you know I was looking up stuff on gods 'n' sh*t?"

"So you are looking up immortals?"

"Wh—yes, you literally just said—"

"I don't think you're only looking for gods, though," Joe interrupts, scanning the corridors of library shelves as if he can tell what's in them just by sparing them a short glance. He seems to be looking at the papers taped to each of the shelves, where the alphabetical range of the authors' last names would be printed, except Tommy is pretty sure these are written in enchanting and have too much text on them that's too small to read from even a normal distance. Nevertheless, Joe Hills continues humming to himself and shaking his head, mumbling, "No, not just gods at all. You're looking for a couple of things here, I think."

"What are you—"

"Servers, probably?" Joe guesses, turning to Tommy slightly for confirmation. "Magical effects on the fabrication of servers down to their very core?"

Tommy gapes, probably looking a bit like a goldfish but not really caring. Seriously, what is up with this guy? He knew people on this server were weird (from his friends list only, there's a cyborg creeper, an avian, a temperamental Netherborne, a magical woman with butterfly wings, and a man covered in moss with eyes so wide and unblinking Tommy would swear that he doesn't have eyelids if not for how obsessed he was with sleeping), but outside of Tango and Pearl, he hadn't encountered magical weird. And those seemed to be deep-rooted, important/traumatic things—this guy feels like he's just being quirky for the hell of it, and Tommy simply isn't having it. Especially when it includes peering into his brain or reading his mind or whatever—he's already an open book, and the idea of someone poking around up there makes his skin physically crawl.

Still; he has to be nice about it. "That's weird as hell, man," he grumbles, only looking at the man from the corners of his eyes. "Looking into my brain and then asking me questions. Just say what you know and move on."

When Joe looks down at him, he looks a bit too genuinely surprised for Tommy to be completely unsuspicious, but when he speaks, all of that doubt is wiped away. "Oh, I'm sorry—you've got it all wrong, cosmic kiddo—"

"Tommy."

"I don't read minds. I would never want to—do you know how messy the inside of people's brains are?" Joe shudders, glancing into the sky as if recalling a memory before his mouth twists into something vaguely sour, which is the most negative expression he has displayed throughout this entire interaction. "No, not reading minds at all. I'm just good at guesses. You start to get good at predicting what the mind will do when you've lived long enough to watch it make the same decisions over and over and over again, y'know?" He stops abruptly, then brightens. "Oh, I think this is the section!"

He makes a beckoning motion with his hand, but Tommy stays rooted to the spot despite him pressing onwards, jaw practically sweeping the floor before he comes back to his senses and processes what the hell was just said.

What the hell was just said? He turns the corner sharply, utterly baffled to find Joe stood too-far down the aisle to have gotten there without running, the backdrop of the ever-growing corridor stretching and twisting into infinity just out of his peripheral. The man is crouching to look at the books, touching his fingers to them as he reads the spines and Tommy just stares.

His brain kickstarts enough to make a reference, so all he can say in his dumbfounded glory is, "I think Eret would like you."

Joe laughs and doesn't even glance up. "Eret's a mighty fine guy, you've got that right. Wonder how they're doing now..."

Tommy doesn't even bother with the period of shock. "You know—?"

"Hey, look!" Joe pulls out a book about as thick as the palm of his hand and blows dust off of the cover (though it doesn't really seem like a cover for a moment—for a split second, Tommy swears the cover is nothing but another sheet of paper, but Joe frowns at it and suddenly, the pages are protected) before turning it to Tommy. The cover is unlike anything he's ever seen before, both in terms of layout and content.

O
IMMORTALES,
or
Gods, Enlightened Ones, Watchers, Fae,
of
JOE HILLS,
The Honourable Lord Eret.
With WOODCUT SKHEMA
of
Ancients, Olds, and Evers.
And a Discourse
of the ORIGIN and CREATION of O
IMMORTALES.
-----
#6042201-P-LHS,
Printed in Common for the general public, 1696

Tommy's jaw doesn't even bother to graze the floor—it drops right through. He splutters for a few moments, unable to create coherent words before he manages, "S—Sixteen ninety-six?"

Joe turns the cover to himself, squints, then looks pleasantly surprised. "Wow! I knew it was a while ago, but...huh. Time really flies, doesn't it, satellite sonny?"

"Three hundred years ago?" Tommy says, his wide-eyed stare locked onto the cover of the book once Joe lowers it back down. "And with—with Eret?"

Joe sighs happily. "Oh, Immortales," he says, nothing but fond. "I remember the writing process. Being immortals ourselves, we may have made the section on 'Enlightened Ones' just a tiny bit longer than it needed to be—but, then again, if the population wanted to know about these things, why would we hold back when we had two living, breathing examples willing to document themselves for science?"

"Immortals," Tommy repeats. "You—you and Eret are immortals?"

"Conditionally," Joe amends, still nodding along. "We can be permanently killed, but not easily. We can naturally die out, but we can't die. Does that make sense?"

"No," Tommy says decisively.

"Hmm. Didn't think so."

Tommy waits for the man to clarify, but all he does is stare at the cover of the book before frowning and looking back up at Tommy. He sounds dangerously human, unsettlingly confused when he asks, "Wait, why do you keep saying Eret's name like that? Are they okay?"

Tommy makes the split-second decision to withhold the 'trapped on a broken server' information and scoffs. "Well—yeah, they're f*ckin' fine, I just didn't think that one of my friends would just be casually immortal and wouldn't tell me."

Joe hums again, looking slightly troubled. "Weird. They never showed you the eyes?"

Tommy's wings fluff up. He couldn't possibly explain why. "'Course they have," he snaps defensively. "Didn't know weird eyes equated to immortality, though."

"Ah, there's where you must learn, my syzygean student," Joe says, tapping the frames of his glasses. Tommy is suddenly made aware of the bright lime green of his eyes, which Tommy was so sure were a calm dark blue just a moment ago. He supposes if the man is trying to make a point, he's probably right—they probably just did change colour.

He has to consciously point out to himself once that it's a normal lime green—nothing Tommy would ever wear, and definitely nothing Tommy would ever dye his hair to, but it's the colour of natural green, like the sun shining through thin, light leaves, not the toxic circles that'd burn into Tommy's skin some nights in exile when he would take off his mask to make a point. He only thinks about it once, though. It could almost make him smile.

"Eyes," Joe begins, cutting through Tommy's internal monologue. "Are the window to the state. Souls, frankly, are something completely different, and as such the original quote is a bit redundant—souls are affected by the state, not the other way around, so the state is the base thing to pay attention to when looking at eyes. They show the state of a person as a whole or in parts—perhaps their state in society (you've seen power in someone's eyes before), or their emotional state—you can see sadness and joy in people's eyes, too.

"Those are the normal ones. The things that really push the eyes from the norm are the things that alter the state of being. Mine, for example: a naturalish green. You wouldn't believe what people with those altered blue eyes can know. It's the most abundant colour in naturally generated servers, y'know. Green settles for second place, so I know a fair amount of stuff." Joe shrugs, then hands the book off to Tommy. "I honestly think we cover it in this, if you want to take a look. Not all different coloured eyes deal with the light spectrum, though—someone with an altered state of being might've just already had green eyes and wow, look at that, immortality or some other transformation has made them glow! It might not have to do with knowledge. But you can garner a lot about whether someone is magical just by takin' a gander."

"So, what," Tommy asks, turning the book around in his hand gingerly before looking up (up?) at Joe again. "Eret's eyes are just white. Does that mean they're missing something?"

"Ex-actly, supermoon."

"My name is—" Tommy sighs. "Nevermind. What are they missing?"

Joe winces, then turns back to the shelves. "Sorry, but it isn't really my place to say. If they wanna tell you, I'm sure you can ask 'em if you go back to your server—or just message them from here—and they'll be happy to give you all the details! But I'm not gonna talk about them behind their back."

"No, no, I get it," Tommy says, waving his hand dismissively. "Stupid question, sorry I asked."

"There are no stupid questions, my crescent companion," Joe says brightly, ruffling Tommy's hair before going back to examining the shelves. Tommy is shocked and appalled for about half a second, then his instinctive reaction of stiffening melts away and he grumbles and brushes his hair back into place.

"You said your eyes are green 'cause of—light or some sh*t," Tommy prompts. "How'd you get them like that? Like—what did you do to become immortal? Or were you just born like that?"

Joe pauses—not freezes, just pauses, as if he really had to stop to think about it, then lets out a little half-laugh that Tommy also remembers from Techno—the "you've just accidentally made me remember some traumatic story I need to tell you right before you sleep because that question you asked is way deeper of a rabbit hole than you think" laugh, which you may think is utterly and ridiculously specific, but Tommy could not possibly explain all of the times he has heard that little breath of a half-laugh and then gone to sleep with nightmares about how Techno managed to obtain one jagged scar or another.

Thankfully, Joe does not recount any such grizzly tales. He pats Tommy on the shoulder with a smile, bends down, and whispers to him as if he's five, "I believe you have someone waiting on you to bring back these books. How about you find me some other time and I can explain it to you then, m'kay?"

Tommy nods, eager to avoid a real-life fantasy horror story before he's mentally prepared for it, and Joe straightens back up and starts to pull books off of the shelf in front of him, seemingly without even looking at them and siphoning them off into Tommy's arms. "You'll probably need these for what you're looking for. I know Grian isn't exactly the strongest with reading, so give him some of the easier ones while you deal with the really old stuff, alright?"

Tommy ignores how Joe could possibly know that he reads old-book-speak quite well, instead nodding along and setting his shoulders in preparation to leave. "How do I get out of here, again? I feel like I wandered through a lab'rinth to get over here, I can't make my way back."

Joe glances behind himself, squints, then says, "Go to the end of the corridor and take a hard left. Not a soft one—a real sharp one. You need to leave skidmarks on the carpet, moon boy, you hear me?" Tommy nods, looking skeptical all the while. "You'll know when to go from there. Just trust old Joe Hills on this one, alright?"

"...if you say so," Tommy mutters half-heartedly, fully expecting to have to wander his way back through to the main area again.

Joe smiles, bright as ever, and pats Tommy on the shoulder again. "I s'posse I'll be heading out then, new moon neophyte. I'll see you around—"

"Wait!" Tommy elbows him before he can fully turn around to leave. Joe looks back, and Tommy can see the different colours swirling around in his eyes like oil and water mixed together, dark blue and green. He shakes off the goosebumps it gives him and works up the courage to ask, "You said...you said the eyes are the window to the—to the state, right?"

"Yeahs...?"

"Well—" He pauses, then takes in a deep breath. "What do you see in mine? 'Cause everyone says they're really bright, but I remember them getting really—greyish, at a point in my...life. And—and my dad's immortal, but I can still definitely die, and so can my brother. I've got magic, but I'm still human. Mortal. Whatever." He winces, then continues, "Your eyes are based on the light-colour-thing. What do you see?"

Joe raises an eyebrow at the question, as if Tommy asking it surprised him, and he's two seconds from taking it back when Joe takes a couple steps closer and leans in to peer at Tommy's electric blue eyes.

He knows they're weird—he's well and aware that they glow a little bit, but he's always attributed them to him having magic and the sharpness being a byproduct. But this...he just wants to make absolutely positive.

Joe narrows his eyes, and Tommy can see Joe's eyes up close—really, he feels them more than he sees them. It feels like long grass pricking his bare skin, or the smooth leaves of a tree brushing against him as he clambers down a branch. It feels like a cluster of green snakes being shoved down his throat, it feels intrusive, like it's eating away at every bit of knowledge lining the inside of his skin. It makes goosebumps raise again, but he keeps his eyes wide open until Joe steps away.

He looks pensive. "I see...a lot of things. It's hard to discern." He raises an eyebrow at Tommy again, and he can't help but shiver under the man's gaze. "It's a combination of things. A cluster. A lot. A messy overlap of contradictory everythings."

He smiles slightly, and it looks just the tiniest bit sad. "But I think you already knew that."

Grian really did think Tommy abandoned him. So when the kid emerged with a stack of books in his hand and just a general feeling of being upset about something, Grian was a little bit startled.

Tommy waved off his questions about whether or not he was fine—even though Grian could physically feel that he wasn't, he was still forced into not acknowledging it by Tommy shutting down any attempt to make conversation, instead being presented with—Channel—more books.

Grian obviously isn't happy about it, but he sits in his seat and takes the two books Tommy hands him while the kid keeps the other, infinitely more important-looking two books. Grian leans over and, much like a child, asks, "Why are you getting all of the creepy old books?"

Tommy glares at him half-heartedly. "Do you know how to read legalese?"

"What?"

"Lawyer-speak."

Grian blinks a few times. "Well—no, but I don't see what that has to do with an old grimoire—"

"They're not grimoires, Grian, Prime above," Tommy huffs, rolling his eyes. "Not every old book you see is a Goddamn grimoire."

"Look at this one!" He reaches over and plucks a smaller, leatherbound book with symbols carved into the front and a title that reads, The Contacting Of and Interaction With Gods and High Immortals."This is a grimoire. Textbook grimoire."

"I'll grimoire all over your f*ckin' face if you don't give that back, Grian—"

Tommy reaches over to grab the book out of Grian's hand, but the man leans away from him and holds it high above Tommy's head with a hush-shouted, "Make me."

"Alright, you short b*stard," Tommy hisses, literally planting a hand onto Grian's head to use as leverage to reach the book in Grian's other hand. Tommy successfully grabs it and immediately falls back into his seat, Grian sticking his tongue out at Tommy. "Dunno why you thought that would work, I am taller than you."

"And yet you still struggled."

"Wh—I literally did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did—" Tommy huffs. "I am not doing a 'did not/did too' fight with a forty-eight year old man."

Grian squawks indignantly. "Wha—forty-eight?"

"Oh, excuse me," Tommy says, feigning apology. "I'm so sorry, I mean forty-five."

"You're a menace."

"You're an idiot," Tommy snaps back, rolling his eyes and turning back to the book he's actually picked up to read. Grian does a once-over of the cover and his eyes widen.

"Does that say Joe Hills?" he cries, leaning in closer to get a better look because yes, that is just the name of his friend plastered on a book from the seventeenth century. He knew Joe was immortal, but—1696? That's absurd.

"It was a shock to me, too," Tommy mutters, staring at the pages as if it personally slighted him before he cracks open the book. The smell of the musty, old pages immediately makes Grian gag—he's fine with Tommy taking the old ones if it means he doesn't have to deal with that Godforsaken smell ever again, but alas. He opens the book to the table of contents and is shocked to see simply how much there is.

1. Of Everything
2. Of Origin
3. Of Control
4. Of Power
   • Gods
   • Watchers
   • Fae
5. Of Gods
   • Of Mojang
   • Of Life
     • Of Nature
     • Of Creation
     • Of Birth
     • Of Creatures
   • Of Death
     • Of Void
     • Of The Moon
   • Of Time
     • Relation to Death
   • Of Chaos
   • Of Ocean
   • ...
   • Of Godly Customs
6. Of Enlightened Ones
   • Of Void-spoken
   • Of Time-touched
   • Of Enlightened
     • Personal Experiences
     • ...
   • Of Turned
   • Of Herobrine
     • Personal Experiences (II)
     • ...
7. Of Watchers
   • Of Watcher Servers
   • Of Watcher Customs
8. Of Fae
   • ...

The section on the Fae goes on so long it makes Grian dizzy in the table of contents. He has no idea how Tommy could possibly absorb any of this, but he respects it. "This thing must be thousands of pages long," he breathes, tilting his head to the side. "How is it possibly this small...?"

Tommy deadpans and starts flipping through the book. The pages flit by rapidly and...ah. It just doesn't end. "Magic book."

"That sounds like something Joe would do," Grian muses. "Are you sure you can read this?"

"Mimimi, 'are you sure you can read this,' just because you can't doesn't mean I can't, Grine," Tommy teases, shoving his shoulder slightly. "I'm curious about these f*cks." He points towards the bottom of the page. "Watchers."

Grian's blood runs uncomfortably cold. "I've never heard of them."

"Me neither," Tommy mutters, biting the end of a pencil he randomly picked up from the table. "But it's the only one that explicitly mentions servers. It's probably outdated a few hundred years, but I don't think it'd hurt to check it out."

Grian shrugs. "Sounds like a waste of time to me."

Tommy huffs. "We get it, Grian, you can't read."

"Hey—!"

"Let me handle this, okay?" says Tommy, pushing Grian's simpler and far more entertaining books towards him and giving them a gentle couple of pats. Maybe Tommy is rubbing off on him, but the sudden urge to flip the boy the bird (ha) was palpable for a split-second before it disappeared.

Instead of swearing at the kid though hand movements, though, Grian cracks open Di Immortales! and miserably gets ready to put in another hour of reading.

Chapter Text

Of the four discussed types of Immortals, the Watcher is easily the most elusive and mysterious of all.

The Watchers (known also as the Marionettists, the Known-Unknowns, the Weavers, the Game Masters, Tricksters, the All-Seeing) are a group of immortals with a particular fixation on the creation of servers in which the members are subjected to some sort of woven tale or game, be it a drama regarding family or a comedy in which the participants are killed off in increasingly morbid and grotesque ways. They are known to be merciless, sadistic, and completely incapable of feeling empathy due to their nature of subjecting people to their games for nothing but entertainment.

They often work in small groups, sometimes working as one single unit congealed into a single voice or form. They are very strict about how far they can go with their involvement in the stories they create; typically, they will not interfere at all, and if they do, the furthest they will go would be to introduce deals with participants or input some sort of story device to move the game or plotline forwards. Watchers do not allow direct interference; doing so is an offense that will be met with the worst form of Exile; for a Watcher to be stripped of their power is for them to lose their wings and eyes, an excruciating physical process that may take hours to complete.

Watchers are often seen or portrayed as disembodied voices, but they may also reveal themselves as eyes or formless beings with several pairs of wings. There have been recorded incidents of seeing groups of people that were not on the server list standing in the distance, watching, which may imply that Watchers have physical, humanoid forms, but a majority of these sightings are not confirmed. They have a symbol that will often appear in their servers (displ. on next page), sometimes etched into impossible places; seemingly naturally-generated cliffs, huge patches of dead foliage, et cetera.

There is evidence to imply that Watchers are not necessarily their own race, instead pulling in the most interesting players and ascending them to the status of a Watcher themselves. This grants them conditional immortality of the EK variety and the ability to create an unlimited amount of servers with little to no effort required. This also means they immediately fall under all rules and laws of Watchers and their customs.

It is recommended not to interact with Watchers; if you are on a server belonging to them and they, for some reason, bother to interact with you, any deals they offer will most likely be twisted out of your favour. The following passages will describe examples of the Watchers' servers and how they interact with players.

Grian is...mildly uncomfortable.

It's been a whole thing for the past few days, really—it hasn't been especially consistent, it's not like he's feeling it all the time or anything, but there will be points where he just feels horrible and itchy underneath his skin, and he really can't tell if it's just his instincts acting up because it's just that time of the year or if it's something else.

He's getting a bit tired of it, though, and as much as he'd hate to admit it, it did start as soon as Tommy started locking himself away to read and study and do all the stuff that Grian physically can't bring himself to do. He would love to do the reading with him—genuinely, he would—but every time he opens one of those damn books he just—he can't bring himself to focus on it for more than a few minutes before his chest burns with violent frustration because he just doesn't get it. Tommy is living his best life, apparently, never really struggling to read them outside of his normal bemoaning if the book is particularly boring, but he doesn't find it difficult. Grian, on the other had, feels a bit useless.

He's been keeping to himself for long enough for it to become just a bit unbearable—he wants to go bother the kid so bad, but he's obviously dead-set on getting home—who is Grian to stop him from doing that? Especially when he can't do anything but hold the investigation back?

His wings droop just the smallest bit at the thought of not going over there to talk about Channel-knows-what, and his head slams into his desk at the reaction, upsetting several pencils and only being padded by the several blueprints layered over one another. Grian swears, if his wings or instincts have some sort of reaction while thinking about Tommy one more goddamn time, he's going to cut them off himself.

...he squints, bleary-eyed and surprised at himself. He guesses Tommy's colourful vernacular is rubbing off on him...somehow. He used to swear a decent a lot, but Xisuma basically glared it out of him over the course of several years, and now it sort of just seems unnecessary.

But, alas. A rogue 'goddamn.' He's being corrupted. He shouldn't even want to go and talk to Tommy.

He doesn't even know why he's so weird about Tommy. He's only know the kid for...two months, at this point? There's no way he hasn't interacted with another avian (other than False, who has such a violent handle on her birderisms that the mere idea of acting anything like this around her makes him more embarrassed more than the thought of doing it around a non-avian) in so long that this is his reaction to becoming friends with one. Maybe it isn't the bird stuff. Maybe he's just—Channel forbid—clingy.

The noise that leaves his mouth is positively dejected, and he considers slamming his head into his desk again before deciding against it and lifting his head up to look back at his blueprints. He doesn't even know why he's doing this—he never even uses blueprints. He's just doodling over the already-made outline of the bank. He's bored. The G-Train is stocked. He's done enough building for the day to make procrastination acceptable. There's nothing to do, and he's sure he's going to go insane in about five minutes if he doesn't figure himself out quick.

Approximately five minutes later, Tommy hears a knock on his front door.

A few knocks, actually. And he certainly hears them, but he doesn't register that a knock on his door means "I need to get up and answer the door," and thus when the knocking stops, he doesn't think twice.

He only snaps out of his reading-induced trance when someone grabs him by the shoulders and yells "boo!"—and of course, it takes a second of real panic before he realises who it actually is—causing him to shriek and whirl around, grabbing the offender by the forearm and almost certainly leaving bruises from how tight his grip is.

Grian, of course, thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever done—even when Tommy's grip turns purposely painful before he lets go and shoves Grian away from over the back of his chair.

"You f*ckin' prick," Tommy snaps, heat rising to his face. "You—don't do that, man, I could have killed you."

Once Grian gets over himself, he laughs at Tommy again. "Right. You could have killed me."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing at all," Grian replies, leaning over Tommy's chair to look at the book laid open in front of him. "What are you reading?"

Tommy huffs, sending his wing up to smack Grian in the face. "The Joe Hills book, idiot. I've been reading it all day."

Grian groans, shoving Tommy's wing back down and draping himself over Tommy's shoulder like a wet rag. "I don't know how you can stand to read this stuff. It's so boring."

"Well, no; it's actually quite interesting," Tommy says, slight surprise at himself in his voice as he flips back towards the start of the Watchers section. "Been reading up on these Watcher f*cks. Sound like complete arseholes, but I don't think they're what we're dealing with on the Dream SMP." He points to a paragraph and feels Grian leaning further over him to read.

There's an extended silence before Grian asks, "Why's that?"

"Well, for one, they rarely ever interfere with people," Tommy starts, doing his best to ignore the weight of Grian on his back. "And they make the servers they mess with people in. We saw that the server was normal before...I joined. There would be no reason for them to change like that in the middle of everything. And honestly, I don't think Dream is cool enough to be something like that."

"Huh," Grian says simply, now very obviously not looking at the book at all. "So what do you think it might be?"

"Uh..." Tommy flips through the pages haphazardly. "I don't think he's a god. I killed 'im with my own two hands—twice—and it didn't feel very godly to me." Tommy wrinkles his nose. Grian turns to stare at him, and Tommy glances away. "I...guess he could be a fae? He doesn't seem very magical, though. I think the enlightened f*ckers is our best bet, here."

"I thought you said he doesn't seem very 'magical,'" Grian comments. "And what do you mean you killed Dream?"

Tommy rolls his eyes. "What do you think I meant?"

"You never mentioned this!"

"I'll be sure to give you an in-depth description of my life story soon enough," Tommy snarks. "Anyways, he seems magical in my kind of magical way, not in a fae kind of magical way."

"Oh, this is all so confusing," Grian groans, rolling off of Tommy's shoulder and grabbing him at the last second, dragging Tommy onto the floor with him as Tommy flails and shrieks uselessly, reminded for a split second of how he'd bother Wilbur in the early L'Manburg and get him to detach from his work—and then he hits the floor and gets all the air knocked out of his lungs.

Tommy drags in a breath and sends a glare towards Grian, who is simply laying on the floor next to him, arms tangled in a heap. He doesn't move, just breathing slowly, a hum in the back of his throat.

Tommy narrows his eyes at the other avian. "You're being weird."

"Mm," Grian hums. "No, I don't think I am."

"You've just pulled me out of my chair, mate, you're being weird."

"I'm bored and tired and birdish," Grian says matter-of-factly. "Mumbo told me you joked about him being your dad."

Tommy snickers inwardly. He rests his hand on his chest and stares to the ceiling, forcing his voice into a levelled tone and saying, "'T'wasn't a joke. He really is my father figure."

Tommy won't lie and say he doesn't have to force down a laugh when Grian makes the most dejected, inhuman noise Tommy has ever heard from someone other than Phil. "That doesn't make any sense," Grian says, petulant, propping himself up on one hand. "Mumbo isn't even an avian, he's, like, a vampire or something like that, I dunno."

Tommy shrugs. "Maybe he's a vampire bird."

"Yeah, but, he isn't," Grian stresses. Tommy outwardly laughs at him.

"What, are you jealous?"

Grian splutters, letting himself fall back onto the floor to hide his face. Tommy spares him by not turning to look, but the embarrassment is pretty obvious in his voice when he says, "Wh—what—why would I be jealous of Mumbo?"

"Do you want to be my father figure, Grian?" Tommy asks, sitting up and staring Grian down. "I'm so sorry, you just didn't meet the qualifications. Maybe next year."

"What in the world are the qualifications?"

"In fact," Tommy steamrolls on, completely ignoring Grian and holding a hand to his heart. "You've actually been downgraded to to brother status, and let me tell you, that is not a position you want to be in."

Grian pauses his movement. "...why's that?"

"Well," Tommy says with a huff, only slightly peeved at himself for walking right into this. "Usually, it ends up with you either turning evil or going insane—or both, sometimes. You'll have some epic betrayal and then, like, die or some sh*t."

There's an extended silence, then Grian asks, bewildered, "Has that...happened before?"

"If we switch out the 'dying' part with running away, becoming president, going absolutely batsh*t f*cking insane...then yeah, it's happened a few times. Probably about four or five at this point."

"I'm sorry," Grian says quietly, sitting up next to Tommy as his wing, quite unfortunately, stretches out to side hug Tommy. He doesn't react to it at all, but he does laugh a little bit and scratch the back of his neck. "That sounds terrible."

"Yeah, well," Tommy says, brushing it off, completely unaware of how Grian's face continues to drop as Tommy's demeanor becomes more and more nonchalant. "I've gotten over it. And hey, as long as you don't do any of that sh*t—stuff—I'm sure we'll be alright—!"

He's suddenly cut off by Grian using his actual arms to to hug Tommy around his shoulders, pulling him close and saying with a terrifying certainty, "I would never, Tommy. I promise."

Tommy has to resist the urge to shove him off and snort. He wants to feel comfort in Grian's words, but he doesn't. He's heard them too many times for them to sound anything except hollow and flippant. He couldn't begin to describe how my times he's heard those words—"I promise"—only for them to mean nothing at all, or for them to have been meant to be broken since they were spoken.

He wants to believe that he's telling the truth. Thinking about it in this split second, he hasn't actually lied about anything since Tommy has showed up—no one here has. It's comforting, and it isn't as terrifying as it was when he showed up. He isn't waiting every moment for something to go wrong, for someone to admit to plotting against him or wanting to get rid of him, but even after all these weeks...it's like there's a mental block stopping him from really believing Grian. He pats the man on the arm and pulls away as gently as he can muster. "Don't worry about it, king," he says choppily. "I believe you."

"But do you really?" Grian stresses, letting go as soon as Tommy starts to pull back. It takes a moment for his wings to get the message, but he forces them down eventually, too. "Like, look, I've been betrayed jokingly quite a bit, but I'm not exactly quick to trust people even after the jokey betrayals in our 'wars.'" He makes heavy air quotes around the word 'wars,' and Tommy finds it endlessly amusing how much Grian tries to make it clear that nothing that happens here is as serious as the things he's experienced on the Dream SMP. "I get if you don't immediately believe me. I'll just have to...show you. Somehow."

Tommy does his best to keep any of his real emotions off of his face (because if he didn't, he doesn't know whether he'd make some horrible joke about how many times he's heard that, too, or whether he'd be on the verge of bursting into tears because of how long it's been since he has), instead raising an eyebrow at Grian and saying. "You're being extra clingy today."

"I am not clingy," Grian snaps. "I just want to help. Show me—" He reaches up and grabs the Joe Hills book off the table, pulling it to the floor and laying it on the ground. "—show me what to look for, here. What exactly should I be researching?"

Tommy narrows his eyes suspiciously, pulling the book towards him. "I thought you hated researching."

"I do," Grian bluntly replies. "But I can force myself to read if I really have to, I think."

"You don't have to force yourself to read for me," Tommy says, mildly confused. "I mean, it'd be appreciated, but you actually hate it—"

"It's not that I hate it, really," Grian amends, laying a hand on Tommy's forearm. "I just—it's difficult. It's hard for the words to register, and then I'm rereading the page, like, nine times, and I get stuck not actually reading anything."

Tommy really does snort out a laugh this time, closing the book and pushing it back over to Grian. "I get it. You're like Techno—my brother, I mean—you just need the interesting sh*t. Wil and I were always better at pushing through those awful, dry-as-f*ck textbooks. This is written really well, and it doesn't drone on and on about boring stuff you don't actually care about. It really is interesting, it's sort of like...a story? It gives a lot of first-person accounts and stuff. And you only have to read the section on enlightened ones, really, 'cause I'm pretty sure we're not dealing with any of the other ones."

Grian takes the book into his hands while shaking his head the entire time. "I'm not about to take the only interesting book just because I can't—"

"Take it," Tommy insists, pushing himself off of his feet and stretching out his entire body. "I've got a ton more cool ones, and like I said: I can read the boring ones. You can't. It's no problem, man, seriously."

"Oh." Tommy looks down and sees Grian staring at the cover of the book, running his thumb across the cover before looking up and meeting Tommy's eyes. There's...something in Grian's expression that makes him mildly uncomfortable, but it's only there for a split second before he starts talking again. "And I can...keep this?"

"I mean, I took it out of a library," Tommy shrugs, picking up a couple of books from his table and dropping into a cross-legged position back on the floor. "And I feel like Joe Hills would actually kill me if I lost it. Or, like, did something worse than that. So yeah, you can keep it safe."

"Joe wouldn't—"

"I'm kidding, big man," Tommy says, smacking Grian's shoulder with his wing. "It was a joke."

"Ah," Grian says, wings raised and stiff. "Couldn't tell. But still, he wouldn't."

"Thank you for letting me know," Tommy replies, almost genuine but with a teasing lilt at Grian's insistence. "I'm still not getting on that man's bad side." His voice drops to a hushed whisper as he shakes his head. "He is such a large man. Metaphysically."

"Metaphysically?"

"The narrative knows that he could kill me with a glance," Tommy says seriously. "But the structure of my story won't let him. I have too much main character energy."

Grian huffs, crossing his own legs and cracking open the book to the table of contents. "If you're the main character, what does that make me?"

"I already said, dude, you're the older brother that—"

Tommy is interrupted by Grian suddenly turning to look at him, face uncharacteristically serious. Tommy sighs. "You're the epic and amazing older brother that would never betray me. Ever. If you did, you would explode into a billion squawking pieces from the pure guilt."

Grian makes a satisfied noise and turns back to the book without saying a word, and Tommy bursts into unfiltered laughter.

Mumbo is not the most socially adept person alive.

He feels as if accepting that will make the next few minutes just a little bit easier for him. His mountain is lit up more than usual—aside from making it as mob-proof as possible, the light of the full moon is cast across the entirety of Boatem, the lack of trees making it glaringly obvious how bright it really is. It makes him incredibly nervous for more reasons than one, and he usually likes the nighttime. Like, way more than the average person for, again, another large number of reasons, but he can't help but nervously glance into the sky over and over as he weaves through the houses on his mountain and makes his way towards the only one with the lights on inside.

The bridges feel especially rickety tonight, and the breezes feel especially strong. It's cold, and while he's never actually troubled by the cold, it still bites at his skin and stings. Or maybe he's just nervous. He's definitely incredibly nervous.

He makes it to the house without shaking himself to pieces and cups his hands around his eyes, pressing his face to the window and trying his darndest to not audibly 'aww' despite the circumstances.

Grian and Tommy are both inside and asleep, all the blankets Mumbo lent Tommy when he first moved in surrounding them in a ring with a couple laid underneath them. Small stacks of books sit outside of the makeshift...look, Mumbo isn't an avian, but he's pretty sure that's a nest, and books are propped up, still open, on pillows sat inside of the little structure. Grian clearly fell asleep first, his face pressed against an old-looking book, and his legs and wings are sprawled across...just about every open space he can reach. Tommy looks to have only recently fallen asleep, tipped over into Grian's side with a book only having just fallen out of his hands. Grian's wings, in sleep, must've maneuvered to wrap around Tommy, and Mumbo feels just a bit bad for bothering them before remembering that what he has to say is ridiculously important and possibly life-threatening.

He shifts over to the front door and tries the doorknob—locked. Mumbo's gonna be honest, he forgot about doors having locks before Tommy showed up—like, seriously, who does that?—and he can't lie and say that it doesn't make him a bit exasperated sometimes. Of course, not seriously—like, he'd never get mad at the kid for wanting his privacy or anything—he just isn't used to it—

After his slight internal panic, he shifts back over to the window to tap at it and hopefully only wake up Grian, but then he narrows his eyes at the window in confusion. He was there just a second ago, where—?

The door unlocks and swings open in the same instant, scaring the everloving begeezus out of Mumbo as Tommy pops out of the house brandishing a knife.

Mumbo understandably shrieks, scrambling away from the door before his mind properly clocks who it is and he sighs, "Oh, goodness me—Tommy?"

"Mumbo?" Tommy breathes, shoulders immediately sagging as the knife (dagger, on second glance) disappears back into the kid's inventory. What doesn't disappear, though, is Tommy's annoyed expression—despite just having woken up about ten seconds ago, he looks just as alert as he always does as he hisses, "Why the hell are you trying to break into my house in the middle of the night?!"

Mumbo lets out a nervous half-laugh, holding up a hand. "Okay, first of all, it still is technically my house—" He ignores Tommy's pointed glare. "And second, why in the world do you sleep with a dagger in your inventory?"

"In case any weirdos try and break into my house in the middle of the night!" Tommy enunciates, whisper-shouting as his weapon appears back in his hand in one instant and is behind held dangerously close to Mumbo's chest in the next. Dangerous for literally anyone else, that is—Mumbo pushes it to the side and Tommy makes a face at him. "Third of all, again, why were you trying to open my door this late? Couldn't you see we were working?"

"No," Mumbo whispers. "I could see you were both sleeping, though, and I was about to try and wake up Grian by tapping on the window ('cause he's a light sleeper) before you almost stabbed me."

"Mimimi," Tommy mocks, sticking out his tongue and putting away the dagger again—hopefully for good, this time. "That is not a light sleeper." He glances back inside and wrinkles his nose. "We're talking right by the door and he's not even moved."

"You woke up as soon as I wiggled the doorknob," Mumbo says with a scoff. "You are not a good control for 'light sleeping,' you have been in wars. Like, real, actual wars, you've probably got PT—"

Mumbo stops himself by slapping a hand over his mouth, and in the same instant, Tommy doubles over into silent, wheezing laughter. "Oh my gods, I am so sorry—"

"No, go on, Mumbo," Tommy heaves, pressing a fist to his mouth. "What do I have? Does it happen to start with 'P' and end in 'STD?'"

Mumbo genuinely yelps in shock as Tommy's eyes widen and he waves his hands back and forth panickedly. "Wait—'TSD,' I meant 'TSD!'"

"Oh my goodness," Mumbo says over Tommy's laughter, chuckling to himself and shaking his head a bit before his brain reroutes itself back to what he was originally here fore and he starts craning his neck to take a peek inside the house. "I really do need to talk to Grian, Tommy. I mean, I-I'm sure it's nothing serious, I'm probably just imagining things, but I can't help but worry, you know? It might be—it might be bad."

Tommy takes a few more seconds to sober up, stepping away from the door and gesturing inside in the meantime. Mumbo speedwalks inside, grateful to be hit by the warmth of indoors, rapidly dissipating due to the open door as it may be.

"Uh—Grian?" Mumbo calls, taking a tentative step towards the sleeping figure on the ground. "Grian?"

He doesn't even shift, so Mumbo moves to crouch down right next to Grian, reaching out a hand to tap his side. "Grian—"

As soon as contact is made with his jumper, Grian's wing flies out and smacks Mumbo in the face as the man springs awake, glasses askew on his face as he groggily cries out, "Wh—what? Who's—Mumbo?"

Mumbo splutters (a small feather or two got caught between his lips) and waves a hand in front of his face, batting Grian away and repeating, "Yes, yes, it's me. Sorry for waking you."

"Channel, Mumbo," Grian wheezes, pressing a hand to his chest and leaning back. "Warn a man. Could've given me a heart attack."

"Aha," Mumbo laughs, obviously disingenuous and nervous enough to make some awareness seep into Grian's eyes. "Sorry. I had something really urgent to ask you. Get your opinion on. Something very urgent."

"What is it?"

"Well—okay, I might be imagining it, and I know it sounds terrible for me to wake someone in the middle of the night for something I'm not even certain about, but Impulse and Scar are both away and Pearl gets so touchy about this stuff, I feel like if I was wrong I'd get my face bitten off—"

"Mumbo, I'm going to be the one biting your face off in a moment," Grian says bluntly, stretching his arms and wings with his eyes closed. "Just spit it out."

Mumbo sighs heavily, shoulders sagging as he breathes under his breath, "Okay—okay," and helps Grian off his feet, much to the chagrin of the avian, who's first course of action is shoving him out of the nest and asking in a slight panic, "Wait—where's Tommy?"

Before Mumbo can even get a word in, Tommy replies from just outside the door: "I'm right here, big man."

All of Grian seems to soften at once, and he steps out of the doughnut of blankets with a grumble under his breath as he shakes his feathers, hair, and clothes back into place. "Fine. What is it you wanted to show me?"

Mumbo beckons him outside and flinches as he's struck with the cold night air once again. Grian makes a weird noise as soon as he steps outside and flutters all of his feathers at once, pulling his arms in on himself as he squints into the darkness. Mumbo fiddles with his hands, tentatively saying, "So, uh—yeah, again, I might be wrong about this, but—"

"Mumbo."

"Right, fine!" Mumbo squeaks, standing next to Grian and putting his hands on the shorter man's shoulders. "Just—look up."

Grian looks up. He sees Tommy look up out of the corner of his eye, and when he turns his gaze to the sky, he sees the moon hanging almost directly overhead, the sky cloudless and empty aside from stars, making the area around them ridiculously bright for twelve in the morning.

"What am I looking at, here?" Grian says exasperatedly, squinting into the sky. "It's a pretty full moon, so what?"

"Uh," Tommy says from behind, a knowing waver to his voice. The little blood Mumbo has in his system goes cold. His fingertips go numb. "G-Man, I don't think that's what he means."

"Grian," Mumbo says, shaking the avian's shoulders just a little bit. "Just—look closer."

"What—?"

"Isn't the moon big?"

Chapter Text

╔══════════════╗

You whisper to [BOATEM]: we're having a meeting at the observatory tonight

You whisper to [BOATEM]: be there a little before midnight but not at/after

Goodtimewithscar whispers to [BOATEM]: ?

Goodtimewithscar whispers to [BOATEM]: whats going on?

You whisper to [BOATEM]: moons big

You whisper to [BOATEM]: again

impulseSV whispers to [BOATEM]: WHAT?????

impulseSV whispers to [BOATEM]: youre kidding

You whisper to [BOATEM]: nope

impulseSV whispers to [BOATEM]: do you know how long it took to get the water stains out of the factory walls grian

MumboJumbo whispers to [BOATEM]: I can unfortunately confirm that he's being serious

You whisper to [BOATEM]: is that SERIOUSLY your issue right now impulse

TommyInnit whispers to [BOATEM]: me too

Goodtimewithscar whispers to [BOATEM]: !!! hi tomme!

TommyInnit whispers to [BOATEM]: hello good time with scare

impulseSV whispers to [BOATEM]: hi tommmy

impulseSV whispers to [BOATEM]: since when were you in this chat???

TommyInnit whispers to [BOATEM]: sinvfce before ypou were BORN PRICK

impulseSV whispers to [BOATEM]: ,

You whisper to [BOATEM]: no swearing in main chat tommy

TommyInnit whispers to [BOATEM]: PRICK AIS NOT A SWEAR IT IS A WORD

TommyInnit whispers to [BOATEM]: I CANNOT SWEAR ON THESE JANK *** COMMINUITNCATORS

Pearlescentmoon whispers to [BOATEM]: what is going on??

You whisper to [BOATEM]: oh boy

Pearlescentmoon whispers to [BOATEM]: wbat

Pearlescentmoon whispers to [BOATEM]: WHAT

Goodtimewithscar whispers to [BOATEM]: hi pearl!!

Pearlescentmoon whispers to [BOATEM]: WJAT

Goodtimewithscar whispers to [BOATEM]: you should read up!

Pearlescentmoon whispers to [BOATEM]: THEMOON IS WHAT????????????????????

You whisper to [BOATEM]: meeting tonight

You whisper to [BOATEM]: dont be late

╚══════════════╝

"So."

"So." Impulse splays out his hands. "What do we know?"

"Moon's big," Grian suggests, glancing up through the glass of the observatory. "Again."

"Moon's big again," Pearl agrees, arms crossed and gaze following Grian's.

"Moon's big again?" Scar says, a questioning lilt to his voice as he looks directly up and tilts his head, skeptical. "I dunno, guys—maybe I'm just not paying enough attention, but it doesn't look any bigger to me."

"Which is why we're meeting in here right now." Grian points at the marker on the floor. "If you stand there and look straight up, the moon should fit perfectly within the frame. I showed you two this before," He points at Mumbo and Scar. "The first time the moon was big, so you know how it works."

"Oh, mate," Mumbo says, holding up his hands. "I believe it. I mean, I saw it first, so of course I—you know what I mean."

Scar hums, a contemplative look on his face as he wheels himself under the viewing glass. He looks straight up and his eyebrows snap up just as fast. "Well, would you look at that. The moon is big."

One by one, all of the members of Boatem (including Mumbo and Tommy, despite them already knowing) look up at the moon, all showing various degrees of surprise until it lands on Grian's turn and he takes it as an opportunity to stand in the centre of the room. "Alright. Now that we're on the same page..." He claps his hands together. "Does anyone have an ideas on why in the world this is happening?"

"Last time it happened, Tommy showed up," Impulse says, thinking aloud. "Do you think it's prepping to send someone else through?"

"Maybe it does just want to crash into the Earth this time," Pearl muses. The entire room is immediately shot with an uncomfortable air, Tommy stiffening most of all, and depsite her having no way of knowing that could be a reference to anything, Grian still gives her a look. She looks immensely apologetic. "Or...maybe Impulse is right? I don't know why else it would be happening." She turns to Tommy, who hasn't said a word, biting his nail and staring into the ground. "Is there anyone else that you think would be sent through?"

Tommy snorts. "I don't think the universe is picking and choosing people to send through a rift in space-time," he snarks, shifting to hug himself and rock on the balls of his feet. "Though, if it's going in order of crippling trauma gained, I'd probably say Tubbo is next up."

"Oh, I know that one!" Scar says, perking up as if he's just figured out a puzzle. "That's your best friend, isn't it? Tubbo Underscore."

Tommy nods, then hesitates. "Best friend slash pseudo-brother, I mean." He shakes his head, and Grian is suddenly struck with snippets of their conversation from last night. Didn't Tommy say something about his brothers constantly betraying him? How many damn brothers does this kid have? "But that doesn't matter. I think...I think I know what we're meant to do about the moon."

Scar's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh? What are you thinking?"

Tommy shakes out his hands as if he's hyping himself up. "Right, well. I've noticed a couple things about the moon on this server that I don't think anyone has brought up? Xisuma told me—me and Grian, I mean—he told us something a while ago, about how full moons are an event that makes the boundary between magic and not-magic thin. And then I was doing a little bit of reading, a bit of researching, if you will, and it coribrated what they told us."

"'Coribrated?'" Mumbo asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Do you mean 'corroborated?'" Pearl gently suggests, and Tommy looks like he has to physically force his hand away from flipping her off.

"Whatever," he half-snaps, sounding more exasperated than anything else. "Point is, it said the same thing, so that might explain why the boundary between different servers and the Void got all weak, too. Weak enough for me to fall through and pass from the Dream SMP to here."

There's a pause, and then about three people try and say some variation of 'that makes sense' over one another. Even Grian is mildly surprised—not about Tommy's display of intellect and problem-solving skills (because honestly, he showed that he was adept at both of those on day one), but about him researching stuff like that. He doesn't know why—it seems like a pretty obvious path from researching gods and magic and servers in general. "That's actually a pretty fair conclusion, Tommy," Grian compliments. "Well done."

Tommy's face goes pink for about half a second before he rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyways, I was thinking...surely for that to be the only major side effect of the moon being big, someone must be doing it on purpose. I don't know who or what, but they've probably got some sort of goal by opening it up for someone to come through. And..."

Tommy trails off, fumbling with his words and hands before Impulse offers, "You think you know what that goal is?"

Tommy nods, grateful. "Yes. Yes, I—I think it brought someone over from the Dream SMP to here on purpose. Specifically these two servers. 'Cause, I mean...the Dream SMP is sh*t. It's also filled with a lot of powerful people—aside from Dream."

Grian is not unaware of how tension fills the air again at the mention of the server admin. Not that anyone really knows what he's done—as far as the members of Boatem know, there were explosions, murdered pets, and Grian is pretty sure everyone has put together that the absolute state Tommy's wings were in when he first arrived probably had something to do with the man, too. Needless to say, practically everyone on Hermitcraft already knows that the guy is bad news, so Tommy outwardly admitting that he's powerful doesn't do much to help the rest of Boatem's nerves.

"I think I know three immortal people by name, just off the top of my head. I know and am friends with a god, and I know..." Tommy seems to count in his head for a moment. "Three people that have died and come back to life. Maybe four. With that much magic and power on the server, there's no way nobody on there is capable of doing something like this." He waves around an arm. "Or, at the very least, contacting something that could do it instead. And the only reason that someone would be sent from there to such a perfect server...I think...would be to get help."

There's a long, extended pause. Glances are tossed around, and Pearl tenatively asks, "So what you're saying is—"

"I think I'm meant to go back." Tommy confirms, squeezing his torso and refusing to look at anyone there. Grian's heart lurches to the point of him almost losing his balance and stumbling. His ears are ringing with silence, his wings are stiff, what? "I, uh...I have things, now. Information that I didn't have before, the knowledge that we're all trapped on that stupid f*cking server. I think if I go back, I could actually help fix things."

"Tommy," Impulse says quietly, looking about a milisecond away from crouching to Tommy's height to look him in the eyes. "You can't possibly believe we're just going to let you go back there alone."

Tommy's face sets into something hardened as he tilts his head back up to stare Impulse dead in the eyes. "You can't make me stay."

"That's not what I'm saying," Impulse admends quickly. "I just mean—that place is dangerous, Tommy. I don't know about the rest of them, but I can't just send you on your merry way in good faith when we don't even know if you're actually 'meant' to go back at all."

"I'm going to have to agree with Impulse, here," Mumbo seconds, face twisted in a way that makes his moustache tilt. He looks like he's just tasted something particularly sour, and his entire body posture is more rigid than it usually is. "Excuse my language, but you look like you've seen hell on that sever. I think you admitting to being a child soldier on, like, day five, is reason enough to want you to stay."

Tommy makes a frustrated noise, his hands clenching and unclenching in front of him. "No, you don't understand," he says, wings flapping behind him in agitation. "This isn't some choice I have—"

"It sounds like it is, though," Pearl interupts, unrelenting and blunt as always. Her arms are crossed and she's leaned her body weight onto one side, milky white and gray eyes swimming and shimmering like the moon reflected in water—except someone just threw a stone in the pond and the illusion is falling apart. "You don't have to go back."

"I do."

"You don't," she insists, taking a step forward. "You don't have to put yourself in danger again based on a theory you have, kid. You don't owe them anything, most certianly not your safety and mental safety."

Tommy's face flushes a deep shade of red, his eyes flashing with righteous pissed-offedness. Grian would love to intervene, truly, but it's like his tongue has slinked back into his throat and is stuck there—his brain is still turning over the idea of Tommy leaving, disappearing back to that place to try and help and probably get himself killed because he's such a good kid and wanted to get back the first chance he got. Channel, he lept to go back to his server, despite how awful it is. Has Grian done nothing to help over the past two months?

"You wouldn't know a thing about the people on the Dream SMP," he says hotly, taking his own step forwards and jutting a finger towards Pearl. "My family is on that server, my friends, my house—I had a life there."

"Sounds more like you had a death there," Scar says, voice tight with canned levity, weighed down by the growing concern on his face. "A lot of deaths. And war. And broken wings."

Tommy whirls around, probably about to yell at Scar, too, but he hesitates and draws back. His voice still has a biting edge, but Grian swears it looked like a flip switched inside of his mind before he says, "I—look. I do owe my life to some of the people there. Literally. As in, I would probably be permanently dead without some of my—"

His eyes shift in and out of focus. "My friends. The least I can do is try to help them."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to help them," Impulse reassures. "We've just gotta make sure we're doing it in a safe way. Jumping back into the Boatem Hole at the first chance you get sounds a bit nuts, doesn't it?"

Grian's brain catches up with him all at once, hitting his conciousness like a train into a brick wall as he says the most simple, easy solution his mind can come up with. "Well, alright. If the issue is safety, why don't I just go with him?"

The room freezes. Every single head turns to Grian and he shrugs. "I'm fine with it so long as I have a guide."

Tommy, most of all, seems shellshocked. His eyes are blown wide with disbelief, and his entire body is stiff as a board before he lets out a breath of a laugh, shakes his head, and says, "No way. Absolutely the f*ck not."

Grian's eyebrows pull together. "Why? You've said yourself how dangerous it is—"

"Yeah, so I'm not going to let someone who isn't used to having limited lives onto a sever where you only have three!" Tommy snaps, fully reanimated and turning to Grian with a cold fire in his eyes. "Are you f*cking insane?"

"No—Tommy, I'm trying not to let you get killed!"

"And I'm doing the same thing," he bites. "I'm trying to keep both of us alive, and you'll have the best chances if you stay here."

Grian makes an exasperated noise, wings hiked up behind him. This seems like such an easy answer, he can't possibly wrap his head around why someone would want to go alone into dangerous territory like that. Especially if Dream was as much of a control freak as Tommy had made him out to be the few times he had mentioned what the man had done—wouldn't he have noticed Tommy's absence over the past two months? Wouldn't he search for Tommy like a bloodhound until he was in the admin's clutches again?

He tries to calm himself down, slow the speed of his rapidly beating heart as Mumbo picks up, "You're also lowering your chances of survival if you go alone, Tommy."

Tommy replies without even turning to face the man. "I'll be fine."

"How are we supposed to know that?" Grian asks, spreading out his arms in a midly aggressive manner of questioning. "It's not like youve told us how many lives you've lost over there already—or even if you've lost any at all!"

Tommy recoils, a deep scowl etched into the lines of his face. "That's none of your—"

"What are we supposed to do here if you leave?" Grian continues, completely cutting Tommy off. "Watch your profile every day to see if it updates to tell us you're gone? And then what?"

Grian's eyes are solely focused on Tommy's, but he can see every other member of Boatem turn to him with wide eyes and expressions that practically scream at him to 'shut up.' Scar waves his hand back and forth under his neck in an attempt to get him to cut it out, but he filters it out alongside everything else. He's right, he knows he's right, why should he stop when he can see Tommy's eyes shifting, considering?

"You're—why do you even care?" Tommy asks dubiously. "Weren't you working to get me home anyways?"

Grian scoffs. "Tommy, we shifted focus from 'getting you home' ages ago. Why would we try and send you back to a broken server with a corrupt admin that has clearly already hurt you more than once—"

"Okay, okay," Pearl interrupts, stepping forwards with that no-nonsense tone that cuts through words and trains of thought alike. She snaps her fingers and points to the exit of the observatory, keeping her eyes fixed on Grian. They're tinted with something sharp and mildly annoyed, and the fire on Grian's tongue dies down and burns the roof of his motuh as he snaps it shut. "We—" She rounds her finger at Scar, Mumbo, and Impulse. "Are leaving."

"Well, hold on—" Impulse attempts to say.

"This isn't a Boatem meeting anymore," she interrupts, narrowing her eyes at Impulse. "I'm not going to stop Grian from doing whatever he wants to do—he's a grown man that can make his own choices, which means that this is between him and Tommy." Her lip tilts upwards in a slight scowl as she adds, "And you both are just arguing, anyway. We don't have any say here."

"'S not my fault he's being a complete f*ckin' moron," Tommy huffs under his breath, still slouching back and allowing clear passage towards the door. Pearl walks towards the door with purpose and pulls it open, allowing a blast of cool air to enter the room and making Grian and Tommy's wings puff up, almost in sync. "Absolutely goddamn insane."

She makes a gesture towards the open exit and fixes the other Boatem members with a look. "After you guys."

Impulse and Mumbo look mildly dejected as they leave, but Impulse still manages to throw Grian a glance before passing through—an 'I hope you know what you're doing,' look, Grian thinks. Scar wheels himself towards the exit and makes bug eyes at him, comically glancing back and forth between Grian and Tommy before exageratedly mouthing, "Go with him."

He disappears onto the path outside, and Pearl spares him the shortest of second glances before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

Grian turns back to Tommy. Tommy stares at him. There's a sheepish silence for a moment, the passion having been brought down by everyone else's sudden departure (which, now that he thinks about it, was proabbly her goal). Tommy shifts his weight, face still set into a frown, and asks again, "You didn't answer me before. Why do you even care?"

Grian feels mildly hysterical. "What are you talking about?"

"I've only been here for two months," Tommy continues, wrinking his nose more and more as he speaks. "I'm not a part of your sever or your community. I mean—you guys are great, but I don't really know any of you. Except maybe Scar, but that's just because he's a chronic oversharer. I can't build, and this is a building server. I swear, and you guys are family friendly. Why should you even give a sh*t whether I leave or not?"

There's a pause as Grian turns his words over in his head, the taste becoming more sour as what he said sinks in properly. "Tommy, I can tell you now that nobody cares that you don't 'fit in' with the Hermits. In fact, that's nonsense anyway—we're the Hermits, the entire point of us is to be mismatched. There's a zombie, a sentient blue slime block, and an immortal being living in a castle in the middle of the forest together. Boatem itself consists of an avian, an avian with nature magic, a lady with moth wings that's somehow aligned with the moon, a regular human man (quite possibly one of three on the server), a vampire, and someone with vex magic." Grian huffs out a laugh. "You're one of the more normal members of the server, Tommy."

"That still—that doesn't matter," Tommy says, though his voice betrays some emotion. "I'm not letting you put yourself in danger because of me. Things might not work the same since you're from here, you might just get one life." The idea does send a chill running down Grian's arms, and Tommy obviously catches the shift in his expression. His eyes somehow soften and harden at the same time—like he understands and agrees with Grian being afraid and is only fuelled on by his fear. "You shouldn't come, Big G. I've lived like that for ages, and you...I mean, you die for fun."

Grian sets his jaw stubbornly. "I'm not a child, Tommy, I can take care of myself. I've played hardcore before and I can hold my own in a fight if I really had to."

There's something in Tommy's expression that seems mildly offended, then disgusted, then pissed. He scoffs, holding his arms around his torso once more and repeats, "Right, you've 'played hardcore.' My entire sh*tty f*cking life is nothing more than a gamemode to you, I almost forgot." His sneer stops Grian from interrupting him as he takes a step forwards and makes sure to look down to meet Grian's eyes. "Maybe you've f*cking played hardcore before, maybe you've even survived for a good while—but have you lived it? Were you ever actually afraid that when you died, you would be gone forever? Or were you just afraid of losing the pretty base you built?"

The words Grian had next prepared wither on his tongue. Shame burns at his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and he doesn't even start to form a response before Tommy shakes his head, a completely humourless and disbelieving smile tilting the corners of his mouth upwards before his expression settles again. "This is rich. You know what?" Tommy shrugs, letting his arms fall to his sides haphazardly as his entire air shifts slightly to the left. Grian's eyebrows furrow as the anger in Tommy's eyes becomes more and more resigned, pulling further and further back until the coolness in his gaze feels gaudy and fake. "If you want to come, be my guest. You heard Pearl, you're a grown f*ckin' man."

Tommy marches over to the door and wraps his hand around the knob. There's a pause—he takes in a breath and lets it go before his next sentence falls like the last nail in a coffin, just as angry as before. "If you want to get yourself killed, it's not my god damn problem. I hope you have fun playing on my server."

The door slams shut behind him before Grian can get another word out.

Chapter Text

When Tommy sees a figure descending from the skies, long, orange hair trailing behind them in a braid, he lets out such a heavy sigh of relief he almost feels dizzy.

It has not been an easy few days. Ignoring the five people he lives around while, well, living around them is pretty difficult, especially taking into consideration that there isn't a single Hermit that understands the concept of personal space or privacy. He's been bumped into or happened upon more times than he can count, and the awkward eye contact and slow retreat always makes him cringe so hard he feels like he's going to fold himself into a serviette. He's needed to get away—and he's managed to, don't get him wrong—but while planning out a build, you sort of need to be in the general area of the site you're taking up to get accurate measurements.

Gem touches down next to him, wasting no time in hooking her thumbs under her elytra to remove it from her back. She rocks on the balls of her feet with a smile. "Hey, Tommy!"

"Hello, GeminiTay," Tommy says, already taking the medium-sized blueprint out of his inventory and rolling it out across the makeshift table he planted outside. They face the forest to the right of Pearl's mountain—close enough to still be considered a part of Boatem, since it's pretty nearby to Scar's behemoth of a 'starter base,' but far enough that it doesn't completely block the view of Cub's mesa. It's a good spot to build a house.

And yes, a house is all he will be building. He's trying to leave a notable mark on the server before he leaves, not make a megabase impressive enough to outshine anyone that actually belongs there. He's built silly things all over Boatem—a cobblestone shrine next to Mumbo's Mooner one, a little stand to sell mud placed annoyingly in front of the G-Train, and a very, very unflattering mannequin planted in the lobby of Scar's factory to display hats upon—but aside from his actual starter base underneath Pearl's mountain, he hasn't made anything lasting. Anything serious. Anything that wouldn't be torn down the moment after he leaves because it's sort of an eyesore to look at.

Gem leans over Tommy's shoulder to look at his build plans and the tips of his ears go red. He's sent this document to Gem countless times, bouncing it back and forth as he made changes in accordance with Gem's suggestions, but he can't help but feel just slightly embarrassed. Aside from it being something creative that he's showing to someone else, which is inherently nervewracking, it's also a pretty personal build.

He wanted to build something meaningful. Something with a theme.

Hermitcraft has been the closest thing Tommy could ever call an escape from the constant terror of the Dream SMP, so he tried his damndest to recreate the little cottage he and Tubbo had planned on building together if they had run away during Schlatt's administration.

It isn't a perfect replica, as it was first conceived over a year ago, but he thinks it comes close enough that if Tubbo somehow ended up seeing it, he'd probably recognise it. New materials are utilised, too—mostly moss and glow berries, providing that softer, more natural feel to the build and some similarly natural lighting, respectively.

"Oh, it looks even cooler in person!" Gem exclaims, basically planting her entire weight on his shoulders. "I'm so happy you asked me to help with this, Tommy, I think it's gonna turn out great."

Tommy huffs, placing stones on each corner of the blueprint to hold it down. "I paid you to come help me."

"Only because you thought I'd say no, otherwise," Gem teases, shaking his shoulders. The redness spreads from his ears to his cheeks, and he turns around to fix Gem with a scowl.

"You still took my diamonds."

"Why would I pass up on free diamonds?" she asks, not even batting an eye. Before Tommy can open his mouth to reply, she hops in front of him with excitement that Tommy can't help but share and bounces from foot to foot—hoof to hoof? "C'mon, let's get started! I wanna get this done before all of Boatem shows up to ask questions."

Tommy can't disagree with that.

Together, he and Gem line up the shulker boxes full of materials they'll need for the build and...just go for it. It immediately becomes clear that Tommy is way out of his league—Gem moves like a blur in his vision, and he's quickly outpaced by the woman as they proceed to construct this little house bordering the forest. At a point, he can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of his neck, and when he looks up he sees the tiniest dot of a figure standing atop Pearl's mountain, just in front of her door. She flashes him a thumbs-up, and he huffs, grateful that she at least doesn't approach him and disrupt the process.

It takes a few hours to finish, which is infinitely impressive to Tommy, as it would usually take him a few days anywhere else. He realises that he probably would have been incredibly lost without Gem there, so when he steps back to look at the building, he lets out a heavy breath and says, "Wow. You did incredibly."

Gem leans over and nudges his shoulder. "Oh, come on, Tommy. We both did incredibly."

Tommy huffs. Not finding it in him to argue, he crosses his arms and says, "Well, yeah, duh. Just take the f*cking compliment, why don't you?"

Gem snickers at him and drops herself onto a nearby shulker box, cracking her knuckles and starting to drink from a bottle of water she takes out of her inventory. Tommy stares at the house for a bit too long, looking over every leaf of every vine to make sure it's up to the standard of what he imagined in his head all those months ago—and it is. It very well is.

Tommy abruptly plants himself on the crafting table next to Gem, digging the tips of his boots into the soil as Gem regards him with a curious look from the corner of her eye. He takes a deep breath and says as quickly as he can muster, "I'm leaving."

Gem chokes on her water. "Excuse me?"

Tommy winces, shifting uncomfortably. His wings flap in mental protest of the awkwardness of the interaction, but he plows on, slowly repeating, "I'm...leaving."

"Like, right now?" Gem asks, turning to him and waving away the bottle in her hand. Tommy's eyes only meet hers for a moment, but they're filled with confusion and concern. "You're leaving this area, or...?"

Tommy shakes his head. "No, I'm leaving...this server. Hermitcraft. In a few weeks."

"Oh. Why?"

Tommy's shoulders droop as he sighs, leaning on one hand. "Mumbo showed up at my place four nights ago to tell us that the moon was getting big again—"

"The moon is what?"

"Yeah," Tommy says simply, tapping his foot nervously. "I figured it was probably opening up a portal for me to go back to the Dream SMP so I can save everyone, and then Grian started getting all pissy at me because I wanted to go alone, even though it was literally for his own good—"

"Wait, wait," Gem interrupts, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. Tommy's mouth clamps shut, mentally fanning away the flames of annoyance that were starting to colour his face red. "You heard the moon was getting big again and your immediate thought was that you should go back to the evil horror server?"

Tommy furrows his brows and does his best not to glare. "I've been researching this stuff for a month, Gem, it was a solid conclusion."

Gem raises her hands in surrender. "Fine! Fine. Even if that's true, why does it make any sense to let you go back there alone?"

"Prime, you're just like the rest of Boatem," Tommy mutters, burying his face into his palms out of frustration. Why doesn't anyone get it? It's not like he wants to go back alone, but he also doesn't want to get innocent people killed for him. He can't believe it's that hard to grasp.

Gem makes an affronted noise, crossing her arms. "Well, hey. I'm not asking because I don't think you're capable or anything like that, come on. But you've gotta admit that it's pretty dangerous over there, right? What are we supposed to do if you get hurt and we can't reach you? Could you even call us from there?"

"You are literally parroting exactly what Grian said," Tommy says, eyeing Gem up and down. "Did you talk to him about this?"

"Have you considered that they're just good points?"

"I've considered that I can do this by myself," Tommy snaps. "And I've considered that I don't appreciate being treated like a child."

"You are a child, number one," Gem says, cutting off Tommy's swear by holding up her hand. "And number two, even if you weren't, we'd all still be concerned. You've been here for a few months, Tommy, nobody would want you to just..." She waves her hands around, looking for her words. "Disappear into the aether with no warning."

"It isn't without warning," Tommy insists stubbornly. "That's why I'm telling you."

Gem looks nothing short of disappointed, and Tommy can't tell whether it's because she thought he was joking or because she knew he was serious. "You know what I mean, Tommy."

"Yeah, yeah," Tommy says, waving her off. "I just—I got really mad at Grian for it last night, you know? It's like he doesn't f*cking get that that server isn't somewhere to dick around on. This isn't a diss to his skill or whatever, but he's lived his whole life on a server like this—" He holds out his hands, gesturing first at his house and then turning towards the rest of Boatem. "Where it doesn't matter how many times you die. It matters on my server. I don't want to have to send back a f*cking Ghost Grian."

Gem hums in understanding, her eyebrows pulled taut with concern. "Did you explain that to him yesterday?"

"Of course I did!" Tommy says sharply, huffing and wringing his hands. "He just wouldn't listen! He made it sound like I was targeting his ability or something, and I'm not—even f*cking Technoblade almost lost a life on that server. My friend's lost two, I lost—"

Tommy clamps his mouth shut as Gem's entire body snaps to attention towards him. "You lost what?"

Tommy's face prickles, but he only feels cold. "Nothing."

"Tommy," Gem says slowly, eyes blown wide—wider than usual. "You've lost lives over there?"

Dead silence. Tommy hates how his body clams up, muscles tensing in preparation for something that isn't going to come. Gem would never hurt him—even if it took him a while to be absolutely sure, he knows that it's true. And yet, a shudder runs up and down his body as panic and instinct-driven thoughts file into his mind and make his throat dry. What if she insists on coming and stabs Tommy in the back? What if Dream somehow convinced her to hand him over?

"Tommy. Tommy."

He takes in a breath and shakes away his fear. She wouldn't. "Gem, if I tell you anything here, you need to swear to me that you're not going to tell anyone else." Tommy's voice sounds more pleading than he wishes it came out as, but he can't have a conversation like this sprung on him like this. Just a simple slip-up on his part is already making his heart jackrabbit against his ribs; he doesn't know what he would do or how he would react if someone came up to him and dropped that they knew how many lives he had left. Fuck, he doesn't know how many lives he has left. "Please. Please."

Gem looks apprehensive, but eventually sighs and relents. "Fine."

Tommy hesitates. The idea of lying bounces around in his mind, but the way Gem is staring at him, like her gaze is boring holes into his skin, he doesn't think she'd fall for any legerdemain he decided to tell. He draws in a breath and exhales, trying to calm himself down. "I've lost...I lost all of my lives. And then I was brought back to life."

Gem stares. "What?"

Another shaky breath. "I was killed three times. And I got brought back to life after the third time."

Confusion spreads across Gem's face. "But...I thought your server was in hardcore?"

Tommy winces and tilts his head from side to side. "I guess?"

"And I thought you said your admins didn't...y'know." She waves her hands around, grabbing for a word. "Admin?"

Tommy nods. "They didn't. It was with magic, Dream—the admin—he got this revive book from Schl—someone—and he memorised it and destroyed it so only he could bring people back to life. And—and after he killed me the third time, he brought me back just to prove that he could."

Gem looks absolutely mortified. "You—did this guy kill you all three times?"

Tommy nods. Gem almost springs from her seat to stand and face Tommy directly, looking him dead in the eyes. "What? Tommy, are you—you can't seriously be thinking of going back there alone, Tommy. That's insane!"

"It happened a year ago," Tommy protests. "Er—almost a year ago. Ten months. I think."

If anything, Gem only looks more distressed. "You can't expect me to not say something when you want to go back to that, Tommy. Why did he...? What happened?"

"The first two times were sort of justified," Tommy says, playing with his fingers in an attempt to not look into Gem's eyes. They're burning holes into his head. "They were during a war, and the first was during a betrayal and the second one was a duel I literally asked for. But the third one..."

He suddenly feels very warm. His face flushes deeply, and it isn't from embarrassment. "During the third one, he, um..."

His brows pull together. Everything looks so bright and garish, like the sun is too bright compared to the lighting he should have. The lighting that he had. Lava and glowstone. "I..."

Why can't he just spit it out? Why does the world feel like it's spinning? It hasn't been so long since thinking about that he's forgotten, has it?

He could go through it like a list. He can still remember the feeling from when his head was first driven against the obsidian. It was sharper than it looked and it dug into his skull painfully, immediately causing a head wound that bled and bled and bled until the pooling crimson started to fill in the dips in the floor. He broke ribs. He dislocated his shoulder. He's sure his lungs were on the verge of collapse. His head was spared no mercy, and by the end of it, he could barely lift it off of the ground and the entire world felt as if it was swaying back and forth before taking a hard dip to the left and—

"Tommy!" Gem yelps, grabbing onto his arm before he tumbles off of his crafting table and into the grass. The world seems to twist and stretch in his vision, causing a headache of proportions he's far too familiar with before it snaps back and he himself screams, wrenching his arm out of Gem's grasp before she can do anything to him. Before she could—what was she going to do?

"Tommy, it's okay," Gem says, her tone sounding more pleading than placating. "You don't need to tell me. But you can't expect me to take this lying down, kid. You're, like, fifteen, and you've already had to be in wars and politics and whatever it was that just made you freak out. If you thought Grian was concerned before, there's no way he would let you go once you told him all of this."

"Which is why I'm not telling him." He stares Gem dead in the doe eyes. They only stretch further. "And neither are you."

"But Tommy—"

"And," he interrupts, holding up a hand before sighing. He tries to make it sound dramatic, like he's begrudgingly accepting that it's his only option as he shakes away the fuzz in his mind. "That is also why Grian will be going with me. To the Dream SMP."

Despite Tommy's sour expression, the relief that floods through Gem is visible and audible. Her shoulders sag and she lets out a breath. "Oh, thank Prime. I would have dropped an antler if you really ended up disappearing all on your own out there."

A pang in Tommy's heart, and then he's laughing. "Yeah, yeah. He was in such a fit, it was the only thing I could think of to say."

Gem hums. A pause, and then: "Can I...hug you?"

Tommy's brows furrow as he looks at her. "Why?"

Gem shrugs. "I don't know. We've been friends for a couple of months now and I've never given you a hug and you've never given me one. And you're about to leave and I might never see you again." She suddenly pauses and backtracks. "That isn't trying to say that you owe me one, or anything, I know you're a little touchy with being touched, so I don't really—"

"Gem," Tommy interrupts yet again. He holds out one arm in her direction. It's fine. Gem wouldn't do anything. It makes Tommy think about how quickly he bonded with Grian—how quickly it took for him to not mind this getting this kind of contact from him. Maybe it's an avian bonding thing—whatever it was, it makes Tommy feel slightly guilty for not even hugging her up until now. He used to hug his friends all the time. "You can go ahead."

She doesn't hesitate—she hooks her arms under his and pulls him in for a rather gentle hug, considering what Gem's strength could have done to his poor, weak spine. Tommy properly hugs her back with both hands, and he quietly appreciates how warm she feels and how still her hands are behind his back.

Tommy doesn't look at Grian. He goes out of his way to not look at Grian. It isn't very difficult, considering how the only other thing in this void room is an axolotl hybrid with frills that seem to float around as if they're in water. He's mesmerised.

The hybrid in question spares him a glance when he notices Tommy staring, his gaze lingering before slowly asking, "Do you...need something?"

Tommy blinks. "No. I simply think you have wonderful frills, Zooma. You are a beautiful creature. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Xisuma chuckles and looks back down at his tablet. The urge to snatch it out of his hand grows stronger with every passing moment—seriously, Tommy doesn't think they've been in the same room together for more than two minutes without the guy having that damn thing out. "You would be surprised at just how many people."

Tommy huffs. "I'm the most important out of all of them. This is the only time that will ever matter. Also—"

The frills snap down and flare out. "No, you can't touch them."

"F*ck you."

"Are you ready to go?"

It's at this point that Tommy spares a glance toward the other avian, who stands a considerable distance away from the two of them but still flashes a thumbs up. His jumper and wings are stark against the vantablack background of the void, and he meets Tommy's eyes almost instantaneously. Tommy turns away, sticking his hands into his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. "I hate travelling between servers. Why couldn't you make it more comfortable?"

"I didn't invent the experience of hopping servers, Tommy," Xisuma says with a sigh. "You just aren't used to it."

"'You just aren't used to it,'" Tommy mocks, making a face at him.

"It would feel better if you learned how to do it yourself," Xisuma reminds him.

Tommy rolls his eyes, feigning impatience. "Let's go, Zoomer, I have no time for your stupid server horses*it. We have a woman to bully."

Xisuma stares at him and Tommy laughs nervously. "That was a joke. A slash jay, if you will."

Another sigh, then Xisuma's gloved hand is moving to tap the screen of his communicator again, and Tommy braces himself before he is essentially disconnected from the Hermitcraft server.

Disconnecting is weird. It isn't necessarily painful, but it's uncomfortable—it reminds him of when he first fell here, when he felt like he was being intrinsically torn apart, but it's a lot more literal and it doesn't hurt as much as it did before. He feels like he's dissolving into nothing and floating around in the Goddamn aether until his body gets pulled back together by the gravitational force of who-fucking-knows, and then he's somewhere else entirely.

When Tommy opens his eyes, he isn't in the void anymore—the sun shines almost directly into his eyes, and he yelps and turns away and almost immediately bumps into Grian.

"Fuck, Prime, oh my gods—"

"Oh, Channel, you can swear."

He sends a scowl down to Grian, whose nose is scrunched up in mild distaste. It hits Tommy a few moments later—oh, hell yes, he can swear.

"Fuck. Shit. Piss, piss, ass, bollocks, fuckshitass—"

Grian squawks in indigination and presses his hands to his ears as Tommy continues making a public disturbance. There are dozens of people walking around, passing through spawn and entering buildings that Tommy is sure hold Nether portals from the noise coming from them. It doesn't look like any sort of architecture he's seen, all uniform and perfect-looking with not a single junk chest to be seen.

Is every other server supposed to be neat and clean like this? Is it really just the Dream SMP?

Xisuma fizzles into existence just a few moments later, dropping onto the floor with impressive grace as he rolls his shoulders back and shakes out his frills. He scans the area for Grian and Tommy (who have now stepped a couple of feet away from each other), spots them, and walks over.

He's already started looking down at his communicator. He doesn't even have the admin excuse on this server, what the hell is he even doing?

"Right, so," Xisuma starts, corralling Tommy and Grian out of the centre of the spawn area. "Welcome to Earth-18511. I know you don't really know about the Earth servers, but to be as quick as possible, they're sort of just a place for people to either retire to or live when they're not really up for the..." He waves his hand. "Dangerous lifestyle that private servers typically have. Paths are well-lit, homes are rarely griefed, and the laws of the server are very strict. Usually."

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Sounds boring as fuck. Oh my gods, I haven't heard the word fuck in months." Grian rolls his eyes and Xisuma sighs.

"You've been off of Hermitcraft for five minutes and I think you've sworn more than I have in five years," Grian jabs, turning to face Tommy when Xisuma stops the both of them.

"Mimimi," Tommy mocks, scrunching up his face towards the other avian before turning back to Xisuma. "How many of these Earth servers did you say there were?"

Xisuma makes an uncertain hum. "Around twenty-thousand or so? Holding a maximum of fifty-thousand each."

Tommy stares. "That's a billion people."

"Yes, well," Xisuma shrugs half-heartedly. "Some people want to raise a family in a place with mostly-guaranteed safety."

"But why would you give up excitement for 'mostly-guaranteed?' You could build something like this on your own server, right?"

"I've never understood it either, Tommy," Xisuma replies, elbowing Tommy with his communicator arm before suddenly looking up and scanning the area. "She says she's here. Do you see her, Tommy?"

Tommy couldn't possibly lie and say his heartrate doesn't suddenly pick up as his eyes drag across the busy area near spawn. Faces turn to a blur around him, and he almost feels dizzy with the fact that he's never going to see any of these people ever again. He's never going to know their names, or hear their voices, and the concept just seems so inherently foreign to him that he almost immediately gets overwhelmed once he actually has to pay attention to the crowd.

He feels a hand drop onto his shoulder and barely gets to turn around before another is pointing past him in some random direction. Grian shakes his shoulder just the tiniest bit and says, "Look, isn't that her with the mask and sweater?"

Tommy squints and—ah.

He stares into the eyes of Alyssa. She waves at him and he gives the most tentative, pathetic wave back.

It almost feels like he blinks and she's standing in front of him, mildly concerned before shaking hands with Xisuma and giving Grian a small wave when he refuses to move from behind Tommy for whatever reason. He looks down at her and sees her eyes crinkle with a smile as she says, "Wow. You're...a lot taller, Tommy."

Tommy's face goes inexplicably red, and his brain seems to immediately fall back on old habits upon hearing her voice. "And you've only gotten shorter, woman. Prime above. I am ruining my posture looking at you right now, Alyssa, I have to tell you the truth."

Xisuma turns to look at him, bewildered, but Alyssa only laughs, patting Tommy's arm and saying, "If there's one thing I missed about the Dream SMP, it definitely was your colourful insults."

She gives him a quick hug that he barely has any time to reciprocate before she steps away, looking between all three of them and saying, "So...you wanted to know about how and why I got kicked out."

Tommy half-frowns. "I mean, I guess so. Dream always just said that you got tired of us and left the main server to find a distant town or something like that."

Alyssa snorts. "That sure is one way to put it."

"So it isn't true?" Xisuma asks, taking a step towards her. "Did you actually get kicked from the server?"

She tilts her hand back and forth in a 'so-so' type of way. "Eh. C'mon, we can go somewhere quieter so we can actually hear each other when we talk. There's a portal directly to Cental Park from here—it's loud, but it isn't this loud."

Xisuma shrugs. "That's fine by me. Guys?"

"I'm down," Grian says, but he doesn't move at all. Tommy throws a glance back at him and he is distinctly looking away, wings flared out behind him.

"Sure," is all Tommy says for a moment, but he turns his narrowed gaze towards Alyssa after a thought crosses his mind. "You really haven't been in contact with anyone from the SMP this entire time?"

Alyssa nods. "Yep."

"For two years?"

"Two years," she repeats, beginning to walk towards one of the surrounding buildings. "I have a life, I have new friends, got back with some of my old ones, all that good stuff."

Tommy fake gags. "Gods, you're so wholesome."

Alyssa sounds amusedly confounded. "Thank you?"

"It wasn't a compliment."

She snickers. "I'll just take it as a compliment, then."

"Prick."

"Child."

"Woman."

"Child."

"Asshole," Tommy snaps, making Alyssa laugh out loud. "You're a wrongen, ItsAlyssa, and you always have been."

The building holding Nether portals is rather simple for a spawn build—by Hermitcraft standards, not by Dream SMP standards—with portals lined across the walls and glowing with all different colours, huge banners above them dictating symbols of where they lead. There aren't as many in this building as he heard in some others, so he supposes this is more for general areas or landmarks than specific...districts? Towns? Villages?

Alyssa leads the three of them up a flight of stairs to the second level of portals, making a beeline to a light green one with a banner depicting a tree on it hanging just above. She beckons the three of them towards her, explaining, "This is the portal to Central Park—it's a little disorienting if you've never used this type of portal before, Tommy, so I think you should hold onto someone while we're passing through."

For what feels like the umpteenth time today, he accidentally glances toward Grian before remembering in the same instant that he's supposed to be ignoring him and crossing his arms. "I'll be fine, man, let's just go."

Alyssa stares before shrugging. "Suit yourself."

She steps into the portal, melting between the translucent plasma that seems to flow around and over itself within the confines of the wooden portal and disappearing out of sight. Xisuma jerks his head towards the portal, telling Tommy to come along before he steps through, too. Tommy does not look back, as much as he may want to, instead taking in a deep breath like he does every time he enters a Nether portal (in case he gets stuck in the purple ooze or whatever) and ducking into it as fast as possible.

When he turns around, he sees Grian staring at him, brows furrowed and looking...annoyed? Confused? Lost?

It's hard to pin down before the green envelops his vision, and suddenly, he's somewhere else.

Chapter Text

Grian is freaking out.

Freaking out may be a little extreme, but he's sure he's on the verge of it if not already. He's panicking, and it's only partially because Tommy is still mad at him after however many days it's been since the observatory incident.

Honestly, he just doesn't like being on servers this large. He doesn't like being surrounded by this many people, certainly not people he doesn't know. This is why he almost never leaves Hermitcraft—he only ever goes to his own creative server for building and personal challenge servers set up by himself or Jimmy or Joel or whoever. This is...extreme. And loud. Not just literally—it's loud visually, too, the sight of so many people swarming around almost making him feel ill.

He trails behind their small group, doing his best to stay at Tommy's heels despite the kid trying to dodge and weave around people in the most inconvenient way possible for Grian to keep track of him. He's definitely doing it on purpose, but it's not like Grian can just whip him around and start having a meltdown. He'd look insane and it wouldn't be fair to Tommy. Looking back on it, he was being a bit...hardheaded. And he was just running his mouth instead of listening to what Tommy had to say, as per usual. He has to apologise, but whenever he's free, Tommy's avoiding him like the plague, and whenever they're together (e.g., right now), they're rather preoccupied.

Eventually, they leave the area closest to the portal station and the crowds start thinning out. The park that they step into looks like...well, a park. It is rather pretty, and Grian finds himself looking in awe at the huge, towering trees that provide shade from hundreds of meters up in the air. It's vertigo-inducing, and that's something he can appreciate.

"So, Tommy," the lady starts—Alyssa, if Grian has been following. Apparently, she used to be on Tommy's server before suddenly disappearing—except, unlike everyone else on the server, she disappeared into a public server. She didn't come up as missing at all—when X hastily contacted her for information, she told them that she had been alive and well ever since she left, and offered to meet up to see Tommy because she 'missed him' and 'was worried.' Needless to say, Grian was skeptical (only because he's immediately wary of anyone else that comes from that server), but Tommy seems to be doing alright. "You have significantly more scars all over you than when I last saw you." She pokes him in the shoulder lightly. "What stupid wars have Wilbur and Dream 'n' George dragged you into since I left? How'd that whole election thing go?"

The air shifts considerably—Xisuma and Grian clear their throats at the same time, which almost makes Grian laugh. Alyssa glances back at them and furrows her brows when her eyes land on Tommy. He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck for a moment before laughing. "Uh..."

Alyssa blinks a few times. "Did I say something wrong?"

Tommy makes a weird noise. "Not really. It went, uh...I mean, we lost. I think you know that. Were you there for the festival?"

Alyssa shakes her head, turning forward again. "I didn't attend. Pretty sure I had something going on out here, actually." She pauses then tilts her head to the side, apparently trying to remember. "...I think that was around the time I left for the last time. Why, did something happen?"

"You could say so, yeah," Tommy says, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Here's my question, first: how did you just...leave?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did you just..." Tommy makes a meaningless gesture with his hands, and when Alyssa looks back at him, she looks wildly confused. "Disconnect? Leave?"

"I just...left?" Alyssa says, her voice rising with a questioning lilt. "Like how you leave any server?"

Tommy puts his face into his hands and groans, and when Xisuma speaks up, Alyssa looks at him desperately to explain what it is she's said wrong. "What am I missing, here?"

"According to Tommy, nobody has left the Dream SMP server," Xisuma says helpfully. "Ever. He also says that nobody else on the server is aware that there are other servers in existence—essentially, it's locked away from the rest of...everything."

Alyssa's eyes widen slightly. "What? That doesn't make any sense, Tommy, you left the server dozens of times right in front of my eyes. One of your greatest tactics during your Disc War with Dream was combat-logging."

Tommy doesn't respond, most likely staring at her in confusion as Grian inwardly snorts. Somehow, that sounds exactly like how Tommy would act on a normal server under normal circumstances.

"I don't...know what you mean, Alyssa," Tommy says, voice wavering with tentativeness and bewilderment. "I never left that server until I fell into Hermitcraft. I'd never even seen someone disconnect."

"Tommy, you used to plant yourself in one spot whenever I'd combat-log, wait for me to log back in, and then kill me as soon as I did."

Tommy visibly recoils. "Ey, now, what the fuck are you talking about? I've never killed you, what the fuck?"

Alyssa stops in her tracks and fully turns around, staring at Tommy with something new in her eyes—a hell of a lot of concern. "Tommy, what are you talking about?"

"Why would I ever kill you on the Dream SMP?" Tommy hisses. "We're talking about the same server, right?"

"Alyssa," Grian butts in, taking a small step forwards so he's right behind Tommy. She looks at him and Grian can clearly see her concern turn to worry as she continues glancing back at Tommy. "Was the Dream SMP a server with limited respawns?"

Alyssa frowns, disbelief in her tone as she says, "Uh, no? Unless the number was in the hundreds, there's no way in hell that server was any sort of hardcore. It was just a normal server, killing each other was never a really big deal unless it was during one of your wars or whatever."

Tommy makes a strangled noise, Xisuma's frills flare out just the slightest bit, and Grian is just confused.

"Maybe we should...sit down. For the rest of this conversation." Xisuma gestures to the nearest park bench and Tommy wordlessly steers his way to it, leaving a mildly terrified and horribly confused Alyssa standing rooted in place. She fixes the two of them with a pleading look and Xisuma puts a hand on her shoulder. "You've done nothing wrong. This is really useful for us, he just...there must be some memory tampering going on here because Tommy has apparently been a victim to the server's limited respawn system many times."

"But the server doesn't have—"

"I'm sure he'll explain himself to you," Grian interrupts, starting to walk over to where Tommy is and beckoning the other two forwards. "Let's just listen."

Alyssa's shoulders slump, but she does follow him, Xisuma trailing slightly behind. She sits down just next to Tommy, whose elbows are planted into his knees and cheeks are being held by his hands. Grian remains standing, so Xisuma takes the other space next to Tommy, glancing up at Grian with the smallest amount of confusion. Grian just shakes his head. They certainly aren't being subtle about being mad at each other, that's for sure.

There's silence for a few moments before Tommy opens his mouth, waits for a moment, then frowns and says, "This doesn't make any sense."

Alyssa lets out a breathy laugh. "For you and me both."

He puts his face in his hands and groans. "And I have such a killer headache, fuck."

Alyssa pats him on the shoulder. "Look, Tommy. Maybe...maybe this'd be easier if you explained exactly what you remember, and then I explain the same. Just so we can see if...something went wrong. Or if something got lost in translation."

"I don't know how else to explain it, though," Tommy says, exasperation and frustration clear in his voice as he brings his hands down. "We all lived on the SMP for our whole lives, we always have had three lives."

Alyssa chokes in surprise. Grian feels mildly vindicated by the reaction—that is absurd. "Three? Three lives? Tommy, I've watched you die more than that within three minutes."

"But that doesn't make any sense, I wouldn't just...forget dying." He furrows his brows, distress evident in his voice. "Would I?"

"I mean, it is rather common on non-hardcore servers," Xisuma placates. "If she is to be believed and the Dream SMP started off as a normal server, it wouldn't be unusual for what she's saying to be true."

"But—but I—Alyssa," Tommy turns to face Alyssa directly, who stares him dead in the eyes in turn. There's a certain urgency in his voice as he says, "Alyssa, Wilbur died. Like, died died. He's fine now, but—I watched him when he lost his third life. He died in the war, he died when we were escaping from L'Manburg after we got exiled, and..." He winces. "And then he got killed. He was dead for months."

Alyssa's eyes are wide with horror as she regards Tommy, seemingly trying to decipher whether or not he's lying. Grian's eyes lock onto Tommy's golden hair. No way. "You...who would kill Wilbur? I mean, like, seriously kill him?"

Tommy shakes his head. "It doesn't matter, the point is—"

"Tommy, what do you mean it 'doesn't matter?'" Alyssa interrupts, voice heightening in pitch. It immediately makes Grian glance around them, relieved when he sees no one looking at them. "Wilbur was one of my friends, too, you can't just brush that off with a 'he's fine now.'"

"And what a good friend you were," Tommy snaps, causing Grian's wings and Xisuma's frills to simultaneously flare out in shock. "You fucked off from the server and didn't look back, why the hell do you care now?"

"I got banned from the server," Alyssa corrects, taking Tommy's sudden change in demeanor in stride. "I left one day and couldn't come back. I couldn't message any of you—and believe me, I tried. Honestly, I assumed it was some stupid prank from Dream until he messaged me and said that I wasn't allowed back on because I wasn't playing enough." She shrugs, though her tone turns bitter. "I mean, he wasn't wrong, but he was a bit of a douche about it. Not that Dream was ever above being a little bit of a douche, but that was another level entirely."

Tommy shrinks a little bit. "You really tried to come back?"

"I mean, yeah. The server was fun, but it started getting a little intense around the election and I wasn't particularly a fan." She shrugs again. "I still hung out with Niki and George and Callahan, but Dream and Sap were suddenly too busy chasing you and the rest of your country around the server to chill anymore. It just wasn't very fun, but I wasn't going to abandon all of you forever. You were still my friends, even when you were annoying and occasionally asshole-y."

Tommy somehow shrinks further. "Okay, sorry. I just—this is a lot. This is stressful."

Alyssa hums. "Yeah, seems like it. You're sure that Wilbur is okay, though? What happened with that?"

Tommy glances towards Grian for the first time since sitting, a quarter of a second flash before his gaze flicks to Xisuma and back to Alyssa. Right, he's being secretive with them and them only. Alyssa is already pretty in the loop, so she gets to know all the details.

If the glance was Tommy trying to subtly tell Grian to leave, Grian, unfortunately, is not feeling very cooperative.

"He, um. He basically committed suicide. Asked Phil to kill him and Phil...did."

Alyssa stares in shock, hand raising to cover her already-covered mouth. Xisuma freezes in an almost inhuman way, and Grian feels a bit dizzy. Wilbur Soot, the same guy Tommy said was his older brother...? And—and isn't Phil his father? And he said he had to watch?

He feels like he's going to be sick.

"What?" Alyssa says quietly.

Tommy distinctly does not look any of them in the eye. "He was a ghost for a few months, and then Dream brought him back to life."

"Why the hell did Dream wait for months? He created the server, he should have been able to immediately!"

"Yeah, well," Tommy blows a bit of hair out of his face, still fixing his gaze on the collar of Alyssa's shirt. "The admins kind of stopped admining after you left. Guess it was a side-effect of everyone forgetting what admins even were."

Alyssa lets out a short, disbelieving breath, looking back and forth between Xisuma and Grian, as if to ask them whether they knew about this, too. Grian is pretty sure the way his eyes burn into the back of Tommy's head as if he's hoping to see inside is answer enough. "That doesn't make any sense, Tommy, how did he bring Wilbur back from a hardcore death if—"

"Schlatt—Jschlatt, the guy who won the presidency, you remember him—had some sort of 'revive book' that could bring people back to life. He traded it for Dream's help when he went to war with Pogtopia, and the bastard memorised and burned it so that only he could bring people back. It was magic, not server shit."

"Tommy, that's insane. That's—" She takes in a breath and releases it shortly, holding out her hands to try and calm herself down. "Are you okay? Isn't—I mean, Wilbur is your brother, and, I mean, Phil—"

"I'm fine," Tommy says quickly. "It was over a year ago, yeah? Everything surrounding that has been basically fine, aside from Wilbur being even more of a prick."

"Tommy, just because it happened a while ago doesn't mean it's fine." She reaches out a hand and places it on Tommy's arm, making the boy stiffen. Alyssa's gaze flickers, but she doesn't move. "You don't have to be fine."

"I kind of do, though," Tommy retaliates, shrugging away Alyssa's hand. "The server changed after you left. Bad shit happened. Nobody had any time to dwell on whatever fucking trauma they got last week, because it was just going to get worse."

"But that isn't right, Tommy."

"I never said it was," he replies, leaning back onto the bench. "That's just how it is."

"That's...insane. This is insane." She presses her hands into her thighs and balls them up into fists. "What is Dream even doing over there? Why hasn't he tried to fix it? Him or Callahan or...or George, Sapnap, Sam, Bad? Why aren't they trying to fix the server? If nobody can leave—I mean, something must be broken, right?"

It's a fair assumption at first glance—honestly, that's what Grian thought at first, too—but the idea of a server being broken and all of the server's inhabitants suddenly forgetting how to disconnect and forgetting what servers actually are is too convenient. It's too deliberate.

Tommy snorts, holding out a hand and starting to count. "Let's go down the fuckin' list, may we? I haven't seen Callahan in literal months, George is literally always asleep, Sapnap is too busy burning shit down and blowing shit up for no reason other than to cause problems, Sam built a prison and is too busy failing at guarding that prison, and the last time I saw Bad, he was being possessed by a demon egg. Or something like that."

"You're joking."

"I solemnly swear," Tommy raises his right hand bitterly.

"And Dream?" Alyssa asks, sounding desperate. "You skipped over Dream."

Tommy falters. He glances at his two escorts, then says "Yeah, well. We're pretty sure Dream is the problem."

Grian, being the only one standing, has the pleasure of being able to see the dots connect behind Alyssa's eyes as she pieces together everything Tommy has said so far. Her expression drops, and all she says is, "Shit."

"Yeah," Tommy says. "Yeah."

"What has he—" She pauses, struggling to find the words. "What has he done? What did he do?"

Tommy tilts his head from side to side as Grian's wings uncontrollably shift with his sudden interest. "Well. He basically enabled Wilbur to commit, for one. As in, Wilbur went off the walls batshit and started talking about how he wanted to blow up L'Manburg, and Dream was right there with the TNT. And then after that, he manipulated Tubbo into exiling me from L'Manburg after we rebuilt it and he was made president."

"Wait," Alyssa interrupts, much to Tommy's chagrin. "You guys made Tubbo president? Isn't he like..."

"Sixteen?" Alyssa nods. "Yes. He was fifteen at the time, but only for a little. And Wilbur made him president just before he died, not us. Anyways, Dream basically fucking tormented me in exile for a month before I escaped, and then he blew up L'Manburg down to bedrock with Phil and Techno. And then he tried to kill Tubbo and lock me up in prison forever, but then we locked him up instead. And, uh..." Tommy's wings shudder, and he seems to try his best to ignore the involuntary reaction. "That's about it. Well, no, he's also just genuinely awful in between all of that, but that's all of the...big stuff."

Alyssa is quiet, her expression looking mortified, but Grian can't help but feel slightly relieved. Tommy, as far as he can remember, never mentioned the man being locked up in prison. Why wouldn't he bring that up when it would help his case to go back alone so much? Not that Grian would allow it anyway, but it would make him feel significantly better for being the only one going with him.

"And..." Alyssa's voice cracks a little bit. Her brows are pulled tightly together, and her eyes are so slitted they almost look closed. "Is he still there? Is Dream still in prison, I mean?"

Tommy's shoulders hike up. He ducks his head down, releases a slow, trembling breath, and shakes his head. "Nah. No. He, um...he escaped on the day that I showed up in Hermitcraft. I heard the prison sirens and ran into the forest and...yeah. He's out."

Oh.

Alyssa's hand moves to cover her mouth, still almost looking on the verge of crying but night quite being there yet. It takes her a moment, but she says through the thickness in her voice, "Tommy, I'm...I'm so sorry. I never should have left, I can't believe that all happened to you and—I can't believe Dream would act that way. You remember him before he was like that, right? He wasn't always like that. Never."

"Alyssa," Tommy starts, but Xisuma softly cuts him off by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Alyssa," he starts, looking down at her brushing away whatever tears may have formed at the corner of her eye. "You seem like a lovely person. There was no way of you knowing that something like this would happen. You were just doing what any normal person on a server would have done, and when you were banned, you demonstrated that you still cared by trying to contact everyone inside. You were told that you weren't wanted on the server and you moved on with your life, but when we told you that something was wrong, you were the one that offered to meet up in person. This isn't your fault in any capacity."

Tommy opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. "Yes. That."

Alyssa laughs, ruffling Tommy's hair and making his face go incarnadine with embarrassment. "Thank you, Xisuma. And Tommy—you've gotta be the bravest sixteen-year-old I know. You don't suppose I could...I don't know. Go back with you? I'd love to help out over there, however I could."

Xisuma makes a contemplative noise and starts to say, "Well, we'd have to bring you back to—" just as Tommy flat-out says, "No."

Grian and Xisuma sigh in tandem as Tommy stubbornly crosses his arms. "I already have Grian going with me. I don't want anyone else to get hurt for—" He hesitates, then starts again. "I can do it by myself. Grian is just a chaperone."

Alyssa snorts, then looks up at Grian. "I plan to actually help, I'm not just going to stand at a distance and watch him."

"That's good to hear, at least," Alyssa says with a cheeky smile. "Honestly, I think he's more than capable of handling himself." She pats his shoulder twice. "He's got the scars to prove it at this point."

Instead of looking uncomfortable like Grian thought he would, Tommy looks...proud. Fiercely proud. It's an expression that makes Grian shiver, because no child should look that pleased with the fact that he's able to fight tooth and nail for his survival after having to do so so many times.

Tommy doesn't bother looking back at Grian, and something churns within his gut. He fixes his gaze onto Alyssa and says seriously, "Yes. I am."

"...and that's all the information we've gathered from taking the moon's behaviour into context."

Xisuma looks up from the notes he had open on his communicator, glancing around the rather large group that has assembled around spawn. Grian finds himself amongst a majority of his fellow Hermits, feeling a bit crushed under the looks that they've been giving him since everyone arrived. Tommy stands to Xisuma's left while Grian is closer to his right, meaning that he's completely out of sight.

It's been several days—maybe a week?—since their visit to the Earth server, and Xisuma deemed it close enough to the time of Grian and Tommy's departure to inform the rest of the server about it. There are a lot of faces Grian hasn't seen in a good while—Joe Hills has emerged from whatever pocket of Aether he keeps himself in, and the Big Eyes Crew (who Grian hasn't seen in ages due to being business rivals) have all turned up, though he assumes it's mostly because they're apparently good friends with Tommy.

There are some of the more Hermit-y Hermits that declined to show up but still sent Grian mildly concerned messages upon hearing what the meeting was about: Etho and WelsKnight were both rather confused, but Etho jovially told him to channel his Hardcore skills upon hearing Grian's explanation and Wels told him that it was an honourable cause, but that he would kill Grian if he died over there; TFC didn't ask for a full explanation, only reminding him to be careful in a territory that wasn't his own.

Most other Hermits did show up in person, and have been utterly flabbergasted at the description of events Xisuma has been giving them over the past couple of minutes. Grian doesn't blame him—if he wasn't as involved in the Tommy situation as he was, he would probably be just as shocked at the idea that some uber-powerful being had used the funny void hole in the middle of Boatem to signal for help on a dying server, having sent a small, traumatised boy who has next to no idea of basic universal mechanics as proof of needing help, and then the boy, through investigation and interviewing outsiders, discovered that there is probably an equally-as-powerful, possibly even more powerful being that has altered everyone's memories and set the server to Hardcore and very much did not want anyone to be able to leave, the least of all bring that aforementioned boy.

He'd be a little confused, too.

"Wait, wait, wait," Bdubs says, waving his arms from underneath his dripping cloak. He looks like some sort of monster from the woods, draped in moss with a perpetually soaked cloak and his terrifying wide eyes (though that's always been a thing). "Are you telling us that you're going onto another server...so you can fight god?"

Grian blinks. There is silence, and Bdubs splutters and waves his hands again. "You said that everyone on the server forgetting everything about servers and the server getting locked all happening at the same time was too coincidential to be a coincidence. And the only thing that could do that is, like, a crazy super-admin or god. And that's basically the same thing!"

There's a pause, then Joe Hills tilts his head to the side. "He has a point."

"Of course I have a point!" Bdubs snaps, making Grian roll his eyes. "Are you sure nobody else can go with you two? There's strength in numbers, you know."

"No," Tommy says for probably the fourteenth time. Even Grian is getting tired of it, and he agrees with Bdubs.

"But you haven't explained why," Tango stresses, looking up at Tommy. They're standing next to each other, and Tango has not been subtle about the looks he's been giving the kid from ever-so-slightly behind him. "Not enough to convince us, at least."

"We wouldn't mind going along with you, you know," Keralis says, slinging his arms around Tango and Bdubs (much to Bdubs' sudden chagrin, given that he was trying to be serious). "If that's the root of the problem, that is."

"It isn't," Tommy says bluntly. "I don't care if you 'don't mind,' it's dangerous and none of you know enough about it for you to actually tactfully navigate."

"You could explain it to everyone, Tommy," Gem suggests rather aggressively in tone, almost leaning forwards along with her words. "You could give us context so we can prepare and come help usefully."

"It's not about being useful, it's about surviving," Tommy repeats. "You might show up there and only have one life. Dream sure as hell isn't going to bring any of you back. Sh*t, we don't even know if any of you can actually make it through. Only I have been able to pass through the Boatem Hole so far."

"That isn't a reason not to try," Cleo says, shifting her weight to her other leg. The garishly bright fitnesswear contrasts her expression and her skin almost humorously, making her look like a disgruntled 80s video instructor with an axe and a bag full of various minerals. "And you're kind of assuming none of us can survive for a little while on a hardcore server. I'm pretty sure everyone here has done it at least a few times."

"Yeah, but it isn't just a hardcore server. It's—it's like a hardcore server on crack. You don't just get kicked out when you die, you die-die and go to the afterlife. Like, you get sicced inside of a terrifying, awful limbo where every month that passes there is only a day in real life. Your only hope of being brought back to life is interference from a literal madman who was probably the one who killed you in the first place. And—I mean, come on, if he isn't the one that kills you, it could be literally anyone else!" Tommy lets out a half-laugh that sounds more like a scoff. "I mean, I have friends that would probably blow you up for looking at them wrong. They're the best people in the world, but they wouldn't hesitate to snap your neck if you seem like a threat."

"Who says we're going to be threatening?" Keralis asks, hands still over Bdubs and Tango's shoulders.

Tommy fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Everything on that server is a threat."

There's an uncomfortable bout of silence as everyone shifts, unsure of what to say next. Cleo abruptly turns fo stare at the Boatem folks, all lined up next to each other, and says, "Boatem seems rather quiet about this. Considering Tommy is closest to them to begin with."

"They don't have to say anything if they don't want to," Tommy snaps. Cleo regards him with a mildly unimpressed look and he continues, "It isn't their problem just because I'm living with them."

Impulse holds out his hands placatingly towards Tommy, a slight smile on his face as he tries to wordlessly communicate that it isn't that big of a deal before regarding Cleo. "I guess we just don't have anything to say?" He chuckles, though it dies quickly as he clears his throat. "I mean, we've sort of heard all of this before. Much more aggressively."

Scar nods up and down with an over-enthusiastic bounce, hands folded in his lap. "Yep. While I don't agree with him, I think Grian going is the best compromise we're gonna be able to get."

"I still don't feel particularly comfortable with just letting them both go," Doc says with a wince. "I mean, are there any forms of contact with either of you once you pass through that threshold? I doubt any inter-server communication would work one a server that's apparently been on lockdown for years."

Grian and Tommy spare a glance at each other, probably the first proper eye contact they've had in days, and Grian holds a fist to his mouth and clears his throat before tentatively stating, "We don't...we don't think so either."

Doc narrows his eyes. "You can't expect us to simply let you leave without having a feasible method of communication."

Tommy taps his foot impatiently. "I know Grian is the main concern for all of you, he doens't have to go—"

"Nuh-uh, little man," Tango says, shutting Tommy down and regarding him with the closest thing to a stern gaze Tango can make without tipping over into genuienly looking angry. "That one is non-negotiable."

"And we don't care more about Grian than you," Pearl says suddenly. "We care about you both—" She turns her gaze to Grian, and it is uncomfortably piercing. "—and don't want either of you to die where we couldn't find you."

Tommy's frustration with the conversation grows to a point where it's visible in his expression—glancing away, pulling at the bottom of his cardigan, fidgeting more than he usually does—it's clear that he wants out. "We're just going in circles at this point. You are not going to convince me to let any of you come, and Grian isn't going to stay. Aren't we done here? Didn't this meeting end as soon as Xisuma finished explaining?"

There's silence, then Xisuma clears their throat uncomfortably. "Well—it is going in circles a bit. If—if you feel as if you've nothing else to say—"

Tommy flashes a terse thumbs-up. "Great. Cool. I'm gonna—yeah."

He takes a step back, then another, then abruptly turns on his heel and starts speedwalking away, face burning. Grian sighs deeply, shoulders sagging as he drags a hand down his face. He can feel everyone's eyes leave Tommy and land on his, and he's sure they've all clocked his wings being a bit more fluffed up than they normally are.

The meeting doesn't go on for much longer after that.

Chapter Text

It's off.

It's the pounding of boots on dead, drying leaves, it's the thrill of the chase, of the hunt, of the kill.

It's the wrongness that comes with such an altered state of mind, all reservations forgotten and sense of self removed. Not removed, per se; rather, that sense of self warping under the damp the feeling of rage that always crawls underneath his skin and within his veins, that insatiable bloodlust that borders on primal, animalistic, as he tracks someone down for nothing more than the fun of it and that need to feel at peace, even for only a brief moment.

It's how he only feels relief when a sword is drawn across the chest of one he may have loved in a distant past, or mere hours ago. It's how the suffocating anger allows him to breathe when an arrow of lead and flint and wood (though it may be bone, for all he knows) has pierced through the heart of a friend. It's how he feels nothing but blind, mad, fury as he casts away his weapon and sees nothing—and when he does see, it's all red. It's across his knuckles and taints the sand, and it covers the body that he's sure should be swept away, but doesn't leave.

It's how calm he feels afterward.

It's how welcoming the wind through his feathers was before he hit the ground.

It's...off.

Grian is sure he's never felt these things, yet something deep within him knows that this is him, and at a point, it was all he was. All he ever could be or could see. Was it his fault, or was it circumstance? Did he turn himself into a monster, or did someone make him that way?

Everything shifts. Again, it feels...wrong.

He sees—feels?—cobblestone buildings and rails that didn't work quite the way they should. He sees petty pranks and a community of friends. He sees mystery and he sees the vast, unending void. He sees the dragon, one time out of the dozens of times he's fought it before, but he sees his hands doing it alone. He sees huge shapes carved into rock, patterns that he somehow can't see despite how hard he tries to look. He sees himself, wrapped in that darkness. He sees colours. He sees everything.

It shifts again, further back, into darkness. He cannot see, but he can hear and feel and taste and smell his surroundings and he knows that they are filled with nothing but love. People that love him, people he loves, a place he stays that embodies safety, and all the beautiful goodness he's tried to recreate without knowing what he was recreating. He feels warmth, but sees nothing, so what good could it be to him?

He's evidently frustrated, ripping at this taunting visage and trying to claw his own eyes open, and yet—that unyielding veil of darkness coats his vision in an impenetrable black that even his claws couldn't think to cut through. His head seems to turn on a swivel, dizziness and nausea overtaking him as he moves his hands further up than where his eyes should be and tries to pry...it...open.

He Sees with a snap, his eye opening for even just a moment, and all is perceived.

It is dark outside—not the void from before, but the usual dichotomy of a midnight blue backdrop and stars that shine bright, and a moon that covers most of the sky and makes it feel like day. It is dark, but not dark enough to hide the shadow taken form, the husk of a once-child that had its light stripped from it like the clipping of wings, perilously standing at the edge of nothing with a paper in its hands.

There is a noise. Steady, consistent, repetitive in the background. It is only this sound, as the vision does not supply any auditory cues, but one's mind could fill in the holes—the rustling of trees in the wind, the creaking of swinging lanterns from somewhere not perceived, the heaving breaths of the once-child as it tries and fails and suffers as it attempts to regain calm.

Its shoulders are risen, its chest hollow for its own sake. There are other things, too—everything, really: the demon in its factory, the creature of magic in its cart, the undead in its village, the Other in her palace—

The once-child's wings suddenly bristle, and it abruptly turns around, looking up and seeing you and perceiving you and making eye contact—

—there's a snap, then Grian is flying up in bed, choking from lack of air and dizziness and nausea all swelling and crashing into him at once. His claws are gripping his chest as a burning, searing pain in his forehead keeps his vision dark as sleep attempts to flee from him. His heart is racing so quickly it hurts, and he has to force himself to take raspy breaths, in and out, in and out, until he can land on some semblance of peace where his forehead still burns and his heart still hurts, but he can see.

His wings are flared out behind him as his grip loosens on his jumper, taking in quicker and quicker breaths until he presses the ends of his palms to his eyes and hisses out a sharp and quiet, "Sh*t."

The beep startles him so bad he lifts his head and instinctively looks around for Tommy—because who the hell else would swear like that, except he realises that it's him and lets out an almost strangled laugh before his voice is silenced as his forehead burns and his dream comes swarming back to him.

Tommy at the Boatem Hole.

He can't help it—that feeling of swirling nausea erupts into his throat, burning with bile as the mere act of remembering what he saw (everything; he swears he saw everything, but that isn't possible because he knows he can't do that) make him gag and almost roll off of his bed.

His communicator startles him out of his thoughts, the sound making him flinch as he's reminded of the noise from his dream—has it been going off all this time? He waves his hand and summons up his communicator, wincing at the bright screen before his eyes widen and the world slows down for just a moment.

╔══════════════╗

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: grian

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: grian i know youre asleep right now but you need to wake upright now

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: g

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: tommys at the boatem hole

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: g

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: G

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: grian ohmy gods do you have chat muted

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: g i am going to throttle you when i get home

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: i am so serious

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: grian W ake up

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: g

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: WAKE

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: UP

Pearlescentmoon whispers to you: GRIAN

╚══════════════╝

He doesn't know when he started moving, or when he rolled out of bed and scrambled to open his balcony door, but before he can even tell what's going on within his brain there's wind between his feathers (and doesn't it remind him of something else?) and he's almost in a dive towards a figure at the edge of the Boatem Hole, stood still and unmoving as ever, just staring.

His wings don't beat more than once or twice, so aside from the rushing of air in his wake he gives no obvious sign of him approaching—he skids into the grass and lands only a couple of feet away from Tommy, who shrieks and instinctively backs away from Grian, further away from the Boatem Hole. There's a paper in his hand (as he saw in his dream—somehow?) that gets clenched at his side as his other hand presses against his chest, attempting to level his breathing.

"God—f*cking hell, Grian," Tommy says through a wheeze, giving Grian a withering look. His wings are pulled close to his back, completely still as Tommy continues to back away. "F*ck. F*ck." He sounds less scared and more struck by the realisation that he's been caught, and Grian has to wrangle back the panicked chirps and screeches that rise like a ball in the back of his throat.

"Tommy," Grian says, trying to keep his voice steady. "What are you doing?"

Tommy glares at him. "What does it look like I'm trying to do?" He snaps, smoothing out the paper in his hand and trying to hold it behind him slightly. His stance is shifted into a defensive one, standing as tall as he can to tower over Grian even from ten feet away.

"It looks like you're trying to leave," Grian replies, stating the obvious. "Without telling anyone."

"Yeah, well—"

"Even though we agreed that you would let me come," he interrupts, taking a step forward. Blood is rushing in his ears, be it adrenaline or anger or panic or something else entirely, it's deafening him. "Even though we talked about this. In front of everyone."

"Right, and you really believed that I would just give up?" Tommy seethes. "I'd just stop caring about your safety and let you die on a server you know jack-f*cking-sh*t about?"

"Tommy, you can't just say I don't know anything about the server and then refuse to explain anything about it—"

"Yes, I can!"

Tommy's wings finally spread out from his back, widening out to their most impressive spread—as Grian has seen and could have guessed, however, it isn't very much at all. It does less to intimidate him and more to serve as a grisly reminder of where he feels like he failed (which makes absolutely no sense—he's done his best since Tommy arrived, but there's no way he could have stopped what happened before they even met). He can see clearly, against the backdrop of the blinding moon, the fact that the wings have not fully healed despite Grian constantly doting over them at any appropriate opportunity; he can see places where feathers are still growing back in, where the wing itself trembles of the strain of being held out, and the reality of how small they are in comparison to where he should be at this age. It's a wonder he's been able to do much more than glide.

It makes his blood boil. Not at Tommy—never at Tommy—but for whoever did it to him. Whoever hurt such an intrinsic part of him, and whoever makes him feel like he has to go back to the place that ruined his life.

Grian doesn't think he can fault himself for being angry on Tommy's behalf. He doesn't think he's ever heard Tommy be angry on his own behalf, and out of everyone Grian has ever met, he thinks Tommy deserves to be angry the most.

"I can—" Tommy takes in a deep breath, refusing to meet Grian's eyes. "I can do whatever I want. It's my choice and my home. You do not get to decide this for me."

Grian recoils, scrunching up his nose for half a second before his brows draw together in indignance. "Even if I was deciding for you, Tommy—which I am not—you are a child. I am not letting literal child go back to certain death—"

Tommy barks out a laugh, singed at the edges with distaste and malice. "Right, now you'll admit that it's certain death."

"You know what I mean," Grian hisses. "You going back there alone might kill you."

"But it might not," Tommy says in a low voice, fixing Grian with a wide-eyed stare that's entirely condescending in nature. "You wouldn't know. And it isn't fair for you to try and force yourself along when I don't want you here."

The words sting. Grian feels something twist within his heart, something so deep and deeply hurt that he couldn't bother to address and dig up now—not when there's so much on the line in front of him, not when Tommy could sprint into the Boatem Hole and there is a very real possibility that he will never see Tommy again. That he will have missed his chance.

Grian, for the first time in a long time regarding Tommy, deliberately stops. Thinks. Cocks his head to the side as if deep in thought, trying to connect whatever verbal clues Tommy may have dropped over the past several weeks. Not about any sort of grand lie, but his motivations; Grian, frankly, couldn't even begin on where to start, so he instead opens the gate to his mouth and speaks with purpose. He thinks out his words, tries to put it together, and says to Tommy, "I don't think you're doing this just because you miss home."

Tommy scoffs. "Well, of course—"

"And I don't think you're doing it just to save everyone trapped inside, either."

The moon provides ample lighting to see Tommy's cheeks twinge pink from—something. Embarrassment? Anger? Indignation? "Ex-fucking-cuse me—"

"Otherwise," Grian continues, bulldozing over whatever Tommy was trying to say with the force provided by his thinking. "You would let me come. You would have let the entire rest of Hermitcraft come. Instead, you're—you're slinking around in the darkness, trying to leave alone, and for what?" He makes a broad gesture with his hands. Tommy takes a step back, clearly uncertain about where Grian is going with this. "For what?"

It sounds like a question and there is a pause, but Tommy stays silent. His eyes are locked to the ground, processing something within his mind.

"Tommy, I know you're a smart kid. You know there's strength in numbers, you don't need Bdubs or me or anyone else telling you that, you know. And you want to go alone, yet claim that you're doing it to help all those friends stuck on the other server."

Tommy's wings somehow flare out even further, aggression in every minuscule movement as he takes a step forwards, pointing at Grian and shouting, "You don't know anything about the Dream SMP. Taking you all there? Taking—taking 'numbers?' You'd just be a bigger f*cking target. Your base would get f*cking nuked or something, and then you're all—" Tommy pauses, trying to compose himself before letting his tense shoulders lighten only slightly. "You're going to die. For me. You don't—I know none of you care about anyone on the Dream SMP, and that's fine. I wouldn't—I wouldn't care either. It's just..."

Grian nods minutely. He figured. "Just?"

Tommy hesitates, then says firmly, "I don't the point of you all throwing away your lives for one person."

"You don't see the point of us throwing away our lives for you," Grian corrects. "Specifically."

Tommy stiffens. "There's no difference."

"There's a difference when you're telling all of us that we shouldn't be potentially sacrificing ourselves for someone we barely know and you're trying to do the exact same thing!" Grian exclaims, taking another step toward Tommy. "You're throwing yourself into danger alone to save us—haven't you considered that we want to help? That we don't mind the risk?"

"The only reason you don't is that you don't know the risk—"

"Then explain it," Grian interrupts. "Just tell us. I don't understand what you're so afraid of, Tommy."

Tommy stays very quiet, staring Grian down with barely contained anger. Grian, in that moment, doesn't know how he could ever get Tommy to change his mind on this matter. There's something about this feeling, this horrible thought he has that he's worth less than other people, that has wormed its way deep into his brain, digging into the corpus callosum and refusing to let go. It makes Grian's heart twist and ache in a way that he hasn't felt in a long time—not since there was sand between his fingers, dug underneath his nails, caked with blood, stuck to his arms, coating his knuckles—

Grian drops himself onto the ground. It's mostly on purpose, considering how he landed with his legs crossed, but also partially because he feels like if he had remained for any longer, he would have thrown up or tipped into the Boatem Hole himself. He spares a glance up at Tommy and pats the ground next to him.

Tommy stares. "What?"

"C'mere."

Tommy hesitates, then lowers himself next to Grian with a substantial amount of suspicion and caution. Immediately, Grian's arm and wing are both stretched behind his back and over his shoulder, pulling the boy into the least awkward side hug he can possibly make with it still being a side hug. Tommy doesn't resist, resting on Grian's shoulder like they have so many times before and drawing his legs up slightly.

"Tom," Grian says quietly. "Tommy."

"Yeah?" Tommy whispers, a distinct shake in his voice that wasn't there before. He sounds...tired. Almost scared—at himself and what he was going to do, no doubt. Grian's head is spinning.

There's something wrong—it feels so perfectly right, sitting in the dark with Tommy in his arms, so familiar and perfect, that there has to be something wrong. Something must be misfiring in his brain, and it only goes even more haywire when Tommy's wing stretches to wrap around Grian's torso. There's something inside of him that's clawing to get out, something that wants to swoop Tommy up and smother him in blankets and love and affection and uncompromised attention for as long as it takes for him to realise that he is worth so much to him. He's invaluable. And it's wrong.

It's only been three months with this kid, and his avian nature has gone completely off the rails. It took ages for him to feel anywhere close to this about Scar and Mumbo—much longer than a measly quarter of a year, and he loves them both to absolute death. No, something has gone right-wrong, here—something must have finally snapped in his brain, or something must have overheated upon seeing his fledgling avian for the first time in so, so long.

Whatever happened, Tommy has firmly dug his claws into Grian's heart without even trying. Sitting next to him, holding him like this, it makes his head hurt and his vision blur, but he wouldn't move even if he wanted to. He couldn't do that to Tommy, whose breathing has already inched up in speed.

Grian's throat is dry. When he opens his mouth, all he can feel is the cold air stinging it further, so he closes it, pauses, and says, "Tommy, I...you know I love you, right?"

Tommy's breathing fucking stops.

Grian continues. "I mean—I really care about you, and all that. I want to go with you because of you, not out of any sense of moral duty. I want to go and keep you safe because you're you. I'd throw myself in front of an oncoming arrow if I had to.

Tommy's voice cracks. "Please don't."

"You know what I mean, Tommy. You're the closest thing I have to a brother. We've only known each other for a few months, but it feels like I've known you...forever. And I care about you like someone who's known you forever." He lets out a huff that sounds like it's trying to pass as a laugh. "Maybe that's weird, but I can't bring myself to care anymore. Not when you're so...not when you seem so dead-set on doing this. I at least want you to know that, if not all of Hermitcraft, if not even the entirety of Boatem, I care about you a lot."

Tommy is silent for a few moments, body completely still and breathing so shallow there's a part of Grian still convinced that he's been holding it for the past two minutes.

And then Tommy moves—first his chest, taking in deeper breaths, then his shoulders suddenly jerking as Tommy shows all the clear signs of someone starting to cry. He brings his hand up and down Tommy's shoulder, trying to soothe him as he curls up on himself, bringing his legs further up towards his chest and staring at his hands like he's trying to catch the tears.

"I don't want to leave," Tommy whispers, and Grian's heart cracks a little at just how horrified he sounds. As if that admission was him confessing a cardinal sin instead of the desire of someone who deserves nothing less than wanting to be safe and loved. "I don't—I don't want to leave."

The worst part is that Tommy feels the same way.

There's no way he could express it in words—not right now, anyways—but he thinks the bird noises pushing themselves toward the back of his throat wordlessly say it enough. It's weird—he supposes he hadn't noticed how awfully comfortable his avian instincts had gotten with Grian, but then again, they were sort of like that from the start. It's absurd how they would latch onto Grian so quickly and take literal ages to do so with, say, Ranboo, but he supposes it must be the fact that Grian is avian, too. It's gotten hard to tell whether the 'older brother Grian' bit is a bit or not.

He's attached. He's clingy, dare he say it—not only to Grian, but to the rest of Boatem; to the Big Eye Crew, Joe and his library, Cleo and her fun stories, Doc and Ren and their crazy inventions; to their amazing builds and wacky history and terrifying menagerie of creatures and hybrids from the depths of every realm, all touching into unique backgrounds that they'll just share with Tommy; to people that talk to him, to people that listen to him, to people who don't shout or threaten to blow up his base, and as annoying as them tiptoeing around him can get sometimes, the fact that they care so much to alter how they talk and how they act around him has brought him to tears more than once (once he realised that they weren't patronizing him).

I'm crying, he realises with a start. In front of Grian.

It isn't the first time—he's teared up before, and there was that disaster in his house after that explosion, but at least he had properly silenced himself, then. He looks up at the older avian, whose eyebrows are scrunched together and eyes are shining like he's just seen something deeply upsetting and sad. Sounds like Tommy in a nutshell. Grian wastes no time in reaching down and engulfing him in a real hug, and fuck, the best part of these is the wings. It makes something deep in his chest rumble, the warmth and slight squeeze and familiar feeling making all of his inhibitions come crashing down, and suddenly, he's sobbing into Grian's shoulder.

Immediately, he feels like he's burdening the man, but it's gotten easier and easier to push that feeling away over the past weeks, and now it disappears almost instantly when Grian cards a hand through his unkempt hair, thumbing across the back of his head and making Tommy dissolve into the hug. Into his tears. Gods, how long has it been since someone's actually comforted him while he was crying? Certainly before the summer...sometime before Ghostbur died?

He pulls back after a few more moments, and while Grian's arms let go, one of his wings stays firmly wrapped around Tommy's shoulders. "'M sorry."

"Don't apologise for—"

"I'm sorry," Tommy says firmly, because he might be rude at times, but he isn't ungrateful. "Gods, I'm sorry, I just—I want to trust you all so, so fucking bad, man. You, Boatem, everyone else that wanted to go—I just don't want any more people to die on that server for no reason. I don't want to survive another fucking war."

Grian looks startled for a moment before laying a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Tommy—"

"And—and I want to tell you and Boatem everything. Y-You all keep telling me that everything that happened on that server was undeserved and—fuck, I want to lay it all out for all of you, I-I want to hear it again. I need to know that even with all of the context, it was still shit." Tommy lets out a dry chuckle, wincing when it lands flat and dries in the frigid air. "Isn't that mental?"

"No," Grian says immediately. "No, it's not. You've been thinking that we're only saying what we're saying because we don't have context or because we don't know who you really are—while you are wrong, it makes sense to want to validate your...suffering."

Tommy huffs. "You can say trauma, big man. It's not a dirty word."

"Validate your trauma, then," Grian says decisively.

"Right, well. It's not just that. I still want to convince you not to go. Maybe telling you what's waiting for your asses on the other side is enough to tell you it's a bad idea."

"There is nothing you could tell me that would make me not want to come," Grian immediately hisses, poking Tommy in the side. "Whatever you say will just make me want to show up more."

Tommy stares at the ground. He twirls a blade of grass black and forth between his thumb and forefinger, watching as it stretches out into the beginning of a stalk of something. He takes a deep breath in, then forcefully exhales. "I also..."

Grian waits very patiently for him to wrangle his emotions back into place. The simplest explanation and it's the hardest for him to get out. Figures. "I just want to get it off my chest."

Grian blinks so loud Tommy can literally hear it, making him wonder how the hell that's even possible before Grian tentatively says, "...okay?"

Tommy looks down at him. "And that...isn't a problem?"

"Why would that be a problem, Tommy?" Grian asks, bewildered.

"Isn't it kind of...y'know." He waves his hand in a circular motion. "Isn't that sort of just traumadumping?"

Grian stares at him. There's a lot going on behind his eyes, but it mainly consists of a burning, seething hatred that could never be directed at him because Grian's wing pulls him just that much closer to his body, the high-pitched, parrot version of a hiss making his head tilt to the side before he clears his throat and says, "You can tell me whatever you want, Tommy. It's not truamadumping when everyone wants you to."

Tommy is slightly surprised at that. "What, really?"

Grian looks down at him, the angle feeling off only because Tommy is leaning so much he's actually ended up as shorter than Grian. He looks so silly from down here, peering at him through the bottom of his glasses. "We want to know how best to help you, Tommy."

"Ah."

They sit in silence for a minute before Tommy straightens up. He returns his hand to the stalk on the ground and lets it erupt into whatever it feels like—which just so happens to be a little pom-pom of pink hydrangea that he picks and hands over to Grian. Grian takes it, bemused as always, as Tommy stands up, summoning his letter from his inventory and walking back towards the Boatem Hole. The squawk Grian lets out is momentarily hilarious, but he turns around and waves the letter, saying, "I'm just dropping this in, big man."

Grian clears his throat, face going slightly red. "Right. I—I knew that."

Tommy snorts, a smile crawling onto his face as he smooths out the letter and chucks it into the void. If they're going anywhere (which Tommy has since stopped holding any serious conviction about), then whoever's found them will at least know they're coming soon.

Tommy turns on his heel and walks up to Grian, who's still holding the flowers in his hand and squinting at them as if trying to decipher some deeper meaning. He wraps his arms around the man, squeezing him tightly before tentatively adding his own wings to the hug. They're small and don't wrap around him as much as his do Tommy, or, gods forbid, Phil's do, but there is an attempt that is obviously appreciated, considering how quickly Grian makes a strangled noise akin to someone trying to hold back a sob.

"Channel, wow, that came out of...nowhere," Grian breathes, detaching a hand to scrub at his face. "Sorry, Tommy, I just—"

Grian cuts himself off to return the hug, squeezing Tommy so hard he could lift him off the ground before letting go and taking a step back. "I think...I think I'm gonna sleep now," Tommy says, eyes stinging from tears and tiredness alike.

"You should," Grian affirms with a nod. "We've got a big couple days ahead of us."

"And I'm guessing you're not going to make it any easier if you're really coming with me, huh?"

Grian only gives him a wry smile before spreading out his wings and taking sudden flight. Tommy huffs, smiles, and walks back to his house.

Chapter Text

It's been a while since Tommy has allowed himself to be in a close enough vicinity to Boatem that he can feel their eyes on him, and it's had a blatant consequence—he feels nervous. This is so much more nerve-wracking than Tommy thought it would be, and he was basically preparing himself for the worst. But here, in front of all five other members of Boatem, who have their eyes locked on him now that everyone has arrived, he's practically shaking himself into pieces.

They're in his house, mostly because he wanted to show it off—he had been purposely avoiding everyone for the past Prime-knows-how-long, ever since Grian said he was coming with him to the Dream SMP, so they all saw the house suddenly spring up with no context. He snuck Bdubs into Boatem to do the interior with him, and they did so well that Tommy feels a pang in his chest whenever he looks around and thinks about how he could have had this with Tubbo ages ago if they had actually run away as they had planned. Maybe not as pretty or as neat, but something close.

Reactions had generally been positive, though Scar did shake him by the shoulders and yell at him for not letting him help. He claimed that he could smell Bdubs' interior decoration style from a mile away, which Tommy and Grian both told him didn't make any sense, to which Scar shushed him and told him to let him help the next time he wants to build something. He and Pearl shared a look; he didn't have the heart to tell him that this wasn't his first time building alone on this server, nor his first and only base.

Crosslegged on the couch that has already scraped across the floor despite only being there for a few days, Tommy glances at Grian, sitting next to him and looking like he would be ready to grab Tommy and rocket out of there at the word 'go.' Pearl is to his left, and she gives him a genuine smile before he tilts back and lets out an exhale.

"F*ck."

Mumbo jumps at the beep, which makes everyone laugh—great, getting tension down. He runs a hand through his hair and continues, "Sorry, I'm just—this is a lot. I've only ever had to do this with my therapist before, and that went..." He tilts his hand back and forth. "Less than ideally."

Impulse frowns. "Would you mind telling us...why?"

Tommy snorts. "That comes way later, big man. Let me get to all the important stuff, first, alright?"

Tommy's inhale must be a little too loud and a little too shaky, because Grian gently places his hand on Tommy's back, just between his wings and shoulder blades. He flinches away just the smallest, tiniest bit, but he leans into it nearly the instant after. Grian meets his eyes and says, "Take your time, Tommy. And you can duck out whenever you want to, alright?"

"I'm Tommyinnit, I don't duck out."

"Tommy."

"Fine," he says, rolling his eyes and pulling his legs up onto the couch. "Once upon a time, there was a great, great man on a sh*t, sh*t server."

Tommy takes in a deep breath.

"I'm gonna be completely honest, I don't remember a lot of details from when I was little. I remember my brothers and my dad in a house somewhere, and then I remember...being in the forest. I knew Phil and Techno had left Wilbur and me alone together, and...I think we got separated, somehow. But I lived in the forest for most of my childhood, which is honestly the best part of this story. It was great, and I found my first-ever best friend there—his name is Eryn. I haven't seen him in a good while, but we reunited and I know he's kicking it about somewhere in the main area of the SMP.

"Wilbur and I found each other when I was...fourteen? Something like that? We went to the main area of the SMP and found a bunch of people Wilbur had met there, and a few of us decided that we should...start a nation. L'Manburg."

Tommy tugs on the pin on his cardigan and flashes it for everyone to see, a slight smile on his face. "This was the flag, and we were cool as sh*t. I mean, we had these walls and a huge lake—and we made a monopoly on blaze rods and sold potions from a hot dog van." Impulse and Pearl snort and Tommy can't blame either of them. "It was cool. I mean, we were all sick. Me, Wil, Tubbo, Fundy (that's Wil's kid), and Eret. Eret joined late.

"But, y'know, Dream's a b*tch, and he didn't like that we started a country. Particularly because we said it was an independent country. He made some stupid analogy with a table and being in someone's house and..." Tommy waves his hand. "It's whatever. He wasn't as much of a bitch back then, so when he declared war on us, it didn't seem as...scary. Not from how I remember it, at least. It honestly seemed like it could be a fun adventure or something—us versus his stupid little team. We outnumbered them, five to four, and we were all decent at combat. And, I mean, when it really comes down to it, we were winning. Like, we were kicking ass out there."

Tommy fiddles with his fingers, shutting his eyes to try and clear the memories out of his mind—how fun it had all seemed, how excited they had all been when they made Dream's team retreat, how lighthearted the whole thing seemed before—

Tommy realises that nobody is going to prod him to go on, so he huffs out a breath and slowly continues, "But, uh. There was a betrayal. Eret, he was originally on Dream's side, defected, and Dream...convinced them to betray us. So they led all of us down into a bunker, saying they had prepared some secret boon to really turn everything around, and when we opened the chests..." Tommy makes a vague gesture. "The walls opened, too. And that's how I lost my first life. Along with everyone else stuck in there with me."

He takes a moment to wrangle in his thoughts—namely, the distant phantom pains of a blade through his chest and his head sharply hitting the blackstone floors. It bleeds nicely into the other time he died from blunt force trauma, and he has to clear his throat and shake it off before looking up at the Hermits.

Their reactions are...mixed. Pearl is staring so hard at him he thinks she might be trying to read his mind. Impulse looks like he was shocked out of his skin, Scar is violently sympathetic, and Mumbo has somehow managed to become even paler than he usually is—which is impressive, considering the fact that he doesn't think the man has any blood.

Grian stares at him for a few seconds before rousing his wings and shuddering, the noise cutting through the silence as Tommy puts his face in his hands. "You guys can talk, you know. Please interrupt me whenever the f*ck you'd like, I don't want to feel like I'm giving a lecture."

"Well, sorry, Tommy," Scar says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "It's just...you never told us you had died. I'm sure we had our assumptions, but..."

"And you definitely never said you died more than once," Grian adds, and yeah, wow, his hands are shaking harder than Tommy's. He doesn't really know how to feel about that.

Tommy huffs, the air blowing his hair out of his face. "I didn't want you all to start babying me more than you already were. At first. Later, I just..." He sighs. "I didn't want you to look at me differently. You see my scars, you know where I came from was f*cked up, but I didn't want you to see me as a kicked puppy, o-or some delicate glass or whatever just because I'd died. I'm fine."

Skeptical looks are passed around, probably trying to be subtle but failing miserably in the face of Tommy's perception abilities. Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose. "Also, before any of you say anything—Eret is chill. He's...he's one of the kindest people on the server, seriously. I think he might've been one of Dream's earliest victims of manipulation, 'cause they feel so fucking guilty about what happened. We're friends. They're fine."

Scar holds up his hands as if he had said anything, and Tommy narrows his eyes and scans their faces for any lingering doubts before deeming their reactions satisfactory. "Anyways, after that, we were sort of...defeated. We didn't have any extra gear and Dream's side had full netherite. It was basically game over, but then I got Dream to one vs. one me in a bow duel. I was...angry. And stupid. Wilbur told me not to, but of course, Dream thought the idea was fucking brilliant, so we went ahead with it." He shrugs, trying to play off how his heart starts beating faster to make up for the blood lost during the fight. "You could probably guess how that turned out."

"You lost two lives in one day?" Grian asks, startled. Tommy simply nods, and Grian's trembling hands almost immediately latch onto the closest one of his. He doesn't say anything further.

"That's..." Impulse stares at the ground, brows furrowed.

"That's a lot," Pearl says, frowning.

"That's a lot," Impulse agrees. "Are you okay?"

"It literally happened a year and a half ago," Tommy scoffs. "I barely even think about either of those anymore."

There's a pause, then Mumbo says, "That...that isn't comforting."

"Anyways," Tommy insists, pulling his legs up further. "After that, there really seemed to be no hope, and Wilbur was totally willing to pack it up and surrender, but I...shit, I didn't explain the discs." Tommy drags a hand down his face. "Okay. When we made it toward the main SMP, I found these two discs, Cat and Mellohi. Technically, I found a third one, but...nevermind. These discs were basically my entire life for the longest time. Like, the first war I was ever in was me and Tubbo versus Dream to try and get them back. Which we won, by the way. He stole them because I was causing problems, and then I became such a thorn in his ass and stole them right the fuck back.

"'Course, I didn't get to keep 'em. I gave them both up for our independence. I know that doesn't sound like a lot, but those things meant everything to me. I mean, they sort of still do? I mean, they represent so much shit and have stood for so much in my life that—they're sort of like...the idea of me being free from Dream. So you can imagine how everything went downhill once he took them both.

"So, yeah, we were a real country. Wil was the president, I was vice, Tubs was secretary of defense or some shit like that. After the war, we sort of just...hung out for a while? It was pretty chill for the next month, but then Wilbur started saying that he could feel his respect and power slipping or whatever, so he decided to hold an election. Our plan was to not tell anyone about the election until the ballots went up so people would have no choice but to vote for us—"

Grian snorts quietly, and Tommy sends him a look. Grian shrugs apologetically without looking sorry at all. "Sorry. It just sounds like you."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "We were gonna do that, but we told one person about our plan and ruined fucking everything. Suddenly, there were, like, three other contestants, and voting day was basically there. And when the results came out, we discovered that a coalition government had been formed between two of the candidates and their votes were combined. And thus began the Schlatt administration." Tommy pauses. "The Schitt administration, more like."

A good half of the group rolls their eyes, and Tommy snickers. "Uh...yeah. After Schlatt got inaugurated, he sort of...exiled Wilbur and me? Like, immediately. And, like, half of the server instantly turned on the both of us and started firing away while we were running. Particularly Dream's goons. One guy, Punz—he's alright now, but back then, he was a right wrongun—he shot and killed Wilbur in the chase. So we were both on one life at that point. It was...bad."

"Why would the entire server turn on you like that?" Mumbo asks, concern drawing in his eyebrows. "Surely you had some allies."

"Well, yeah, but it's not like they could do anything," Tommy says. "Dream's goons are, like, gods at PVP, and he made Tubbo his secretary of state or something and called him up to the podium so he couldn't leave. There was nothing they could have done to help."

Mumbo still looks mildly skeptical, but he lets it go with a dubious, "Alright, then."

"Cool. Uh—where was I? Oh, right—exile. Right after we made it far enough, we found an underground ravine to set up our base in. It looked fuckin' grim, but I remember the coolest fucking thing ever happening right then. Technoblade showed up.

"He was like a fucking angel, I wear. Together, along with Tubbo becoming our spy, we planned to take back L'Manburg from Schlatt's clutches—he was really fucking up the place, you know? Taxing people, locking them up, changing the name, taking down the walls—I mean, the bastard even changed the fucking flag. Who becomes president and changes the entire country's flag? And the name? He changed it to Manburg, which sounds so fucking stupid and American and—ugh. Anyways."

He pauses, trying to find his footing in the story again before he remembers the small context he'll have to give before this gets much further. It makes him instantly feel chilly, like he's back in that ravine in his room, trying to use the pillows to muffle the noise of Wilbur's murmuring from the main corridor or a few rooms down. He clears his throat and shakes it off, and Grian decides to squeeze his hand tighter in that exact moment. They meet eyes, and Tommy feels his heartbeat calm just a bit.

"Um...right. While we were down there, Wilbur started to go a little...stir-crazy? His paranoia was starting to gnaw at him, I don't think being cramped down there was helping. He thought that everyone was working against him except me and Techno—he even tried to convince me that Tubbo was secretly still on Schlatt's side. It...spiralled. And eventually, he was saying that if he had no-one on his side to help take back L'Manburg, then he'd just destroy the whole thing for everyone. If he couldn't have it, no-one could.

"Obviously, I told him it was mental, but he wasn't listening. And of course, Dream was happy to supply him with all the TNT he needed, since he was technically a third party in this whole...civil war. I'm sure you can guess why he was so eager to help Wil blow up L'Manburg, but, I mean...he wasn't thinking straight.

"There ended up being a festival. Schlatt didn't know Techno was working with us, so he get an invitation while Wilbur and I hid on some nearby rooftops. They had a whole party and everything, and it looked pretty fun. Wilbur had already rigged basically the whole country with TNT and set up a button room in the cliff behind the main stage, but when he saw how happy everyone was, he started having second thoughts. I guess he grew a conscience for half a second, but then he called up Tubs to make the decision for him. Obviously, it was a little hard for a fucking fifteen-year-old to decide whether or not to blow up his home, so Wilbur said that if he said a specific line at the end of his speech—I think it was, 'let the festival begin,'—he would blow it up. If Tubbo didn't say it, he wouldn't."

Tommy inhales deeply. He could swear he sees flashing lights from outside the windows. "He said it—of fuckin' course he said it. Wilbur was our General, he was our president, Tubbo wouldn't have dreamed of saying no to him by then. But before Wilbur could leave...Schlatt and his vice started trapping Tubbo on the stage."

"Oh," Impulse says quietly, eyes widening. "Oh."

Tommy nods slightly. "Schlatt started going on a whole rant about how he knew what Tubbo was doing, knew that he was a spy...and then he called Techno up on the stage to...y'know."

Tommy pulls his legs up ever further, wrapping his arms around his knees and closing his eyes. He can see it so fucking clearly—the flashing lights, the screams of the crowd and from inside that stupid yellow box when Techno didn't manage to finish it the first time, Wilburs freezing cold, bony hands grabbing him and holding him back before he managed to throw a pearl—it really was a nightmare.

"Wait," Pearl says, holding up her hands. "You're telling me that Technoblade publicly executed a child less than two years ago?"

"With fireworks," Tommy says grimly. He doesn't bother looking at their faces—he can feel it in the air: they're pissed. And somehow, that makes him feel good. Really good. And really, really fucking angry.

"He kept claiming that it was 'peer pressure' and I just—I couldn't fucking stand him for a minute there. I tried to beat the shit out of him—I was so mad—but it, um." He pauses, wavering. "It didn't work. Tubbo officially joined us, though not without his fair amount of scars, and so did a few others over the next few weeks. We settled on a date to end it all—November 16th.

"Since literally fucking everyone had joined our side at that point—seriously, that guy was awful—Schlatt had to hire help in the war. He 'apparently' gave Dream something so useful that he was willing to fight in a war that didn't matter to him for it, which will be really important later so pay the fuck attention. We were going up against Dream's army and some neutrals that had nothing to lose, just so it was a bit fairer for both sides. The day came and...it was easy."

The Hermits blink, confused. Pearl tilts her head to the side. "What, really?"

"Yeah," Tommy breathes, almost laughing at their reaction. "It was a fucking breeze. Eventually, Dream called for a standstill because Schlatt hadn't even bothered to show up and he felt like he was wasting his time. He led us all into the ruins of our glorious drug van to find Schlatt, drunk off his ass on the ground. I think I might've forgotten to mention that he was a raging alcoholic. Tubbo and Q have told me some bad shit about him—I don't feel bad for the bastard at all. He swung his fuckin' bottle around at Fundy before Wilbur stepped in and told me to finish him with a crossbow."

"He wanted you to do it?" Scar interrupts, meeting Tommy's eyes.

"Uh," Tommy says, caught off guard. "Yeah?"

"Wasn't he your general?" Scar continues, leaning forward and folding his hands. "The guy that started the whole thing with the election and everything?"

Tommy drags out, "Yes...?"

"Hm," is all Scar says, leaning back as if he proved some point.

Tommy blinks a few times. "Uh—yeah. Sure. So, right, I was going to shoot him, but then he just had a fuckin' heart attack! Right there on the ground, just dropped the fuck dead. It was super anticlimactic, but, hey. It meant the war was over. Wilbur tried to make me president and I said no, so I gave it back to Wilbur and he said no, so he gave it to Tubbo. Which sounds nice, but it's actually super fucked when you think about what happened next.

"Tubbo was inaugurated right there, and we had all started taking down the festival decorations before Techno went batshit and shot Tubbo with a firework a-fucking-gain." Tommy's nose scrunches up, distaste souring his expression. "I'm guessing you all know about Techno's...political beliefs."

"He's—he's an anarchist," Mumbo stutters out. "Right?"

Tommy nods. "Yep. He was all pissed that we had made another government after we worked so hard to get rid of the last one, so he started one vs. everyone-ing the server before everything went...wrong."

Wrong is an understatement. Wrong would mean someone losing another life, or Techno spawning a wither. Wrong is not the ground being torn up from beneath him, wrong is not an explosion searing across his entire backside and leaving scars that he still has to this day, permanently damaging his hearing just a little bit as everything went white. Wrong is not hearing his friends scream as they were similarly burned, or were thrown into the air from the sheer force, or fell into huge holes and broke bones from the impact.

Wrong isn't watching his brother die over and over and over again, replaying in his mind while it was happening.

"I—" Tommy's breath hitches and he finds his grip on Grian's hand tightens, pulling him closer like he's a shitty stuffed toy for Tommy to dig his claws into. Grian does not complain and basically goes limp to let Tommy do whatever he wanted, immediately feeling that wing on the other side of him pulling him even closer. He makes a strangled noise and clears his throat. "Sorry—it's just—"

"Don't apologise," Grian says, nudging him gently. "It's okay. Take your time."

He does, and he forces his heartrate back down. He sits up, but he is significantly closer to Grian than he was when he started—not that he's complaining. "Right. During...while we were taking down the decorations, Wilbur slipped away to the button room. And while we were fighting Techno, he..." He clears his throat again. "He blew up L'Manburg. Right under all of us. And—and it blew a hole through the button room, so we could all see him and...Phil. Phil showed up somehow, and his wing got blown up in the explosion from trying to protect Wil. I couldn't...hear anything, but I saw them yelling at each other for a bit before Wilbur started pulling Phil's sword towards him."

"Oh, Tommy," Pearl says, her legs ill-fittingly hoisted up onto her small seat. Her hands are folded in front of her mouth, and she looks nothing short of horrified.

Something about it makes Tommy's heart twist, and he doesn't know if it's in a good way or not. He scowls, staring at the floor from just above his knees, and says, "So, yeah. That was Wil's third life. And then Techno spawned two withers on us, so I didn't even have time to process it before we were thrown into another fight. Nobody died, thank Prime, but a bunch of us had wither poisoning for hours after the withers were dead, so Wil's body just sort of...stayed there." Grian pulls him slightly closer. "I was the one to move it, eventually. Phil and Techno fucked off to Prime-knows-where, just like they always fucking did, so Tubbo and I and the rest of the L'Manburgians had to pick up the pieces and rebuild. And..." Tommy sighs. "And Ghostbur."

"Oh," Scar says, he and Mumbo perking up quite suddenly as if what he had said was a good thing in this sea of grisly deaths and war. "You had a ghost with you?"

Tommy pulls his knees even closer to himself, shrinking back into the couch. His eyes twist shut, and he can hear Ghostbur screaming for his help, just as he forces out, "Yeah. Yeah, we had a ghost. He was...nice. Really fucking nice. He was like...the Wilbur from when I was a little kid. Had this weird blue shit he'd carry around with him that he said made him feel better—it was always all over his hands, and I can confirm that they were some type of magic drugs because they definitely worked. He was amazing, and he helped rebuild L'Manburg with Tubbo—it was mostly them, and it was fucking gorgeous."

He lets himself relax just a bit, almost as if he wasn't coming upon the worst part of this story. New L'Manburg was really something, as little as he had been there. "I met a new guy, Ran—Ranboo—"

He stutters over the name because shit, he almost forgot about Ranboo being fucking dead. Prime. This is miserable. "He showed up and said he couldn't remember how he got there—he has memory issues 'n' stuff. Can't remember things that happened a day before. I roped him into griefing someone's house with me, and it was funny as fuck, but we accidentally burned it down a little bit and just...left it? It's not like other people didn't do that literally all the fucking time, but, like..."

He sighs and rolls his eyes. "After the revolution, Eret became the king of the Greater Dream SMP—that was basically the rest of the SMP aside from L'Manburg—for betraying all of us, but when November 16th rolled around, they said that couldn't stand to watch Schlatt's bullshit without getting involved. Dream explicitly told them not to, but they told him to go fuck himself, so they got dethroned and replaced with fucking George. The guy whose house we burned down."

Hisses ring throughout the room and Tommy almost snickers. "I woke up the next day to obsidian walls completely surrounding L'Manburg and the entire cabinet pissed off at me. I dunno how, but they all instantly knew it was me, but Ranboo and I had a trial anyways and were both found guilty. Well, no—I was found guilty, Ranboo had his memory issues to bail 'im out. Long story short, I did a bunch of stupid shit after that and ended up exiled. By Tubbo. But it was because of Dream."

He inhales and exhales shakily, looking every member of Boatem individually in the eye. "None of this was Tubbo's fault. None of it. He was just—he was around my age, he was stressed, and Dream was manipulating him. Dream wanted me to be exiled. He kept pushing it and pushing it—at one point, his options were to either exile me or get L'Manburg sealed in obsidian with all trade routes closed and entry and exit blocked. He either had to exile me or lead the entirety of our country to starve. He did not have a choice."

He looks down at Grian's hand in his lap, spreading his fingers apart and pulling them back together methodically as silence sits over the room. He knows in his heart that if he can get through this part, he can make it through to the end, but just thinking about it—just referencing it—it's already making his wings twitch. He can feel his hands start to shake and his eyebrows start to pull towards each other, trembling. "Exile was...e-exile was...easily the worst time of my life. Ever. Not the wars, not the...the politics, not Pogtopia, nothing was worse than exile. Dream took me kilometres away from the main area, to this...plains biome in the middle of nowhere. And there...he watched over me. For...weeks."

He pauses. "Every day, he would come and blow up my shit. I had a tent and a base made of stripped wood—it wasn't really a full base, just a bunch of logs stood up in a ring for me to keep whatever scraps or twigs I was allowed in. But I slept in the tent, and lemme tell you, it got fuckin' cold. But at first, Dream didn't offer me anything. I fought him, so he barely even gave me the time of day. He came to blow up all of my stuff, make sure I wasn't leaving, then leave. He said that if I tried to go back, he would kill me, but I could set up a nether bridge if people wanted to visit." He huffs in a laugh. "I know now why nobody came—people thought I was mad about being exiled, so they wanted to give me space—but then? I thought people just didn't care. I thought they were happy that I was exiled. And, of course, Dream was only there to make things worse. He'd make sure to tell me every day how the main SMP was doing amazing 'cause I wasn't there.

"It got...hard. Aside from having to start all over with wooden tools every day, I started getting really lonely. And, like, I'm an avian, I can't do lonely without having a fucking fit about it. And since Dream was the only person out there to talk to...I latched onto him as a source of..." Tommy almost gags. "Comfort. He was nice when I listened to him. And if he was visiting me when no-one else would—'cept for Ranboo, he's a king—then he surely couldn't be that bad."

Grian squeezes his hand but distinctly looks away—Tommy doesn't want to imagine what the expression on his face is. Anger? It'd be plausible, with how much his hands are shaking along with Tommy's. Though it could be fear, or disgust—he grasps Tommy's hand in both of his and makes it a point to focus his breathing. Tommy squeezes his hand and he squeezes back.

"When I listened to him, we had fun, sometimes. We'd joke, and he even let me use his trident a few times. When I was good, sometimes he'd even let me keep some of my stuff in the mornings when he would blow it up. When I would blow it up. I got so used to it that I just started doing it every time he'd show up. And—fuck, sometimes he'd just ramble to me about the weirdest shit. Projects he was working on, old stories that I couldn't ever imagine him actually doing—sometimes, he was nice.

"And sometimes, if I ever did anything wrong, or if he was in a bad mood, or if he just felt like hurting me, he would hurt me. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. He killed all the wildlife in the area so I would have to rely on him and seeds for food, basically. I could step out of his lines just a bit and he would hit me, either with his fist or his axe sometimes. He broke my fucking wings because I kept using them to shield myself."

Abruptly, Pearl slips from her seat and plants herself on the other side of Tommy on the couch, not doing anything besides acting like another pillar to lean on—and it helps. It really does. "It got...hard. I stopped getting hungry. I started waking up in the middle of the ocean for some bloody fuckin' reason. Ghostbur had come along and Dream had sent him off to Prime-knew-where, so I latched onto him even harder. I was convinced that he was my only real friend—aside from Ranboo, and even that was starting to waver. But somehow, through all that, Ranboo had convinced me to make a little...secret stash, I guess? Put together some things in a hidden chest so I could fight against Dream when the time was right. But he found it, and he blew it up—and the rest of that stupid little base that Ghostbur and I had built, too. And then he cut off Nether travel for me, so I couldn't even have visitors anymore, and said that he would be back when I had learned how to treat a friend right. And then he left."

Tommy's eyebrows involuntarily pull closer to each other, the next words getting stuck in his throat as he readjusts his position on the chair, wings tense with discomfort. "I...after that happened..." He swallows thickly. "I didn't know what to do?"

His voice cracks. The room sounds so much louder now, despite everyone being absolutely dead silent at Tommy's sudden display of emotion. He grips Grian's hand tighter, trying to steady himself, to steady his mind, to try and forget every thought from back then that so clearly runs through his mind now. He tries to forget the sting of the explosion, how raw his throat was from pleading with Dream to stop and crying harder than he ever had before afterward, how silent his mind seemed to be when he built up that tower.

He has explosion scars on his palms and forearms from reaching for his belongings before they were vaporized. They don't hurt anymore, not after his third death reduced them to nothing more than cosmetics, but he still remembers how flexing his hands too hard would make them ache for hours. He still remembers the seething self-hatred he felt over the summer, when he trapped himself in his house in his own pathetic version of a self-exile. He still remembers the pain in his wings every time he'd put too much pressure or strain on them, even after joining Hermitcraft.

If Dream's only goal was to fuck with Tommy's mind in the most permanent way possible, he succeeded so well that Tommy could almost laugh, if it didn't make him want to cry and never stop crying.

His attention shifts to the pressure in his hand again, and he steels his nerves again. It wasn't permanent at all. It was all fixable. He was fixable. He's almost fixed. They're all trying so hard to help fix him, so why does he still feel that pressure building in his throat? Why does he still want to cry?

"Tommy."

He looks to his left, meeting Pearl's bluish-grey eyes with crescents in the centre and suddenly being able to see them up close in the light. He shifts his attention to the whole of Pearl's face, studying him closely, and he suddenly becomes very self-aware of his body language—how his jaw is clenched, shoulders are risen, wings are stiff, Adam's apple is bobbing like he's going to lose it at any second—

Pearl rests a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering him nothing but a serious, soft look. "It's okay."

Tommy's gaze lingers on her for a few more moments before his shoulders rise slightly higher and he feels that telltale burning in his eyes. He nods, still trying to fight off the tears but less out of a sense of obligation and more out of embarrassment. Though, if there was something to cry over, this would be it.

"I didn't know what to do," Tommy continues, voice crackling all the while but forcing himself through his words. "And I was so, so fucking tired of being—o-of being hated. I was so tired of being alone. I didn't know—I don't know if I wanted Dream to come back or not. I thought he was my friend and he told me he was my friend, and I had hurt him so he had hurt me—which meant that even in fucking exile, when I only had one person I could ever talk to, only one relationship that I could fuck up, I fucked it up." He takes in a shuddering breath, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes and leaning on his thighs. "I thought I was useless. There was nothing left for me. Dream was gone, Ghostbur was gone, Ranboo had stopped writing me letters, everyone in L'Manburg hated me...there was nothing left. I had nothing left. I had nowhere to go."

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Ignore the burning at your eyes. Press on. "I built a tower. Tall enough that if I hit the ground, it would be instant. I couldn't do it anymore. It was all too much, everything from the past three months came crashing down on me and I just snapped. I wanted—needed, I needed it all to be over. I felt like the world was collapsing in on me and there was nothing I could do, and everything I tried to do to help myself just hurt everyone else and made it worse. I was the problem. I—"

"Tommy."

Tommy turns to look up at Grian slowly. The look of unadulterated horror on his face is just enough to make his mouth start to twist as his tears begin to flood to the brim of his eyelids. Grian's hands find their way to Tommy's face, cupping his lower jaw and essentially forcing Tommy to make eye contact with him. His black eyes are shining (with tears, too?) and his hands are shaking against Tommy's skin, but he doesn't move, and Tommy doesn't move away. "Tommy. Tommy. Tommy, baby, you know we love you, right?"

Something about the way that Tommy's name falls from his mouth then—not fully in Common, but spoken and sung in a language only the two of them can understand here in this room—only serves to make his crying turn uglier. He hasn't heard his name like that in so long. He hasn't been called that in so long. He remembers his older brothers, mostly Wilbur (Wilbur and Techno, Wilbur and Techno and Wilbur with lighter hair—Phil? No, too light, who?), brushing the hair out of his face whenever he would cry like this, be it over injuries or frustrations he had as a young child, and Grian mirrors the motion almost exactly. His touch is gentle and quickly returns to cradling Tommy in his hands. Tommy moves his hands to gingerly lay upon Grian's wrists, like his action is fragile and Tommy might shatter the illusion.

He tries his absolute damnedest to tap into that part of him, the one that has been jostled out of place over the past several weeks through numerous preenings and interactions with his wings, and responds with all the grace of a rusty tongue left unused, "Grian. Sorry."

"No," comes the short response, and Tommy is being pulled into a hug so quickly that he barely has time to reciprocate the movement. "Don't be sorry. Never be sorry. You are the strongest person I have ever met, Tommy, you are so, so strong. Don't you dare forget how much we love you." He pulls Tommy in tighter, and Tommy can tell that there's an air of panic to him once he continues, "Are you okay? Have you been—okay? I didn't realise—I never would have guessed—"

"G," Tommy says, the nickname coming out as a short peep. He pulls away and puts a hand on Grian's upper arm with a tight-yet-genuine smile. "I've been fine for a very long time now. But I won't lie and say that being here didn't help force it out almost in its entirety. I know you guys..." He pauses on the word, like if he'll say it, it'll disappear. "Love me. I don't think I've been loved like this in a very long time. Like I'm just...a person. Not an extension of someone else, or a punching bag to let out all your feelings on, or—or a soldier, or a character to control. It's been a while since I've just been Tommy."

Grian's watery smile spreads wider, and Tommy is yanked into a huge again. This time, though, he's instantly crushed from behind as Pearl joins in, snaking her arms around his torso and leaning the side of her head on the back of his.

"We'll never let you feel like that again, Tommy," she says to him, clear as a summer night sky for everyone to hear. "We'll never let anyone make you feel like that again, either."

The rest of Boatem seem to get the memo—the other three members all rush up to join in the group hug, Mumbo practically dropping to the floor just to pop back up from underneath and wrap his bony arms around Tommy, too ("You're the strongest teenager I've ever met, Tommy. You're too good for that Godforsaken server, I've been saying this.") and Impulse basically crushes the entire rest of the group within his arms, tilting from side to side, rocking them slowly in his own attempt at comfort ("I love all you guys so much—especially you, Tommy. You may have just gotten here, but you've hit me in the heart like you've always been one of us."), which is basically enough to make Tommy start heaving into Grian's shoulder.

Scar, still standing, simply rests a hand in and ruffles Tommy's hair before the other three members let up to let him breathe and he stands to give Scar a hug of his own. Scar seems mildly surprised, but he rubs Tommy's back, gingerly avoiding the wings and quietly saying, "Tommy, you're amazin'. I don't wanna hear that anyone or anything has convinced you otherwise ever again, okay? I'm serious!" When Tommy smiles, Scar's breaks out to match it in width then multiply it tenfold. "If you do, I'm gonna sic momma bird on you, and you don't know how long it'll take before he deems you loved enough to let go. I swear, if I had bird wings, I would never want to let anyone go."

Scar ruffles Tommy's hair again, caressing it something gentle before Tommy is allowed to sit back down again, now squished between Pearl and Grian with Impulse also on the couch next to Pearl. They've certainly hit their carrying capacity, but Mumbo and Scar don't seem particularly bothered by it. Tommy's breath stutters as he shakes out the tension in his hands, taking in deep breaths so he can continue.

"I...can't really remember the climb," Tommy admits, swiping away whatever tears had escaped onto his cheeks. "I just remember being up there. I remember how quiet it was. Eerily quiet. Like...like there had been this constant buzz of noise in the back of my mind that seemed to disappear once I reached that height. I couldn't even hear my own heartbeat. I could finally think. And—I mean, shit. It was the best think of my life, probably." He laughs to himself quietly, looking up at the closest person to him—Pearl.

"I realised that Dream wasn't my friend. I realised that he was just there to control me, to make sure that I wasn't trying to leave and was learning how to follow directions. He just wanted to make it fun for himself, and that meant driving me to...that point. I have some thoughts about what he would've done if I had...gone through with it. None of them are very good."

Pearl, for lack of a better term, looks fucking pissed. Just coming out of a tender moment, she does an impressive job at hiding it—to anyone less adept at reading faces than him, she would probably look no more than mildly peeved, but to Tommy, she looks just about ready to tear up the fucking ground around the Boatem Hole if it meant getting onto the Dream SMP and wringing Dream's neck. He glances around and sees similar expressions across the others in their own ways—Impulse's face looks dark, more serious than Tommy has ever seen on him; Scar somehow looks like there are both a billion different thoughts on a billion different ways to kill someone running behind his eyes and only one, simple thought of murder at the same time; Mumbo looks to be on the verge of either rushing over to give Tommy another hug or passing out; and Grian (gods, how Tommy loves Grian) simply smiles at him.

It is simultaneously the most comforting and unnerving thing Tommy has ever seen.

Comforting in the sense that he really is trying to make himself look non-threatening for Tommy's sake and is failing miserably. He takes great comfort in the fact that the man who is accompanying him to the Dream SMP currently looks like someone could breathe wrong and he would dig his blacked claws into their flesh and tear off their face without even blinking. He looks absolutely filled to overflowing with unbridled rage, and it is not an exaggeration to say that it is that look that makes Tommy relax into him even more. How fucked up must he be?

"I landed in a pond below me. It hurt like a bitch, don't get me wrong, and it immediately knocked me out, but I wasn't dead. I had sort of gotten used to waking up with water in my lungs, y'know?" He huffs. "I ran until I reached my—Technoblade's house. He took me in after I dug a hole underneath his basement and lived there for a couple of days, and he protected me from Dream and helped me sneak back into L'Manburg. I felt like I actually got to know him again, after all that time. We'd been apart from each other for so long, y'know? Pogtopia didn't really count, and I just—I missed him. He helped blow up L'Manburg, sure, but so did Wilbur, and I missed him, too." Tommy groans into his hands. "This is all so confusing and it happened a year ago. I hate this."

"You're doing great, kid," Impulse says, leaning forward with a smile. Tommy resists the urge to (fondly) roll his eyes.

"Thanks. I, um—to make a long story short, L'Manburg held a festival to try and kill Dream. Good for them. Techno and I sort of planned to crash it? But there really wasn't much to crash—Dream didn't show up so they just played festival games until he did. When he did, he lead them all to the community house—it's sort of like the shopping distric...hub...whatever...over here, except it's just one building—and it was destroyed. The oldest building on the server blown up, flooded, gone. Techno and I were there, invisible, so we got to see as Dream started blaming me for blowing it up." Tommy half-laughs again. "I wasn't even fucking allowed over there! But yeah, that was his argument, and he said that Tubbo had to give him my disc—the only one we still had—to make up for it.

"Obviously, I couldn't stand for that, so I revealed myself. Tubbo and I had a...fight. A really bad fight. He honestly almost killed me, it was rough—"

Mumbo chokes a little bit, and Tommy regards him with raised eyebrows. Mumbo waves his hand back and forth, face going pink. "Sorry, I just—when you said fight, I thought you meant with words."

"And not two kids on one life going for each other's throats?" Scar asks. Mumbo nods. "I don't see why you would expect any different!"

"See?" Tommy says, holding a hand out and gesturing to Scar. "He's getting it."

The rest of Boatem looks mostly unamused.

"In any case," Tommy says, voice a little rushed. "Tubbo handed over the disc, and Dream instantly turned around. He stopped pretending like he was any type of ally to Tubbo or L'Manburg and started calling him an idiot 'n' stuff. He even said that Ranboo was a traitor—mostly because he was friends with Techno—and that Tubbo couldn't run his country right. And since Techno was all pissed because I was siding with Tubbo—he hates government, Tubbo tried to execute him for war crimes, he kept implying that we should destroy L'Manburg together but never actually said anything straightforward about it—he decided to team with Dream to raze L'Manburg. And he got Phil to help, too. 'Cause they put him on house arrest for being friends with Tech."

"Wait," Pearl interrupts, staring him down despite being substantially shorter than him. "He got mad at you when you wanted to defend your best friend and your actual home from the guy that murdered you twice and brought you to the brink of suicide less than—how long?"

Tommy cringes. "Less than a month?"

The way Pearl's eyes widen is almost comical. Her voice is raised as she starts, "Less than a—" She cuts herself off. "Tommy. You need to let me come with you if you're insisting on going. I'm not gonna be able to sit here and just imagine wringing that man's neck.

Tommy rolls his eyes. "No, Pearl."

"Please?"

"No. This is a perfect moment for me to gloss over Doomsday—L'Manburg is gone. Like, completely gone. There's a crater down to bedrock where it used to be. The three of them—Phil, Techno, and Dream—all showed up hours before we actually planned to fight and set up this ugly-ass obsidian grid above the whole country. They loaded it with TNT and let it rain as soon as we all showed up. There were withers everywhere, the three of them are literal gods at PVP, and the constant TNT never really stopped, so we fought for days until we were just...out of energy. There was no point in fighting anymore—L'Manburg was long beyond saving after the first few hours. At a point, we just watched it rain. It was almost pretty."

Tommy stares at the crevices in his calloused hand. "Ghostbur was devastated, obviously. There was nothing for us to do once the TNT ran out. It was...nightmarish. But it had really only just started. Dream, on top of all of that, replaced my entire house with netherrack and set it on fire with a compass that lead to my discs—and him. He said that only Tubbo and I could come, and that if we tried to bring anyone else, the discs would be destroyed forever.

"We were desperate and we were tired. With the way the rest SMP lined up around the main path, you would think it was a funeral procession and Tubbo and I were the corpses being carried to our graves. We sailed for dozens 'nd dozens of kilometres until we found where he was. We had a useless fight. Did a useless song and dance with a disc that wasn't even real—he made me choose between this fake disc and Tubbo. He had his axe at his throat, and Tubbo was just yelling at me to take the disc and leave him—it was—" He pauses. "It was a lot. He took us down into this bunker where the real discs were—along without about a dozen other things people across the SMP owned. He was collecting the most important things to people so he could control them. All of them. The man was a fucking psychopath."

A quiet, 'no kidding,' from Scar, a helplessly enraptured and terrified look from Mumbo, a stare into an unknown direction from Pearl, and laughably dad-like grumbles from Grian and Impulse ease Tommy's nerves as his mind unwittingly conjures up vivid memories from that evening. He never noticed the way in which Tubbo clung onto his shirt from behind, just like he would when they were much younger, or the way the light bounced off of Dream and his maks in unnatural ways and made the dark walls dance with green.

"Thankfully, I had hired someone to maybe help us if things got rough, and the entire SMP come through the Nether portal in the bunker to save us. And Prime, did we need saving. He was gonna kill Tubbo and lock me in prison for forever because I was, like, the ultra attachment or sommat like that. Something stupid." He shrugs. "Then Punz came through and we cornered him, and I killed him twice. I was going to kill him a third time, but..."

He inhales, then lets out a deep sigh, leaning on his hands. "I should've killed him then and there. Remember that boon that I said Schlatt gave him to fight on is side in the war?" The room nods. "Right, well. That was apparently a revive book. As in, a 'bring people back to life' book. And wow, look at that, who is the only person on the damn server who had a permanently dead loved one?" He rolls his eyes. "We locked him up in that inescapable prison from before, just in case we'd ever need to bring someone back to life, and we moved on.

"And, I mean...things were good. Better than they had been for a long time. I started a hotel, Tubbo and Ranboo were really starting to hit it off, they found a kid 'n' made a little country and everything, I got a robot friend...it was nice. But, of course, I had to screw everything up again—"

The intense protest from around the room makes Tommy flinch and hold his hands up in surrender. "Fine! Fine, geez. I definitely did not screw everything up by going to visit Dream for 'closure.' I went three times—the first two were fine. He was miserable and he deserved it, so I laughed at him. The third time...it went off the shits. Like, really badly.

"There were explosions on the roof of the prison, and 'as per security protocol,' I got locked inside of the main cell with Dream. I don't know how long I was in there—a week, I think? And, I mean, Dream is about as much of a freak as you would expect after having to stay with him for that long. Not in that way, thank Prime—" A visible sigh of relaxation makes everyone in the room slouch with relief. "—but weird enough that by the time it hit a proper week, I was at my breaking point."

Tommy takes a long pause and closes his eyes, trying to steel himself and calm his breathing before he gets all upset in the middle of this. This, he isn't over. It's been almost a year, but he doesn't think he'll ever fully be over it. Exile is a maybe, but this? This brutal, messy, irreverent death that painted his eyelids with a deep red that seeped off of him and into the cracks in the floor? He can't think about it without wanting to throw up.

"I goaded him into it, honestly. I said shit about the revive book not being real—I told him that I had seen Schlatt's grave and I knew how much of an incompetent madman he was, and that there was no way he could have something as powerful as a revival book on him." He swallows. "So Dream told me to go ask him myself."

Tommy clears his throat, staring at the ground over his hands. "I was only dead for three days, but it felt like three months. And it was...dark. And Wilbur was there, and so was Schlatt, but he was asleep for most of it. Wilbur had spent...thirteen years? In there? I think? He'd gone a little apeshit. More apeshit than usual." He huffs. "I feel like I'm dragging on. Dream revived me and it was horrible, but at least Sam let me out after that—Sam is the warden. He used to be nice, but he's a right wrongun, promise. I started planning on how to properly kill Dream once and for all—since the idea of him having all that power to himself made me physically ill—and I somehow managed to get Ghostbur to be my cover while he went to visit Dream and I followed, invisible."

Tommy sighs, leans back, and tries to drive the sound of Ghostbur's screams out of his mind. "It went wrong, like everything does, and Ghostbur ended up gatting stranded in Dream's cell while I was safe on the other side. Dream killed Ghostbur—revived Wilbur—whatever. Wilbur is alive, and he has some sort of rivalry with Big Q, I don't know, I haven't—I didn't talk to him for a while after he came back. I mean, after he proved that he wasn't just there to hurt everyone again, he just left me to my own devices, and I was feeling overwhelemed by the world so I just...stayed in my house. For a few months. Until I heard the prison sirens ringing. And then I ran into the forest because I knew he'd come for me first, fell in a hole, and..." He blinks rapidly and looks up at the room. "Now I'm here. Shit, that was a lot."

There's a pause, then Impulse leans back into the couch. He stares at the ceiling, hands on his knees, and bluntly says, "Nightmare. Your server is a nightmare."

Tommy laughs, then laughs again—short, hiccuping things that shock him every time they leave his throat, startling him in and out of hysteria as everything crashes down on him. He hadn't even gone that in-depth during therapy—shit, he forgot to tell them he went to therapy.

He doens't even notice that his breathing was turning quick before Grian pulls him into another hug, squeezing the air out of his lungs as they slowly but surely slide to the floor, limbs all tangled together, Grian holding him like a silent promise—that he will never let go. That he will never betray. That he will never stop fighting for him.

He didn't believe it before—he didn't want to believe it before, not when he was so, painfully used to geting his heart broken—but it's hard to have any doubts now, surrounded by people who love him for being Tommy.

He presses his face into Grian's jumper again and cries. Every added bit of pressure from the rest of Boatem (including Scar, this time) joining the two avians makes the warmth in his chest spread until his love could spark a fire, until his tears could burn through fabric, until he could light up the world with nothing but his love.

He sniffs, once the tears slow, and turns his head to simply rest it upon Grian's shoulder, who doesn't move an inch. "I forgot—" He clears his throat. "I forgot to say, I went to therapy—?"

"Tommy."

"Sorry."

The room shakes with quiet laughter, and Boatem is finally whole.

Chapter Text

Tommy is nervous, to say the absolute least. He's always been something of a professional at pretending like he isn't, so he does his best to put on a brave face as Boatem as absolutely flooded with people.

He's aware that people often come to Boatem to shop, but there's never been this many people at once, even right after everything has been restocked and there comes that dip in production where people need to come buy new materials. No, this is different. This has to be at least ten, fifteen people all here to see Tommy and Grian off.

Aside from the actual members of Boatem (who sent out the message that the two of them were going to be leaving in an hour around forty-five minutes ago), the first to arrive were the Big Eyes Crew, of which Tango just about flew into his abdomen in some violent imitation of a hug as Bdubs gave him a somewhat-stern talking to about keeping himself safe (which was undermined by Tango refusing to let go of him and making the scene a lot sillier) and Keralis instructed him to make sure Grian didn't get himself killed.

He would find that this would be a recurring statement from several other members, including Cleo, who seemed dead-set on the idea that Grian would jump in front of a passing train to keep Tommy alive and that, while she is also concerned for Tommy's safety, she is aware that he can handle himself on a permadeath server. Grian has no such experience. Joe tagged along with Cleo, which shocked Tommy to his absolute core because the guy is utterly terrified of Boatem (he's pretty sure it had to do with Joe thinking it was cursed or haunted or something of the like, which is both utterly hilarious and incredibly concerning coming from Joe Hills, supernatural savant), but he placed both of his shaking hands on Tommy's shoulders and told him, rather cryptically, to keep an open mind when he gets on the server. When Tommy asked him for clarification, he spouted some nonsense about the snacks being offered (there are no snacks) and walked away, though not before telling Tommy that he was free to keep the book Joe and Eret wrote for as long as he pleases, so long as he brings it back once he and Grian returned.

When Gem shows up, she takes a few minutes to greet everyone else, makes direct eye contact with Tommy, and pulls him to the side where no-one will be able to hear them. She plants her hands on his shoulders, stares into his icy blue eyes with her unnervingly wide, bright green ones, and says very quickly, "Tommy, it has been so long since you told me to keep your secret and I have but I am going to tell Grian if you don't because he needs to know that you don't have all three of your lives going into this—"

Tommy cuts her off by gently putting a hand on her arm. He feels...very bad for not communicating with her about what has happened for the past several days, and he gives her a weak smile as he says, "Gem, it's a-okay. I told them everything."

Gem continues to stare, but he can see the relief flood her system so quickly that she almost falls over. "Everything?"

"Everything," he confirms. "About the deaths and...everything that happened over there."

"Oh, thank Prime," she heaves, dropping her arms only to pull him into a tight squeeze. "I would have worried myself to death, Tommy."

"Sorry," he says sheepishly, hugging her back and patting her a couple of times. "It's been really hectic. I went to go meet with someone from my server, found out that everyone's memories got tampered with, had a fight with G, uh...almost tried to go home by myself—not my smartest move—but then I told everyone everything. So. We're good now."

Gem pulls away and shakes her head at him, kicking the ground with her hoof. "You are something else, Tommy."

"I feel like everyone here has said that to me at least once."

"Deservedly!" Gem insists, hopping up to flick his forehead like an older sister teasing their sibling for being stupid. Tommy falls into the role like clockwork and scrunches up his face at her, sticking out his tongue as if she was wrong in any capacity. She mirrors the face, then breaks into a laugh that Tommy mirrors. "I'm serious, Tommy. You'd better keep yourself safe out there, you and Grian." She huffs. "They really let the two people with the lowest self-preservation on the server go alone, huh? If I have to go over there and save the two of you, I swear to Prime, Tommy, I will make sure you never walk around without someone sensible watching you ever again—"

"Gem, Gem, Gem," Tommy says hurriedly, slinging a hand around her shoulder. She tries for an unamused expression, but is failing miserably at forcing the smile off of his face. "Ms. Tay. Mistress Gemini, like the Zodiac. You've got nothing to worry about, alright? It's an in-and-out operation! We'll be back before you can miss us."

"Yeah, yeah," she says, shrugging his arm off with a roll of her eyes. "I've gotta go lecture Grian—I'll be seeing you, Tommy."

Tommy meets her eyes with a genuine grin and pulls her into another hug. "See you around, Temini Gay."

Gem snorts and smacks his shoulder, walking away with a chortle and a lightness to her steps that wasn't there when she originally walked up to him. Prime, he really kept her in the dark for a while. He's almost frightened by the weight in his heart as he watches her leave, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that there's a likely chance that that may have been the last time he will ever speak to her. If everything goes right, he'll be able to come back, but there are so many things that could go awfully, awfully wrong...

"Tommy! I've been looking for you!"

Tommy shrieks. Like a man, of course.

He whips around to the person who decided that it would be a good idea to try and scare his soul out of his body and is met with the shining, emerald green eyes of Scar. His shoulders sag. Makes sense. Scar is grinning like he always is, improperly holding his cane as per usual as the copper braces around his legs do a majority of the work for him. He immediately pulls Tommy into a side-hug, squeezing Tommy's neck in the crook of his elbow and choking him halfway to death right then and there.

"Scar—" Tommy wheezes. "Scar, I'm going to die—"

"Oh, Tommy, I'm gonna miss you so much," Scar continues, ignoring his giggles and protest alike. "You and Grian, all alone in that big, bad server...are you absolutely certain I can't come with you?"

Tommy tries to make out the word 'yes,' or maybe even a swear, but his airways are experiencing a mostly painless roadblock that makes speaking a rather difficult task. Scar seems delighted at this fact and lets him go, crying out with nothing short of joy, "Oh, do you mean it? I can really come?"

"No—" Tommy says in a croaky voice still riddled with laughter. "No, you absolute prick—"

"Guys, Tommy said we can come along!" Scar calls out to no-one in particular. Tommy snatches his arm and (gently) turns him around being met face-to-face with his blinding smile.

"You think you're real funny, don't you?" Tommy says accusatorily, still half-unable to speak properly.

"On the contrary, I'm being one-hundred percent serious!"

Tommy fixes him with a deadpan look and coughs into his arm. "Really."

"One-hund-o percent!"

Tommy sighs and shakes his head, and Scar pats him twice on his shoulder. "It's alright, Tomathy! We'll be subtle about it, don't you even worry."

"Bugger off."

Scar laughs at him and proceeds to pull him into an actual hug, minding the gap between his wings and letting his touches be as light as humanly possible. "Oh, Tommy. I really will miss you and your colourful personality."

Tommy thinks about snapping back with a 'what's that supposed to mean,' but resigns himself to being genuine as he squeezes Scar with all the force in his body. "I'll miss you too, big man."

Scar chuckles, and it makes Tommy's entire body vibrate. He pulls away and raises an eyebrow at Tommy, ruffling his hair fondly. "Aw, kid. You'll be back soon. You won't have to miss us too hard."

"Yeah, but..."

Tommy fiddles with the bandanna around his wrist, twisting it around and around with significantly more difficulty than there once was. He supposes that's the effect of actually eating three meals a day. He sighs and lets a frown bring his eyebrows slightly closer together, and Scar takes the hint that something is actually troubling him, leaning forward on his cane.

"I don't know. I just—I know Grian's coming with, and I know that he's capable of taking care of himself and I'm capable of taking care of myself, but. We barely even know what we're going over there to do. Fight a god? Kill Dream? The entire server tried to do that, and I'm sure they tried to do it again, and even if Dream is dead, which he almost definitely isn't, but even if he was, there's still no confirmation that we'll be able to fix anything! Won't we need to get him to reverse the memory problems? Or will just killing him turn everything back to normal?" He runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "I just—we're going into this with basically nothing. And when it was just me, that was fine—I've always just been a 'screw around and find out' person, none of my plans ever actually work, but..."

Scar hums. "Now that G's with you, you're thinking a bit harder."

Tommy lets his shoulders slump as he nods. "Look—I know I'm meant to be caring more about myself and all that stuff, but that's just how my brain works, man. I can't help it."

Scar still smiles at him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder with a bit of a shake. "It's alright, Tommy. I get it. We get it. But you've gotta remember, Gri's a capable man and you're a capable child!"

"Hey—"

"You've got information, you've got friends, you've got pretty much everything you need to figure out what's going on over there! And you won't need to spend any time missing us, because we'll all be right here."

Scar lays a hand upon Tommy's chest, right over his heart, and Tommy can't help but smile for a moment before making himself look disgusted. "Oh, come on—"

"And right there," Scar continues. "With you, on the server."

Tommy swats his hand away a laugh and a loud, "Shut up!" Scar expertly dodges his attack and proceeds to stick a hand into Tommy's hair and ruffle it with such an intensity that his shoulders rise and his head is forced down, eyes instinctively shutting as he flails around and tries to escape Scar's familial wrath. "You're deranged."

"So I've been told," Scar replies, not missing a beat. He ruffles Tommy's hair yet again, then backs off and leans on his cane, simply looking Tommy up and down with a soft smile. He feels himself become horribly emotional, as he feared he would, and finds himself casting his gaze down at the ground. "Tommy, can you promise me something?"

Tommy looks back up at him, a questioning look on his face. "Yeah?"

"Promise you'll try and take care of yourself over there, okay? No self-sacrificial nonsense from either of you, I mean it." He wags a finger at Tommy. "You and Grian oughta cancel each other out. If he tries to jump off any cliffs for you, you've gotta take him out. Swiftly."

Tommy snorts. "Easy, big man."

"And I've already told G the same thing."

"What?"

"If you try fighting any gods on his behalf, he's going to knock you out," Scar says simply. "I made him promise."

"Scar."

Scar simply grins at him, and Tommy is reminded not for the first time of Tubbo. The two really are similar, in a weird way, specifically due to the fact that Tommy cannot for the life of him tell if Scar is telling the truth. That smile is throwing him the hell off, but he does his best to wave it off and shake his head. Scar smiles a bit wider and points his cane behind Tommy. "I think someone is looking for you, by the way."

"What—oh!" Tommy says and immediately exclaims, turning around to see Grian speedwalking towards him from the other end of Boatem centre. When he looks back, Scar has already begun to walk away.

"Seeya, Tomsters!" Scar calls back. "Very soon! On your server!"

"Shut the hell up!" Tommy calls in the same tone, making a face at him before starting to walk up to Grian.

The man looks utterly frazzled when Tommy gets a closer look at him, almost regarding Tommy with a pleading expression once they're close enough to speak. "Tommy, nobody is even saying goodbye. They're just lecturing me about—"

"About not sacrificing yourself, yeah," Tommy grumbles, crossing his arms. "I've gotten the same spiel."

Grian lets out a very exaggerative sigh. "I sort of promised Scar that I would knock you out if you tried anything, by the way, so. Be warned."

Of course Scar was being serious. Why would he ever expect anything different from that maniac? "Ditto."

Grian nods, completely understanding, and turns to silently face the Boatem Hole along with Tommy. It feels a lot more menacing than it usually does, what with the sun setting and the moon rising over Pearl's palace, already so much bigger than it legally should be allowed to be. Last time this happened, as far as Tommy is aware, the server was plagued with earthquakes and low gravity, making building more difficult than it had any right to be on a building-based server. None of that has started quite yet, but it's probably better to get it over with sooner rather than later, in case of any surprises. And it might not even work, which is the thing that's driving Tommy halfway insane. There is a feeling in him that wants to jump in the hole right now, just to see if it will actually send him through or not, but he figures that if he does go through, Grian will wring his neck, and if he ends up respawning, the entire server will do the same.

They remain there, chatting to each other about what they think passing through the void will be like and what to expect on the other side—Tommy makes sure to warn him for the millionth time about the creeper holes, just to prepare him for the heartbreak he will eventually experience. It would not be ideal for him to drop dead due to a griefing-induced allergic reaction instead of something with a little more weight. Then again, it would be most ideal for him to not die at all, and Tommy bites his tongue to keep him from binging up the issue of lives. He doesn't want to force onto Grian the same amount of panic that he's currently experiencing, but he can't get the thought out of his mind. What if Grian only gets given one because his code will treat it like a hardcore server? Or because Dream chooses to assign him only one? What if he instantly dies once he logs on?

It only takes a few minutes of distracted conversation for people to start gravitating towards the two of them—he supposes it should have been expected, as they are sort of standing next to the hole everyone is there to watch them jump into, but it still startles Tommy a bit when he looks around to see everyone holding their conversations within a ten-metre radius of the two of them.

Grian nudges Tommy with his elbow. Tommy leans over to hear him as he asks, "You think it's about time?"

Tommy hesitates, then shrugs. "I guess so."

Grian nods shortly, cracking his knuckles and clearing his throat very loudly. Most of the people turn to him immediately, and those who don't notice the silence and quiet down to listen to whatever Grian has to say.

Grian stares for a moment, then blinks a few times. "I don't...actually know what to say."

People snicker, including Tommy. "Hey—I don't know the precedent for this stuff! What am I even meant to say, here?"

"You love us, and you'll miss us very much," Cleo calls with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smile. "And you promise you and your bird buddy won't do anything extraordinarily stupid."

Grian nods, and Tommy makes a noise of indignation as being referred to as his 'bird buddy.' What in the hell does that even mean, really. "That. All that."

"Prime, you're awful at this," Tommy grumbles, pushing Grian's shoulder lightly to make him shift to the side. He turns to face the group with familiar confidence, looking at each cluster of Hermits individually as he speaks. "We are leaving now. I sure hope you all said your goodbyes and shed all your little tears, 'cause we won't be back until we kill god. We're accepting good luck donations and prayers. I'll be chaperoning my little bird buddy, here—"

"Hey!"

"—and making sure we stay out of trouble. Just for the sake of your hearts, of course, because I'm pretty sure we can handle a bit of trouble." Tommy elbows Grian on the emphasis, and Grian merely looks up at him over the brim of his glasses with a look. One that holds meaning, though Tommy doesn't keep his gaze lingering downwards for long enough to decipher it. "We can handle trouble. So you can all stop worrying, and you can all stop joking about coming with, 'cause you're not allowed to. Got that?"

Tango is the first to immediately respond with a mock salute and an, "Aye aye, captain!" This leads the rest of the Hermits to laugh, which makes Tommy roll his eyes and grab onto Grian's hand.

"You're about to spend your last moments with us laughing at me," he says with disdain, scowling non-seriously at no-one in particular. "I can't believe the audacity of these people. Can you, Grine?"

"No, not at all," Grian says solemnly, taking Tommy's hand in his (because Tommy definitely was not reaching out first, and this was definitely Grian's decision) and shaking his head. "I thought better of you lot."

"You know we love you," Impulse says cheekily, grinning despite his nervousness. There's nothing outwardly displaying nervousness on him, of course, but Tommy has seen him over the past few days and can safely say that he's probably more concerned about this entire endeavour than Tommy and Grian are. Which probably says more about Tommy and Grian than it does Impulse, but Tommy chooses not to dwell on this.

"Unfortunately," Grian replies, sighing heavily.

"Okay, okay," Keralis interrupts, holding up his hands just as the group started chattering again, throwing light jabs at the pair and muttering amongst themselves. "We have to let them go at some point."

Tommy throws a glance down at Grian again, meeting his eyes and holding his hand much tighter than he was before. He wishes he could dredge up more nonsense to prolong the time before they have to leave, but his mind is suddenly coming up blank. Grian lets out a steady breath and rocks on the balls of his feet. "Okay. It's like tearing off a bandage, we just have to—"

"Wait!" Pearl shouts, waving her hand out towards them like a maniac before Grian can continue speaking and pull Tommy along. "Wait, wait, wait!"

"What?" Grian and Tommy ask in unison, watching with confusion as she pushes and shuffles her way forwards, planting herself between the two of them and the Boatem Hole.

She looks at them, brows furrowed—first, down at Grian, then slightly up at Tommy, and then she's yanking them both towards her and trying her damndest to engulf the both of them in a hug. Tommy doesn't hesitate to hug her back, Grian quickly following, and then the two of them are being surrounded by a group hug that consists of most of the people surrounding them, the force of Bdubs and Tango almost knocking all of them inside.

Tommy can't fully fight against the fear worming into his heart as he's smothered with warmth from all sides—fear that he's never going to feel this again, fear that he's going to die over there and never see any of these people again—but he forces himself to hold them close and chase away at least some of his dread with the affection surrounding him. He can't afford to think like that—he has to win. He has to come back. He has to make sure Grian gets back home—he won't be able to live with the guilt if he doesn't. Maybe that shouldn't be the thing he latches onto to get him through what they're planning to do, but he knows it's the only constant that will remain. If Grian dies under his watch, on his home server, helping him complete his mission, he doesn't know what he'll do with himself.

"Okay, okay, okay, we're leaving!" Grian exclaims, wriggling his way out of the group hug and squeezing Tommy's hand. "Tommy, are you ready?"

Tommy meets his eyes, uncertainty wavering in them for a split second before he sharply nods. "Ready."

Grian tucks his wings in and Tommy does the same—and before they can say anything else to stall, they pull each other forward into a run and jump into the Boatem Hole, disappearing into the darkness only a moment later.

The void is all-encompassing and almost painfully dense.

Grian and Tommy has been falling for longer than they can keep track of. Any worry Grian had felt about possibility of the portal not working was immediately dissipated once they fell for more than a few seconds and didn't start to suffocate—the darkness just keeps going and going and going.

Tommy was, at first, very tense—he recounted through gritted teeth his last experience with the passage from one server to another with this method, but nothing about this fall seems to match the awful, stifling feeling he had undergone in his original one. In fact, the coolness rushing through his hair and feathers feels sort of pleasant, and it didn't take long for Tommy to loosen up and start complaining about how long it was taking this time around.

Grian can't say the experience is any less odd for him—the closest he's ever had to an experience like this is being in one of Xisuma's void wrinkles, and those feel much more like rooms than this. They feel much more concrete than falling endlessly through the sky, no perception of where they're going or how long it has been or how close the ground is—if there even is a ground. It's very disorienting, even when he uses his wings to keep himself upright, and Tommy takes great delight in his suffering before he himself begins to aimlessly spin away.

This goes on for what feels like hours, and Grian is close to simply dozing off despite the constant movement—until he hits something. Or, rather, he gently falls into something, something soft that cradles him as he slides down against it and starts to slow his movements. It sort of feels like a piece of silky cloth that only slightly holds his weight as he falls, and he panics for a moment before Tommy screeches at the top of his lungs and he realises the kid is feeling the same thing, too.

"Whatthehellwhatthehellwhatthehell—" Tommy shouts, flailing against what looks like the void folding around and under him. "Grine—Grine, why is the void soft?"

"I think we're hitting the bottom, Tommy," Grian says, trying to keep his voice level as he wiggles against the softness to get close to Tommy and grab his hand. "Either that, or we're about to get kicked out."

Tommy lets out a strangled laugh and almost crushes Grian's hand in his grip, slowly baring his teeth in a hiss as he tries to keep his panic under control. "Grian, I swear to Prime, if we die before we even make it to the server I'm actually going to lose it. If we respawn back on Hermitcraft I'm going to kill someone."

Grian doesn't reply as the feeling underneath them becomes more horizontal, slowly sliding them onto what feels like a ground underneath them after gods know how many hours of falling. Grian immediately loses his balance when he tries to stand, legs giving way underneath him as he falls to the ground due to disuse. Tommy doesn't even bother to stand in the first place, swiveling around from his place on the floor to squint up at what they just fell upon.

Grian cranes his neck to look up as well and finds his mouth falling open when he clocks exactly what it is that he sees.

He thinks he sees stars. Purple and blue and green lights that drift like a midnight sky peppered with glowing white stars, swirling around in a perfectly circular shape intruded upon by the same inky void that the rest of the space they're in is made of.

"What..." Tommy breathes, tilting his head to the side. "...is that?"

Grian half-shrugs, also staring. Something is stirring in his chest—something aching and familiar-unfamiliar at the same time, something terrifying and imposing that makes him scramble back as fast as possible when he begins to hear a terrible rumbling, the sound of a thousand birds taking off at once, the sound a thousand dresses rustling in the wind, the sound of leaves brushing against each other in a hurricane—and Grian swears he can see the Void move.

"Grian," Tommy says, his voice a low warning.

"Tommy," Grian replies, pushing himself to his feet yet again and managing to stay upright, albeit with a significant wobble to his movements. Tommy uses him to stand himself up, digging his fingers into Grian's jumper as he pulls himself up and leans on Grian's shoulder, staring up at the odd night sky that suddenly seems to be growing larger.

"Is—is the sky falling?" Tommy whispers. "Or is it just getting bigger?"

"Do you think we could run?" Grian asks, his voice no louder.

"Do you think we would respawn from here?" Tommy replies, fear seizing his voice.

"Of course we would," Grian says, his wing moving towards Tommy instinctively.

The sky continues to grow, and neither of them move. Whether they're both rooted to the spot out of fear or awe, Grian isn't entirely sure, but his eyes remain transfixed on the growing circle as it approaches and he starts to make out more detail.

For one, it's not actually a perfect circle. The sky seems to have folds or wrinkles in it, just like the Void does, and there seems to be a more defined shape to the intruding part and the softness that they slid down.

Somehow, it looks...almost like a person. Almost like he can make out a neck and shoulders and waist and a weirdly disfigured head that's too wide and too flat—until he realises that it's a hat and not a head.

"Oh," Grian says smartly. Realisation hits him in the head like a brick. "That's a person."

"A person?" Tommy hisses. "What is a giant person doing in the void?"

"I think that giant person is the Void, Tommy," Grian replies, breathless.

The form continues to shrink, and as it does, more and more defining features reveal themselves to the pair. Black, gloved hands emerge from the darkness, only slightly lighter than the surrounding void, along with the long, flowing dress and hat that shields a face hidden by 'fabric' (Grian has no idea as to whether he should really call it fabric). Grian and Tommy watch, holding their breath, as She comes into full view and Her face becomes unshrouded.

She is still so much taller than both of them, but when She finally stops shrinking, Grian can clearly see the soft smile on Her face and the way Her eyes are brimming with white, unshed tears.

"Who..." Tommy starts, taking a step back as She lowers Herself onto Her knees. She's only slightly above them, then, and Her face is entirely too close for Grian to properly process any of what is going on, and he can't stop staring at Her because She looks so, so familiar, and his head is starting to pound. Grian distantly notes that the beautiful, swirling night sky he was seeing was simply the underside of Her hat.

He lets his gaze drop and he bows his head, dropping to one knee and folding his wings tightly against his back. Tommy, petulant and stubborn as always, doesn't follow, still staring defiantly into the eyes of the Woman in front of them. Her smile is so light despite how dark Her eyes are, and the way Her hair falls inexplicably reminds him of Wilbur. The appearance of him in his mind is so sudden it almost makes him physically startle, but once the image of his older brother grinning pops up behind Tommy's eyelids, he can't get the similarities out of his head.

"Tommy," Grian hisses. "Kneel."

"What—no!" Tommy insists, face twisting into a frown. He demands, "Who are you? Why do you look so—so—"

"Familiar?"

Her voice reverberates despite the lack of surfaces to bounce off of, still soft and gentle despite the volume, and Grian can't bring himself to look up because his head hurts so much and Tommy can't stop staring despite the pain because She looks so damn right. Like there's a painful hole in the back of his mind and Her mere presence is starting to fill it up with memories still blotted out by the feeling of something-you-can't-put-your-finger-on.

She lifts one hand and holds the side of Tommy's face. Lifts the other and tilts Grian's head up. When he looks at Her, meets Her eyes, he feels like something is gnawing at the inside of his brain, like something is painfully clawing at something in there that simply shouldn't be touched, but She brushes Her thumb against his cheek and, for a moment, the pain disappears.

She takes in a shuddering breath, and a tear slips down Her face.

"My boys," She says, unashamed of the waver in Her voice. "I've missed you so much."

Chapter Text

The Dream SMP is quiet.

This is a very rare occurrence, as the more colourful members almost seem to be physically pained when boredom strikes them, leading them to force others into their shenanigans to bring the server back to life.

With Tommy gone, Tubbo finds that nobody wants to be the person to stir things up—not when such a heavy weight has been hung over everyone and the main recipient of it is nowhere to be find. At first, Tubbo was terrified when Tommy went missing—the direct correlation with the exact night Dream had escaped prison was too strong, and for a long while, he thought Dream had somehow found him and had taken him somewhere, hidden him away where nobody would be able to find him like he had planned all those months ago.

That horrible assumption fell apart the moment Dream himself showed up inside of his vault, waiting for him in front of the lines of armour stands as if he had been invited there.

Shock rendered Tubbo speechless for a moment, frozen in place as he stared down the hall at that porcelain mask looking back at him, but before more than a couple of seconds had passed, his axe was out in his hand and his feet had shifted into a defensive position.

“And what the hell do you want?” Tubbo barks, hands tightening around his axe as he scans the room for anything missing. The stand that held Dream’s armour before he escaped is missing its contents, as it has been since the break-out, but Dream doesn’t seem to be wearing it, either. It would be so easy to run up and cleave his head straight off, but knowing Dream, it would never be that easy. He would probably have it all on before Tubbo finished running across the room, and then he would be in a fight for his last remaining life. He’s furious that Dream has just decided to break into his base and act like he owns the place, but he isn’t stupid, either, so he stands his ground and makes it clear that he isn’t going down without a fight. “Where the hell is Tommy?”

Dream tilts his head to one side. When he speaks, light and easy, as if he doesn’t understand the gravity of this encounter, Tubbo feels an almost painful jolt of fear pierce down his spine, but he forces his expression into angry neutrality. “It’s good to see you too, Tubbo. How have you been for the past…” His head tilts further. “...I dunno, ten months?”

“I’ve been great, actually,” Tubbo snaps, ignoring the way he starts to feel very, very cold. “Especially with not having to see your stupid face. Where the hell is Tommy?”

Dream straightens up, and Tubbo can immediately feel the shift in the air. He hates how that happens—how effortlessly Dream can change the feeling in the room with just his body movements and the way he projects his emotions, no matter how fabricated they may be, out into space. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at a wall, then says in a low tone, “Well, Tubbo. That’s what I came here to ask you.”

Confusion flits into Tubbo’s mind and he frowns, eyebrows tugging uncomfortably at his scarred skin. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you meaning to tell me that you don’t have Tommy?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be asking you if I had him, would I?” Dream asks in a petulant tone. Tubbo takes a step back. “You two are best friends. I’ve already asked his brothers. His dad. None of them seem to know. I'd imagine that you didn't randomly fall out for some reason while I was locked away, so I'm asking you."

Vindictive, righteous anger and pride flares up in Tubbo's chest. He twists his hands around the hilt of his axe and snarls, "Sorry to disappoint, but no, I don't know where he is. And I'm thanking fucking Prime that he didn't tell me shit. At least now he'll have a solid chance of getting the hell out of here without worrying that someone will rat on him."

Dream stares at him. The tips of his extremities are freezing, and he's trying to force his mind into submission as it tries to dredge up every awful experience he's had staring into this mask. He will not show fear because he is not afraid. He has nothing to lose but his own life, anyway (and Michael's, but he's not even sure Dream knows about Michael), and considering how long it's been since the last time he died (without any revival shenanigans to reset the timer), he thinks he's pretty adept at protecting that If he needs to.

Dream slowly starts to walk towards him, hands still in his pockets. "You know I'll know if you're lying. I'll find out."

"Don't come any closer, you fucking freak," Tubbo snaps, taking yet another step back. Dream, to his credit, does stop moving, and Tubbo resents how someone in such a ridiculous-looking sweatshirt and a stupid mask can somehow manage to be so threatening. "I know you'll find out, that's lovely, I'm not lying. And good for him for getting away from you."

Tubbo knows that he's poking a bear, especially considering how long it takes for Dream to start moving again, but he eventually does and Tubbo almost trips over his own feet to give the man a wide berth to exit.

"Alright, Tubbo," he says, voice nonchalant as ever. His tone betrays nothing, but Tubbo can see his body language has shifted ever-so-slightly into something more aggravated (a talent he picked up while working under Schlatt—he isn't proud of it), as if the lack of answers is really starting to get to him. Good. As long as Tommy's safe, he can be as angry as he wants to. "I'll believe you. You're a pretty trustworthy guy, as far as I remember." His voice tilts into something more sly, saying, "At least, you definitely were when you were president."

"Get out," Tubbo growls, fighting every urge he has to dig his axe into the back of Dream's head. "I swear to Prime, if you don't get out of my fucking base, Dream, I'll—"

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving!" Dream exclaims, his hands flying from his pockets to raise up next to his head in mock surrender, halfway to giggling as if the two of them were friends joking over something. Tubbo flinches when his hands leave his pockets so suddenly, and he is acutely aware of the fact that Dream definitely noticed, too. He stops in the doorway (and if that doesn't make Tubbo almost start pleading with him to leave) and turns around, leisurely leaning on the stone wall next to him. Tubbo watches him procure a netherite dagger from his inventory, twirling it between his fingers with a terrifying deftness before holding it firmly in his fist. "I hope you know that it doesn't take much to kill a zombie piglin, though. Much less a baby."

Tubbo's blood freezes over. He must outwardly freeze as well, because Dream lets out a laugh that makes physical chills start tearing up and down Tubbo's skin. He barely gets a chance to think through the immediate panic that flares up in his mind, to form any cohesive thought aside from screaming about how he knows who Michael is, about how he got Ranboo taken from him and now he's going to take away Michael, before Dream says, "Oh—oh, man, you should see the look on your face. You're hilarious, Tubbo."

"Sh-shut up," comes the immediate reply, though his entire body is shaking too hard for it to come out as strongly as he would like.

Dream finishes laughing and pretends to wipe a tear from the eye painted on his mask. "Hilarious. Anyways, I'll be off. I'm sure Michael will be fine," he says, dragging out the vowel a grating amount. "So long as you're telling the truth."

"I am," Tubbo blurts. "I swear down to you, I am. Just—don't touch him. Or I swear to Prime, I'll get the server together again to kill you for good this time."

Dream just laughs again, and something about that—about how he just didn't seem to care—scares Tubbo more than anything. He gives the teen a two-fingered salute, a short, "Be seeing you, Tubbo," and then he's disappeared up the stairs.

Tubbo doesn't see Dream again after that encounter, which is perfectly fine by him. He is approached by several other people about Tommy's disappearing, to which he either replies with a frustrated denial or an angry accusation—some of these people shouldn't even be allowed to ask him. Seriously, what the hell does Jack Manifold want with Tommy anymore? Wasn't his entire thing based around hating him? And yet, when Tubbo deservedly told him to fuck right off, he looked genuinely startled and a bit dejected. Serves him right.

It is...quiet, though. Unnervingly so, even for Tubbo, who usually enjoys his rare moments of peace. Boo has done little to ease his loneliness, what with his aggravating apathy and horrible reminders of what Tubbo doesn't have anymore (as if he needs any more reminders), so he finds himself, for the most part, holed up in his lab to work on something or another or taking care of Michael whenever Boo disappears off to Prime-knows-where. Bother Techno and Phil, most likely.

Tubbo supposes that he could also do that, but he thinks he's had quite enough of Techno for one quarter (forming and subsequently disbanding the Revengers was exhausting work) and Phil is far too busy catching up with Wilbur. Niki was nice to talk to, but she always seemed a little wrapped up in her own head, and trying to keep every conversation away from the topic of Ranboo's death was getting increasingly difficult every time they interacted. Jack and Eryn were fine, but they always somehow managed to bring up Tommy and Tommy is, quite literally, one of the last things Tubbo wants to think about, let alone converse on. It was much easier for him to not speak with anyone at all, he found, so he stayed in his lab and his achingly empty mansion and tried to ignore the loneliness that had began to eat away at him.

And then he found the hole.

He saw it from ages away, a weird carving out of stone in the middle of an otherwise lush forest that only grew and grew as he approached it, until he was standing at the edge of a perfectly chunk-sized pit that went straight to bedrock, sides perfectly flat in a way that reminds Tubbo of how an enderman cuts perfect blocks out of whatever materials it picks up.

He almost ignored it and walked past. The server is no stranger to weird builds popping up out of nowhere—the sight of it sent a pang through Tubbo's chest, reminding him in a backwards way of Tommy's cobblestone towers. He almost walked by, but the lazy part of him was very eager to see if any diamonds had been left exposed, so he poked his head over the edge to scan the unnaturally smooth sides all the way to the bottom...and spotted something strange laid across the bedrock floor.

A pile of paper, it seemed—though, as he approached (because why wouldn't he jump in and bucket-clutch at the bottom to investigate what it is?), he realised that it was actually a stack of letters. About a dozen different questions with a dozen more half-formed answers flitted through his mind at once as he walked towards them, careful to not let his foot catch in the uneven ground under his feet. Could this be a secret pickup spot between nations? Not that nations are really that big of a deal on this server anymore...perhaps it was someone's way of discarding old memories, expecting them to get washed away in a storm? No, they're placed perfectly in the centre of the hole, definitely with purpose—maybe someone just wanted to let something go without destroying it.

He crouched down next to the letters (of which there seemed to be about eight), twisting his head to read the addressed name on the back—DSMP.

Tubbo's eyebrow quirked up immediately. So they're addressed to anyone who may find it? A little weird, but mostly intriguing. He's needed something interesting to sink his teeth into that isn't related to any of his many, many traumas, so he picked up the letter, dragged his hardened finger through the sealed envelope, and took out the slightly wrinkled, unevenly folded piece of paper lodged inside.

His expression of mild interest instantly dropped as his eyes fell upon the page and he clocked the handwriting scrawled upon the page.

to the dream smp,

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOO

this is letter number EIGHT. week EIGHT of hermitcraft. second letter of the week. in case these are getting scattered around the server or something stupid like that. now you know what to look for.

i’m coming back soon. or at least that’s the plan, i guess. the hermits are being real difficult about it, real dicks all the way 'round. especially grian, which i'm fucking pissed at him for. he wants to some back to the server with me, and OBVIOUSLY his wimpy ass wouldn't even survive a day over here. im not saying the hermits arent strong fuckin' people, but they die all the fucking time and i dont want to be the reason they permanently die because they forgot the dsmp wasnt their cushy unlimited respawns server.

so yeah, i'm not going with grian. i told him that i'd be going with him, but. i lied. and i don't feel fucking bad about it either, because i dont want him to die.

Tubbo stares, mouth agape at the paper in his hands. He drops to the ground almost without thinking, hardly feeling the bedrock digging at him through his thick winter coat. The paper is becoming wrinkled in his hand, but he can't help but clutch it as tightly as possible, terrified that it'll somehow dissolve if he doesn't hold onto it.

This is Tommy's handwriting. Not that he needs to rely on that fact to know—he would've been able to figure out through tone and word use alone—but it certainly chases off any fleeting doubts he may have had. This is Tommy's handwriting, and he's spouting utter bullshit that Tubbo doesn't understand—who the hell is Grian and what the fuck is a hermitcraft?—but it makes hope hook a claw into his heart as he scans over the first few sentences again and again. Why would Tommy be writing letters to the server while he was still around? Does this mean he's safe, wherever he is?

but enough about that sad shit. angry shit. whatever shit. we're going to visit alyssa in a few days. she's on a different server, the only one of us that managed to escape that fucking shitshow. i honestly thought i'd never see her again, but according to xisuma, she's been happily hanging the fuck out on her own! so thats...good for her????? i guess???? i dont really know how to feel.

whatever we'll figure it out when we see her hahaha. scar dragged me into forced labour again, but he was so busy that he didn't even notice me swap out with tango. i guess i haven't really described tango, but all you have to know is that from a distance, we look kind of similar. we're both blonde. there are a surprising lack of blondes on this server. so i paid tango to do my work for me, and then i swapped back with him to get my payment from scar, which was more than what i paid tango LLLLLL

i dont care how nice and happy this server is, no wholesomeness is going to save you from my fucking SCAMS

i guess that was all before i argued with boatem about. coming back. i shouted at them, but they SO fucking deserved it. they were being so unfair. like, i get that they care about me or whatever, and i really, REALLY appreciate it and all, but fucking HELL!!!!!!!! i don't need them to watching over me and putting themselves in danger just to keep me safe. there are five of them and one of me. they think they are being selfless, but they are just being fucking stupid. i hope they get over themselves. especially big man g. i don't know how long ill be able to stay mad at him.

hopefully the trip to see alyssa is a good distraction from everything, or else i might spontaneously combust one of these days. just burst into flames and literally fucken die

i know ive been doing this two letters a week thing, but ill probably send one right after we see alyssa to give you guys an update on everything. so. yeah. miss you guys. some of you. very little of you, actually. i hate all of you.

- BIGGEST MAN TOM, MY INNIT

He could almost faint. Immediately, Tubbo grabs another letter, tears it open, and reads it through—same handwriting, same names, variants of the same stupid signature. This is really Tommy. He has no idea why or how, not the slightest clue as to why his best friend would place these at the bottom of a pit in the middle of nowhere, but the relief that floods through him feels like taking a breath after being choked out for ten minutes straight—that is to say, nearly painful.

There's no doubt in Tubbo's mind about what he has to do as he picks up all the letters and shoves them into his inventory—the candidness of these letters implies that Tommy wanted a friend to see them, and Tubbo isn't quite sure who on the server can still qualify as a real, actual 'friend' aside from himself. Or maybe he's just being selfish. He couldn't actually care less.

All he knows is that Tommy is alive, Tommy is safe, and Tommy sure as hell is nowhere close to here. Which begs the question—how did these letters end up down here? Did he find a place with some sort of enderman mail delivery system? Tubbo can't imagine a player showing up here multiple times without getting caught. If this is the mail drop-off point (for whatever reason), he's going to need to keep coming back here. Preferably every day. Just to make sure.

His hands itch to open the letters and read them as he climbs his way out of the hole, but he forces himself to wait until he's back in Snowchester and locked in a room where nobody will be able to surprise him. He can't let anybody see these—not Jack, not Eryn, not Techno and especially not Dream. The fleeting thought that he'd now technically be lying if Dream ever asked him again whether or not he knew anything about Tommy's disappearance, but it doesn't make him afraid. If he goes down because he's keeping Tommy from having to deal with any of these freaks ever again, he's gone down for a good reason.

...there's always the chance of Boo phasing through the walls and sneaking up on him if he goes back to Snowchester, but at this point, Tubbo is tempted to line the corners of his office with salt to stop that from happening—and, truth be told, he's had that idea for much longer than he's known these letters existed. He's just got a good reason to do it now without feeling bad.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, three more letters appear in the hole—one on the next Tuesday, the next Saturday, and the Tuesday after that. Tubbo made sure to check every day almost obsessively to catch the letters as quickly as possible in case someone else happened to stumble across them before he did, and he's rather sure that he's been able to get every single one that had been sent after his initial encounter with the stack.

Pouring over the letters and wrangling with Tommy's infuriating disregard for providing context, Tubbo managed to deduce that Tommy had somehow travelled into a different world. Which, right off the bat, sounds utterly insane and would have made the Tubbo from just a few weeks prior belly laugh in disbelief, but Tommy writes about the people and places with such fine detail that it seems impossible that he's just made it up. He mostly hears about "Grian," who seems to be Tommy's replacement Wilbur, along with "Boatem," which he assumes is the country he lives in now. "Xisuma" is the "server admin" and while Tubbo isn't entirely sure what that means, he can assume that he's the leader of the general area like Dream is. The other world seems to be called "Hermitcraft," which is sort of a funny coincidence considering Tommy's last name.

Of course, none of these things individually imply that Tommy has somehow dimension-hopped. Even together, for all Tubbo knows, he could simply have travelled so far out that it would take ages to catch up with him. Despite that being unlikely, considering how long ago after Tommy disappeared these letters are presumed to have started appearing, there is one damning piece of evidence that lets Tubbo know that his friend has been sent somewhere inaccessible and safe.

The unlimited respawns.

At first, Tubbo thought it was a joke, and a very poor one, at that, but then he kept reading and receiving letters and realised that he was actually being serious. Over in "Hermitcraft," people can just die, come back, and be totally fine. It takes a bit of time to pass in the letters, but Tommy starts to talk about people dying—"Scar," in particular, seems to do so a lot—in such a flippant way that it makes Tubbo just the slightest bit uneasy. Most of him doesn't want Tommy to come back because he is obviously safe wherever the hell he is, but a small part of him doesn't want him to come back because he's afraid Tommy will die on the spot. "Good times create weak men," Wilbur would always quote, and while Tubbo has recently taken on the delightful mental exercise of writing off everything Pogtopia-era Wilbur said as bullshit, he's still rather sure that holds true. As such, Tommy coming back could easily spell disaster and/or death if he somehow made his way back after getting so used to this...unlimited respawn stuff.

He finds himself dazed every time he reads about it. It, first of all, makes him wonder how in the fresh hell he's able to send letters between worlds that are obviously so different from each other, but he also feels an ugly burning in his chest as he ponders, late at night, why he couldn't be taken along with Tommy as well. The thought is usually chased off by pointing out that he would be abandoning Michael and would have abandoned Ranboo, but he can't stop the idea from lingering until he has to purposely squash it out. He should be happy for Tommy—he is happy for Tommy, because Tommy is happy and safe and far away from anything that could ever possibly hurt him. He's never heard a complaint about "Hermitcraft" that didn't sound like Tommy's usual self-sacrificial bullshit, and everyone there seems...

...well, it sounds like a dream. Tubbo doesn't tend to dwell on imagining it in too much detail.

It is a particularly uneventful, quiet Tuesday when Tubbo goes out to collect the letter. There is nothing to do aside from work and read and play with Michael since Eret isn't free to babysit on Tuesdays, busy with their kingly duties (or whatever they do in that castle all day). The drop-off site isn't too far from Snowchester if he runs, so he leaves Michael in his room and tells him to stay put while he goes to grab the mail and bring it back home. He's only gone for about fifteen minutes before he reaches the hole and he drops in with practiced ease, bucket clutching at the bottom so quickly that the water doesn't travel far enough to get the letter wet.

He walks toward the small, white slip of paper, and for the briefest moment, he questions why it only looks like one folded in half page before he gets closer to see the smeared signature on the front.

A finger-painted, black, smile.

Tubbo's heart drops into his stomach.

He feels like he blinks and there is bedrock digging through his thick clothes and into his knees, the paper in his hand as he unfolds it and frantically scans each scrawled word until the entire sentence can even make sense within his mind. The blood is roaring in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut and almost drives his nails fully through the piece of paper.

you left lil mikey home alone :)

Tubbo doesn't remember climbing out of the hole, or even starting to run back to Snowchester—only when the freezing cold water of the tunnel hits his face does he snap back into reality, only just managing to not fall over when he gets spat out of the other end.

The world around him looks blurry—his heart hammers with terror and guilt and a number of other emotions that he can't quite pin down and doesn’t care to in the moment, only focused on pushing his burning legs faster and further until he's practically skidding his way through the massive double doors and screaming at the top of his lungs, "Michael?!"

He pauses, just for a second, just to listen for a response, and when the only thing that rings through the foyer is his own call, the burgeoning fear inside his chest explodes into something that could almost knock him over. He takes off running up the stairs, heart hammering against his ribcage as he prays to every god that may or may not believe in to please, please let him not be too late.

When he reaches Michael's room, the door is slightly ajar (it was closed when Tubbo left it and Michael knows not to open his door when Tubbo and Ranboo aren't in the the house), and he wastes no time in slamming it open with another frenzied shout of Michael's name.

Michael looks up at him with a smile. His face is twisted in that mischievous way that it often is after pulling a trick on one of his parents, tiny little hand covering his mouth as he sits in front of building blocks strewn around his multicoloured carpet.

Sitting behind him, somehow looking equally as amused, is Dream.

Tubbo stops dead in his tracks, staring in horror as Dream tilts his head to the side and asks Michael, mirth filling his tone, "See? Didn't I tell you he'd get scared?"

Michael, still grinning and covering his mouth, nods enthusiastically and starts to tilt backward as he snorts and giggles. Dream turns back to Tubbo, still casually sat in his child's bedroom, and greets, "Hello, Tubbo."

"What—what—" Tubbo struggles, torn between making a break for Michael and not wanting to escalate the situation, especially when Dream is so, so, so close to him, close enough to grab or do something worse if he wanted to.

"I just thought I'd drop by," Dream continues, infuriatingly flippant, taking one of Michael's building blocks and adding it to the tall tower the two of them seem to have been building together. "Pay lil' Mikey here a visit. Y'know, I usually hate kids, but..."

Dream pinches Michael's cheek, and Tubbo can see the flash of discomfort on his son's face—it takes everything in him to not attempt to rush in and cleave Dream in half right then and there. "He's such a cute little guy, I can't help but love him."

He lets go of Michael and he scoots away just the tiniest bit, throwing a glance over to his sword that has been left a few feet away from him. Tubbo starts to stammer again, tripping over the beginnings of about five different sentences before finally managing, "What—what are you—what do you want? Why are you here?"

Dream tilts his head towards Tubbo. Voice dropping, he leans forward ever-so-slightly and says, "You know exactly what I want."

Tubbo's nails dig into the doorframe to Michael's bedroom. He isn't stupid—Dream clearly has found out about the letters. Tubbo has no idea how—maybe it was the sudden movement when Tubbo had seemed so keen on staying confined in Snowchester every day? He should have known that Dream would be keeping tabs on him—he is the one most likely to know something about Tommy's whereabouts, after all—but he supposes he thought he would've been able to notice. Being a soldier in multiple wars from a young age, specifically a spy in one of them, no less, must have led him to believe that he would know when someone was stalking him, as he did it himself so much during the Pogtopia-Manburg war. Clearly, he was mistaken.

He grits his teeth and tries to force his expression into something less terrified—he most likely fails, but the effort is there.

"I don't—I don't know what you're talking about. I just want to know why you're here."

Dream both looks and sounds unamused. "You don't know what I'm talking about? Really?"

Tubbo winces and looks down to Michael, who has properly registered the animosity and fear in his father's voice and is actively trying to reach for his sword. Tubbo knows it wouldn't do anything, of course, so he tries to subtly shake his head and signal for Michael to stop. Dream catches it—of course, Dream catches it—and quicker than Tubbo's eyes can follow, grabs Michael by the strap of his overall and yanks him in, producing that same netherite dagger in his hand that he had shown off when he originally threatened the kid, all the way back in the vault. Michael immediately squeals and kicks and shouts, "Let go!" at the top of his lungs, but he goes very, very still when the blade is pressed just to the side of his neck.

Tubbo's own shout of protest leads him to taking a step into the room, holding out a hand and shouting, "Wait! Wait. Don't, don't, I'll—"

"The letters, Tubbo," Dream says, and he doesn't even sound bothered. He tilts the dagger up just a bit, just enough for Tubbo to see the sharpness of the blade and how just the gentlest of touches is severing small furs off from under Michael's chin. Despite trying to keep himself from moving, Michael's breaths come in and out very quickly, twisting his eye shut and tensing his entire body to make sure he doesn't start shaking. "That's all I want. I promise I'll leave after. Just give me the letters, and we can both go back to our days."

Tubbo wants to hesitate more than he does. He's already out of the room before Dream even finishes the last part of his sentence.

He's gone for a minute at most, and when he returns, he's holding almost fifteen letters within his hands. He holds them out to Dream from the doorway, somehow managing to say, "You—you come here and take them. Get away from my kid. Now."

He tries to sound assertive, but it comes out as more of a plea than he wants it to. Dream stares at him from his spot on the ground, Michael still trapped under the blade, and Tubbo sees the smallest glistening of tears at the corner of his eye, and everything has gone so horribly wrong within just a few minutes—but he does stand up. He sends the dagger into his inventory and shoves Michael to the side, who takes in a gasp as if he had been holding his breath all that time and scrambles to grab the hilt of his sword, pointing it at Dream with two trembling, shaky hands. Dream strides across the room to Tubbo and gently takes the letters out of his hands, thumbing through them not even three feet away.

"And this is all of them?" Dream asks, not looking up at Tubbo. There is nothing he wants more than to duck between Dream and the doorframe to go hold Michael, btu he keeps himself steady. "I'm not fucking around this time, Tubbo. If I think you left something out, I'll—"

"I didn't!" Tubbo interrupts, voice peaking slightly. "I didn't, that's all of them. I only found them a couple of weeks ago. There were already eight or nine there when I found them, I promise."

"Good," Dream says. "I was really hurt when I saw you picking up those letters, Tubbo. You told me you didn't know where Tommy was."

"And when you asked me, I didn't!" Tubbo explains, desperation unwillingly lacing in his voice. "I swear down, I found them ages after that whole thing happened! Just—just take them and fuck off!"

Dream looks up from the letters, and Tubbo can only assume that he's narrowing his eyes. The eye contact (though it isn't really eye contact at all) lasts for heartbeats too long, and then Dream practically shoulder-checks him into the wall as he rushes out of the room, completely unlike the mysterious air he usually likes to maintain in these types of situations. Distantly, Tubbo figures that the idea of figuring out where Tommy is too...exciting to waste time in dealing with Tubbo for much longer. The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

Tubbo doesn't bother to wait to hear Dream fully leave the house—he dives to Michael's side and yanks him in for a tight hug, carding his hand through the small boy's hair as the tough façade he tried to put up crumbles in Tubbo's arms and he cries, frantically apologising for not realising that that was Dream and that that was a bad guy. Tubbo tries to shush him out of it, whispering that it's okay and that he's safe and that he made a mistake and Tubbo isn't mad at him for that. He feels like crying, himself, but for Michael's own sake, he keeps it in his chest and forces the terrified lump out of his throat. He's going to be seeing a dagger pressed to Michael's throat every time he closes his eyes for weeks, he just knows it.

He tries very hard not to think about what he just did. Tommy—Tubbo thinks he knows Tommy pretty well, probably better than anyone else in the Dream SMP, and he's rather sure that Tommy would never be upset at him for trading his location for Michael's life. He can only hope, cradling a crying Michael, that Dream has no way of getting to him—to "Hermitcraft"—from here.

Dream can't help but be gleeful. He didn't realise it at the time—or, rather, he did, but he didn't realise it to such an extent—but the letter that he picked up from the hole just before Tubbo tried to get his mitts on it was, in fact, the cherry on top of a long line of confusing, out-of-context letters from one TommyInnit. He could almost jump for joy, really.

To the DSMP—

today's the day. I'm finally heading back. you can ignore that last letter i sent about coming back alone, because I kind of got stopped before being able to do that and we really don't need to talk about how stupid it was. But i AM coming back, and i AM bringing someone with me. and...we're gonna try and get you all out of there. Whatever we need to do to do it, we're gonna do it. No matter what it takes.

ok i was shouted at to cross that out, so WHATEVER IT TAKES SO LONG AS WE PRESERVE OUR SAFETY AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. thats what btm wanted me to write instead, so i guess. that.

and just in case the wrong people have been the ones finding these letters: first of all, youre weird and these arent for you. second of all, go screw yourself. you can mark my words WE ARE GETTING OFF THAT SERVER. YOU HEAR ME???????? WE ARE GETTING OUT.

yours GODDAMN truly,

tommy "YOUR SAVIOR" innit

Dream cracks a smile from behind the mask. Even after three months, even over writing, even from a different server.

He's still just as entertaining.

Chapter Text

Grian feels his brain short-circuit for a moment as the Goddess of Death and the Void and a dozen other things that should make him completely unworthy of being in Her presence stoops down to pull him and Tommy into a lopsided hug, twisting them from side to side as She squeals with delight.

"Oh, just look at the two of you!" She says, pulling them back to look at their faces again. Grian feels a bit dizzy. His head is still pounding, and looking at Her directly is just making it worse. Everything about Her is achingly, painfully familiar—everything from Her eyes to Her smile, the roundness of Her face and how gently She cups his cheek; it's all too much. "My, how you've grown. You both look so much like your father."

Tommy wriggles himself out of Her grasp, falling to the floor with an unceremonious thump and a glare sent up in Her direction. She just smiles at his scowl. "Why are you talking like you know us? Grian—"

"Tommy," Grian says, horrified at his nonchalance. "You're standing in front of the goddess of Death, show some respect!"

Tommy casts a glance up towards the Woman in question, who only tosses Her head back and laughs. It sounds like the twinkling of amethyst crystals, somehow, despite the actual laugh being far more boisterous and inelegant than that. Grian, practically tripping over himself, clasps his hands together and looks up towards Her, stammering, "My Lady, I—I am so sorry about him—"

He feels like he's going to pass out, and its only partially because of the pounding headache Grian has. Instead of smiting the both of them like he assumed She would have done and is completely in Her right to do, She only looks at them with a sad sort of look and says, "You don't have to apologise for him, Grian. I know that's just what he's like."

She ruffles Tommy's hair, who yelps, indignant, and almost trips over himself in an attempt to get away from Her. He looks up at Her with his hands up, backing away. "Look, Lady, you seem real nice, but—Grine and I have kind of got somewhere to go, so if you could just point us to the exit—"

Grian is going to have a heart attack. Lady Death only laughs again. "You won't be able to leave until I want you to, Tommy darling." She waves Her hand lazily, and a living room setup suddenly appears around the group. The sofa and armchair are a greyish purple and across the space from each other with a wide, lavender coffee table in the middle of them. Lady Death takes a seat in the armchair and gestures to the sofa for Grian and Tommy to sit down. "Come on, let's catch up. It's been so very long since I've seen the two of you in person."

Grian immediately sits, simply because he knows what Lady Death is capable of and would much prefer to not be sent to a hell plane for all of eternity because he was rude. Tommy seems to hold no such reservations, stubbornly remaining on his feet with his arms crossed. "I still don't get it. I've never met you. Who even are you?"

Lady Death's smile seems to turn sad, and Grian takes the short moment where She stares off into the nothing with a distant look in Her eyes to yank Tommy down into the seat next to him by his wrist. Tommy makes a face at him and Grian makes one back—when he looks back at Lady Death, She's back to smiling with utter fondness and sighs at the two of them.

She leans back in Her seat and conjures a dainty glass of...something. It almost seems to be plum coloured, but Grian isn't well-versed enough with alcohol to know what it could be off the top of his head. "Well, Tommy...I am the Void." She spreads out her arms. "I run this place. I am this place. I'm also Lady Death." She takes the opportunity to nod in Grian's direction. "Goddess of...well. You can assume."

"Uh-huh," Tommy drawls, nodding slowly, brows still furrowed. "But that doesn't explain how you know me. Personally."

She practically beams at him. "Well, I left out the most important part! Not only am I the Void, Lady Death, and a ton of other stuff that doesn't really matter...I'm also Kristin. Your mother."

Grian experiences, in that moment, what can only be described as a total system reboot. He blinks, and it feels like about five minutes have passed. Lady Death—Kristin?—is grinning, and Tommy is staring at Grian, at a loss for words. He looks like he's asking for permission to cuss Her out for implying such a thing, so he holds out a hand to stop him. "I—Lady Death—"

"Please, call me Kristin!" She interrupts, rolling her eyes and sipping from Her glass. "We're a little too close for formalities, don't you think?"

"I—Kristin, then, I think." Grian swallows thickly. His head is splitting with pain, and it's getting hard to do much more than sit there blankly with his eyes closed. "I think you have the wrong people. We—there's—there's no way that our mother is Lady Death Herself. I don't—"

"Well, why not?" Kristin asks, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, why not?" Tommy exclaims, hands curled up into fists. Above all else, he just looks a bit...confused. Like he's trying to reason against what She's saying, but not quite figuring out how. "I think I'd remember if the Goddess of Death was my mum."

"You don't seem to remember having any other mother, do you?" Kristin points out, taking another sip. "The two of you have forgotten most of your memories. Who's to say you didn't forget me, too?"

Grian opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. She isn't...wrong, necessarily. Grian doesn't really remember any family before Hermitcraft—he doesn't remember much before Hermitcraft at all, really. He remembers arriving on boat to season six and...that was it. There was never really much left to wonder. He did wonder sometimes, way back in the beginning, but enough of the Hermits had their own weird experiences with memory loss or secret backstories or whatever that he didn't feel out of place for not knowing. And he supposes, thinking too hard about it did used to give him...

...a killer headache. Grian looks up at Kristin, who waggles Her eyebrows and says in a sing-songy voice, "I think Grian's got it, Toms."

Tommy's head snaps to him, betrayed, and Grian holds up his hands. "I'm not saying anything for sure, it's just—well, I definitely don't remember my mum. And it would explain why you have magic."

Tommy opens his mouth, closes it, and frowns. He turns back to Kristin with disbelief. "Did you really fall in love with Phil? I think you could have done much better than him, in my humble opinion."

The Goddess of Death straight up snorts at that, laughing and holding Her chest as if that's the funniest thing She's heard in years. Tommy also laughs in that boisterous, sudden way that he does, and Grian can't help but put his face in his hands. Tommy is an utter maniac.

"Oh, my dear, your humour is so much like his," Kristin eventually says, wiping a tear from Her eye. She shows off the ring on Her finger, an obsidian-black band that seems to have a layer of stars and swirling, purple sky just underneath the surface, and before Grian can compliment how beautiful it is, Tommy almost falls off the sofa.

"Oh my gods, that's Phil's ring," he exclaims, looking about half a second from ripping it off to look at more closely. "You actually are my mum. Holy hell."

"The one and only," Kristin says smoothly, leaning back in Her seat.

"Wait, wait—but I don't have deathy powers, my thing is growing stuff," Tommy raises, frowning. He then suddenly grabs the sleeve of Grian's jumper and exclaims, "Wait, does that mean Grine is my brother? Like, actual, for real, biological brothers?"

Kristin titters behind Her hand. "Yes, Tommy, you're brothers." Tommy starts shaking Grian back and forth, and Grian can only sit there, dazed, trying to keep his eyes open and trying to keep his brain from imploding. Yes, all of this information is entering his mind, but something in him tells him that it's supposed to exit just as quickly and it's not. There's a reason he doesn't remember this stuff, and having it all pile up in there without letting him forget feels like—well, hell. "As for the growing thing, well...I suppose one could say that I'm the goddess of both life and death, but the life part is...more of a second job, than anything." She shrugs and takes a sip of Her drink. "I took over for it after the actual God of Life went...out of commission."

Tommy wrinkles his nose. "How does a god just go 'out of commission?'"

"Well, if they die, for one," Kristin says, tilting Her head to the side and looking up in thought. "If they somehow change into a different type of immortal or god, or if they stop fulfilling their duties as a god. Or if they fall into one of those deep sleeps that they always did in the Greek myths, that happens a lot more than you'd think."

"'Scuse me, Lady Death," Grian manages, holding his head. "I'm sorry, but...I don't remember any of..." He thinks about his words for a moment. "You. I don't remember meeting Tommy prior to...when he showed up on Hermitcraft. Do you—I mean, I don't remember anything from before season six. And I've never really known why."

Again, Kristin expression turns a bit sad. She leans forward and places Her drink on the floor next to Her chair, scooting forwards until She's right up against the coffee table in the centre. Tommy and Grian exchange brief looks before also leaning forward to watch as She waves a hand over the surface of the table, light beginning to shimmer and paint...pictures.

"There are a lot of things that you both have forgotten," She begins, the slowly moving image on the table showing something that looks like a snowy sky. "For different reasons, of course, but similar nonetheless."

Grian has a feeling that his headache is only going to get worse once actual images start showing up in this projection, but he keeps his eyes peeled open so as to not miss anything. He's spent the last four-odd years ignoring the fact that he has memory issues, really—not because he didn't care, but because the other Hermits seemed to almost encourage him to let it be. He gave up after the weird looks started getting a bit too much for him.

The visage above the table shows very faint images of a man—Philza Minecraft, Grian recognises (who is apparently his father? That sort of only just clicked and—okay, wow. That's. Weird. And confusing. He will move on from that train of thought)—and a woman dressed in all black, obviously Lady Death. They are smiling with each other with nothing short of adoration in their eyes, and he sees Tommy gag out of the corner of his vision. Kristin laughs lightly. "Your father and I fell in love...centuries ago, really. But our first child only came...thirty or so years ago."

And then...Grian sees himself. Or, who he assumes to be himself—he's never seen a baby or childhood picture of himself before, but there's something about the face of the six year old that shows up in the next vision that makes him know that it unmistakably is him. He's a bit confused—he doesn't remember the place, obviously, and his wings are definitely not parrot wings—but somehow, he can tell. It's the face, the hair, the cheeky grin that people love telling him about. A bolt of lightning pain strikes behind Grian's eyes, but he stifles his yelp and continues to stare with wide eyes.

"Is...is that...?" he starts, leaning so far in that he almost falls over.

"That's you!" Kristin exclaims brightly, waving Her hand and letting the image play. Little Grian is running out of a tiny little cottage in the woods, past the tall fence and heading for out of the frame. "You were the first. Followed by Wil, who's only a couple years younger than you."

Chasing Little Grian out of the house is an unfamiliar-yet-familiar face, darker brown hair in wild curls around his head as he full-speed books it after Little Grian—he supposes this is the famed 'Wilbur' that Tommy talks about so much, and Tommy breaks into delighted, disbelieving laughs at the sight of it.

"Oh my gods, look at Wilbur!" he exclaims, pointing at the screen and leaning on his knees to get closer. His voice takes on a babying tone as he continues, "Look at wittle baby Wilbur, awww...he looks so stupid! I can't believe he's always looked like that."

The insult draws a startled laugh out of Grian, who looks at him with weary confusion as Kristin continues. "You two were like peas in a pod for a while, you were. You were practically opposites—Wilbur was a much quieter kid at first, but you were always playing pranks and jokes on your father, and all of a sudden, Wilbur was just as into it as you were. I think you brought out the worst in him." The image continues to play out, and an utterly exhausted looking Philza comes sprinting out of the house after Little Grian and Little Wilbur, the latter of whom jumps and nearly crashes into Little Grian as the two of them continue to run out of frame. The scene fizzles out and swirls into a new one. "And then. The worst of the troublemakers came along, eight years after Wilbur."

The new scene reforms, and Little Grian and Little Wilbur look substantially older than they did the first image, but still looking like children. Grian assumes that Little Grian is somewhere in the tween age, with Little Wilbur being a bit younger than that, and a newly appeared, tiny-looking Little Tommy seeming to be no more than three or four. His hair is an almost offensively bright blonde, a curly rat's nest upon his head that's even worse than Little Wilbur's with bright blue eyes and a bright blue dummy to match it.

Grian immediately bursts out laughing, and Tommy wastes no time in swinging a punch at his shoulder, face burning. Grian fights him off, forcing away the pain of his headache to coo, "Awww, look at baby Tommy with his little dummy, aww—"

"I'm going to strangle you, I swear to Prime," Tommy hisses, clawing for Grian's neck as Grian holds him away by the forearms. "You—shut up!"

"Wook at wittle baby Tommy," Grian continues to tease, almost fully leaning back on the sofa and starting to have to use his foot to push Tommy away. "Tom, you never told me you were so cute when you were little—"

"Shut the hell up—"

"Okay, okay, boys," Kristin finally says, holding the image still as She flaps Her hand at the bickering avians to make them separate. They do so, albeit begrudgingly, and Tommy mouths, 'I am going to kill you,' at Grian, who sticks his tongue out in return. "Were you two like this on Hermitcraft? I can't believe you didn't realise you were brothers sooner."

"I treat everyone like this," Tommy says bluntly, crossing his arms. Kristin laughs.

"I suppose you do," She relents. She releases Her hold on the vision, and Grian watches the scene play out. Little Grian and Little Wilbur seem to be crouching in front of Little Tommy, soundlessly communicating something or another to the small child as Little Tommy nods fervently. They send him off, and Little Tommy goes waddling into another room as his older brothers go sprinting off in another direction. Little Tommy then proceeds to take out his dummy and start wailing—the image provides no audio, but just from how his face is twisted up, Grian can almost hear how loud it is—or maybe it's a memory. Either way, he's unsurprised when Philza comes sprinting into the room from the kitchen to fuss over Little Tommy and figure out what's wrong, leaving the path clear for Little Grian and Little Wilbur to rush into the kitchen and drag a chair up to the counter to try and reach a cabinet. Little Wilbur, being the taller of the two despite being younger, sits on Little Grian's shoulders to retrieve a jar of biscuits from the highest shelf and attempts to hide it underneath his shirt.

Tommy and Grian both laugh at their younger selves' shenanigans, with Tommy shaking his head and looking...oddly emotional. "I can't believe I've always been like scamming people with Wilbur. I can't believe I've been a little shit from birth."

"You can't?" Grian exclaims, jokingly confused. "Really? I'd always assumed."

Tommy punches his shoulder again and Grian pushes the side of Tommy's head lightly. "Shut up, man, it was your idea."

"It was Wilbur's idea," Grian protests. "I was just following his lead. Obviously."

"What do you mean 'obviously,' there's no audio!" Tommy half-shouts, throwing his hands out toward the table.

Grian opens his mouth, then pauses. Furrows his brows. "I don't...actually know. I think I just...remember? I don't remember this happening, but I know it was Wilbur's idea. For some reason."

"Probably because you immediately sold him out as soon as you got caught," Kristin offers lightly, the scene shifting to show Philza standing over Little Grian and Little Wilbur with a stern expression. The jar of biscuits is shattered on the kitchen floor (but all of the biscuits are suspiciously missing) and Little Grian is pointing directly at Little Wilbur, who looks like he's going to bite his brother's head off. Little Tommy is, unsurprisingly, eating a biscuit behind Philza, seemingly out of trouble despite playing a hand in the plan.

"Oh my gods, Grian, I didn't know you were a snitch," Tommy snickers.

Grian almost feels offended. "Why didn't Tommy get in trouble, he was clearly in on it, too!"

"That's a goddamn baby, G, how could I have been in on the plan?" Tommy bats his eyes innocently. "I'm just a little guy. Don't even have my wings yet."

"Speaking of wings," Kristin interjects, stopping them before they start to fight again. The table starts to swirl again, now showing a scene specifically of Philza and a younger Little Grian flying together above their house, Little Wilbur looking from below next to Kristin. Grian gets the feeling that Kristin wasn't around too often, but not enough for the two of them to not know that She was their mother. "Grian, you've basically been good at flying since your wings were big enough to hold you. You would not believe how often Phil would gush about how talented you were with flying. Made the birdbrain go all haywire." She twirls her finger next to her head as Grian's face burns and he leans back into the sofa. He knows he's always been adept at flying, but...since he was a child? It makes a lot of sense, really, and it makes him feel oddly proud of himself.

"Wilbur's wings have always been too small to lift him, but he was never too bothered about it." The scene plays, and Kristin unfurls Her own vantablack wings and unceremoniously picks up a shrieking Little Wilbur, taking off to catch up with his brother and dad. "It was honestly surprising how mature he was—aside from the pranking, of course.

"And...that was how it went, really." Kristin lets visions play across the table, little snowglobe scenes of daily lives that Grian doesn't remember. It fills his chest with warmth despite that fact, seeing himself and Tommy and these three other people that just seem to fit into his heart correctly, if that makes any sense. It doesn't, but it doesn't bother him too much. Kristin smiles at the scenes softly before sighing and waving them away. Both Grian and Tommy look up at Her, eyes wide as if they're totally engrossed in the story She's telling. "Until Grian was about sixteen."

The scene that appears is more or less a still image, one of Little Grian, who really isn't that little at all, probably somewhere around Tommy's current age, waving at Little Wilbur, who's holding hands with a six-or-so year old Little Tommy as they stand at the door to their house. Phil stands next to Little Grian, a menu pulled up as if they're getting ready to disconnect from the server. Everyone looks happy and cheerful as always, but the expression on Kristin's face is less than pleased, though Grian can't tell at what.

"Grian decided that he wanted to go off to school on a different server with two of his friends after paying them a visit, and, as such, he left for a couple years before eventually coming back. Your, ah...highschool experience was a little worse than other people's, but we'll get into that later on." The scene fades out, then fades back in on Grian, slightly older, returning home. He can immediately clock how...different he looks, even through the smoky vignette surrounding the image. Little Tommy is sprinting at him with a huge, toothy smile on his face (ironically missing several teeth), while Little Wilbur is a bit more reserved in his enthusiasm.

Little Grian just looks tired. His smile is tired, his posture is tilted in an odd way, as if his wings, which are out and looking oddly dull, are an uncomfortable weight that's throwing him off balance. Kristin's expression only seems to fall further, and Grian, for the first time in a long time, tries to remember what possibly could've happened to make him look so...upset.

He's immediately met with another zap of blinding pain, and this time, he can't force down the response and properly hisses in pain. Tommy is atop him in a moment, leaning forward and trying to catch his eye as he asks, "Woah, woah, G, are you alright? Did something happen?"

"Fine—" Grian says between his teeth, eyes pressed shut with more force than necessary. "I'm fine, I just—I have a horrific headache. I think—I think I'm—trying to remember this stuff hurts."

Almost at the same time, Kristin gently says, "Then please, stop thinking too hard about it," while Tommy shouts, "Then stop trying to remember, dipshit!"

Kristin adds, "Just let it play out, dear, please. Don't hurt yourself in trying to remember what you aren't supposed to—I promise all will be shown to you soon enough."

Grian isn't about to argue. He just nods and pries his eyes open again, trying to focus on the table and what it's showing.

Kristin sighs and takes a particularly large drink out of Her glass, shaking Her head. "After you returned, you were on and off of the server all the time. Never enough that it was concerning—it's normal for people to go exploring other servers on their own at that age, anyway, and you found that you liked a different type of environment than Wilbur and Phil did. You quite liked small friend group servers, while Wilbur tended to stay at home for the most part and only head off for temporary gimmick servers once in a while. It was only when Tommy got older and started gaining interest in those massive minigame servers that he and Phil came across Technoblade."

Kristin waves Her hand again and, this time, simply lets a scene play.

Little Tommy—who, for the sake of fluidity, will simply be called 'Tommy,' as he looks about ten or eleven here—and Phil seem to be on Hypixel. Phil more or less seems to be taking Tommy on something of a tour, with Tommy doing most of the pulling around while Phil allows himself to be dragged, marvelling at the floating screens and statues and visages of leaderboards and champions strewn across the lobby (Grian's face immediately shifts into one of distaste—he thinks he knows exactly how this was going to go).

Tommy eventually wriggles his way out of Phil's grip and starts sprinting off in a random direction, and Phil almost seems to not notice until about five seconds later when the exhaustion wipes off of his face and he starts running towards a teleportation platform that whisks him off after Tommy.

Where they emerge is...exactly what Grian expected, really. It looks like the inside of a modernised colosseum, and Phil spots Tommy standing at the edge of the closest floor to the ground, eyes wide as he watches the spectacle ongoing on the colosseum floor.

A pink-haired young adult dressed in a black, nearly skin tight tanktop and harem pants meant for fighting wields a comically oversized sword that he seems to be perfectly comfortable with using, relentlessly attaching the poor sod that has been put up against him with nothing but a shortsword and a dream. Phil tries to pull Tommy away, but he is absolutely enamoured with the ongoing fight, watching with stars in his eyes as the pink-haired piglin hybrid—evident by the tusks and, obviously, the pink hair—makes rather short work of his enemy, laying him out in about twenty seconds as the crowd loses his mind.

Phil manages to drag Tommy away, but the scene shifts to show them going back to watch from a back corner again and again and again, with Tommy even starting to show up in merchandise at some point (present-Tommy looks like he wants to die as Grian holds back his laughter). Phil never looks particularly happy to attend, brows always pulled into a tight furrow as Tommy watches with such excitement.

The scene finally shifts into something a bit later—Tommy still looks the same, but his hair is a bit longer and he is at least an inch taller despite having the same face. He's wearing a shirt with a symbol on it, a pig snout, and he and Phil seem to be exiting from another fight, Tommy's arms swinging with excitement as he recounts the thing they literally just finished watching to Phil as if he wasn't there. Phil looks like his mind is elsewhere, but he nods along with what Tommy is saying absently as he casts glances back towards the arena.

Tommy, being Tommy, seems to notice this distraction and takes the opportunity to slip away. Grian winces, knowing that Phil probably almost tore his hair out in terror once he realised Tommy was missing, but the scene follows Tommy's trip into the depths of the colosseum as he, presumably, tries to go back and find where Technoblade is to...talk to him? Get his autograph? Something like that, probably.

What he finds, when the scene shifts, is somewhere dark. The opponents that Technoblade had bested are nowhere to be seen, but Tommy manages to somehow slip his way past the officials walking around the place to find where Technoblade is being kept. The power of an obsessed fanboy seems to hold no bounds, Grian supposes, because there is no feasible explanation for how an ten/eleven-year-old should be able to get past this many people without being seen. But eventually, he manages to descend the final flight of stairs to enter a room that seems to be something along the lines of a 'bedroom' for their greatest champion.

It looks more like a cell than anything else. The bed is more of a cot, thin and only accompanied by a thin blanket and pillow that looks like it has no more than twelve feathers inside of it. There's a bench attached to the wall and a training dummy in the corner, along with an assortment of swords lined across the wall that were all battered or broken and unusable. Sitting on the wooden bench, dressing his own wounds, is Technoblade. When he's not baring his teeth and holding a sword that's almost his height, he looks...remarkably young.

Grian realises with a start that he can't be too much older than present-Tommy is right now. He feels a bit ill, and glancing at Tommy's look of horror and Kristin's disapproving expression, he thinks the other two know it, too.

Technoblade looks at Tommy, furrows his brows, and then looks back down. The conversation that passes between them is silent, and for the first time in this little story, present-Tommy speaks up to ask, "Wait—wait, hold on, what are we saying? What is he saying?"

Kristin tilts her head to the side. "I believe you asked him if he was The Blade. He said yes. You asked him if you could have his autograph, but then you realised you didn't bring a writing utensil. He laughed a little bit at that," and the Technoblade in the scene laughs, then winces. "And you asked him why his bedroom looked like shit."

Grian puts his face in his hands, and Tommy falls back into the sofa. Kristin laughs a bit. "You asked him a lot of invasive questions, and he didn't answer most of them. You asked him if you could have one of his broken swords, and he said yes, if you would leave him alone. So you took one, and you left."

"I left?" Tommy exclaims, sitting up so fast it looks like it hurts. "I asked him all those questions, stole his sword, and then left?!"

"You were a very interesting child," Kristin affirms, nodding Her head. "But if it makes you feel better, it was nice for Techno to have a visitor after all that time alone. For how popular he was as The Blade, he never actually got to interact with his fans. Something about keeping up an image."

Tommy crosses his arms. "Please tell me that we end up beating the life out of the people that kept him there."

"Oh, yes, of course," She says immediately. "But that comes later."

Tommy pumps his fist with a silent cheer. Grian rolls his eyes at the gesture but internally does the same—he's never met Technoblade (who is also apparently his brother—thinking about it just seems to get stranger and stranger), but he isn't particularly fond of any child being forced to go through this sort of nightmare when they don't want to.

Kristin waves Her hand and the scenes start flitting past faster and faster. "Tommy, you went to visit Techno a couple more times after that—all while sneaking away from Phil, mind you—and each time, he seemed to grow more and more comfortable with you being around. He never really seemed to have other people around—you asked him where his friends were, and he told you that he didn't have any because he was too busy training all the time. You said that that was stupid, that he was The Blade and he obviously didn't have to train, and you told him about all the fun things that you did with your friends over in Skywars and on your tiny survival servers."

Tommy's brows furrow. "What's 'Skywars?'"

Kristin looks like She just got shot. Grian leans over and explains, "It's a minigame on Hypixel. You're all on floating islands in teams, and you try to wipe the other teams out and be the last ones standing."

"'What's Skywars,'" Kristin repeats, shaking Her head. "Tommy, the day you get your memory back is the day I will be a happy, happy goddess. I feel faint." She fans Her face, takes a sip of Her unidentified beverage (and Grian is quickly realising that the quantity in the glass doesn't actually seem to be going down despite how often She's drinking from it), and shakes Her head again. "Anyways, you bragging about having friends was probably the thing that made Techno willing to go along with...what you proposed later on."

The table shows Tommy sneaking out up the stairs in the colosseum, exiting the dungeon-like underground section where Technoblade was being kept, only to be accosted by Philza the moment he stepped foot on the surface. Philza starts to drag him away and lecture him all while Tommy shrieks and shouts and causes a scene (though there doesn't seem to be anyone around to see it), but Philza suddenly stops after he says...something.

"You told Phil that Technoblade didn't have any friends, that he was training all the time, and that his bedroom looked like shit, and Phil..." Kristin sighs, a soft smile on Her face. "Well, Phil's a sucker for that sort of thing, really. You led him back down into the depths and told him to hide so you could ask Techno if he was alright with bringing your dad down to see him, too.

"He said no, obviously, but you pouted at him for a minute straight before he broke and said yes. And then Phil stepped out from behind the wall and Techno almost attacked him." Tommy snorts. "Phil realised that Techno was literally a child—something like fifteen at the time—and decided in that exact moment that he wasn't going to leave without Techno under his wing. Literally. Techno said that he had to work there because he really had nowhere else to go—those people managing him at least provided food and water and shelter, and Phil almost burst a blood vessel at the idea of a child feeling like those were privileges."

Grian notices that Tommy looks skeptical, opening his mouth to say something but closing it before anything leaves him. He shoots Tommy a quizzical look, and Tommy shakes his head.

"You know," Grian starts, tilting his head to the side. "It's kind of weird getting an alternate point of view of this whole thing."

Kristin looks intrigued. "How do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, Technoblade—or, I guess, The Blade was a huge character on Hypixel a long while back. I don't remember him being popular under that name, but X told me that he was the golden child of the PVP scene for years before he suddenly left the tournaments. Started going by the name 'Technoblade' and moved over to Bedwars and Skywars and the like. He had the thousand game winstreak, right?"

"One thousand matches?!" Tommy exclaims, floored. "Are you serious?"

"Very serious," Kristin nods, continuing the scene. "Phil didn't even bother trying to hide him. As soon as Techno gave the tentative go-ahead, he marched straight up and out and picked a fight with the first person he saw that tried to stop him. Phil said they tried to pull 'some bullshit about a contract,' to which Phil replied that since Techno was a child, any contracts they forced him into signing weren't real. Which, like, isn't it crazy that they seriously tried that argument? Are they insane?" She laughs and shakes Her head, sipping Her drink with a smile. "As if Phil would have listened even if the contract was valid. He's Phil."

Tommy also shakes his head, scoffing. Grian can only understand in the vaguest of ways—despite not actually knowing Philza (well—despite not remembering knowing Philza), he can also agree that trying to coerce the famed Angel of Death into something morally incorrect by using a contract is one of the stupidest things he's ever heard someone attempt in his life. And he's a Hermit. Listening to stupid plans is practically his job.

"Someone tried to pull Techno back towards his bedroom, and Phil decked them." Grian has the pleasure of watching the glorious scene of Philza Minecraft sucker punching a guy in the nose so quickly he almost misses it. "And then you left." Kristin shrugs. "It sounds anticlimactic, but there's really nothing anyone could do about it if they tried. And, of course, you were utterly thrilled. You wouldn't stop talking about how cool it would be to tell your friends that The Blade was your big brother, and then Techno told you his actual name."

"So—okay, we're Wilbur and I let in on this at any point?" Grian asks, raising an eyebrow. "Or did we just come home and find that we, uh. Gained another sibling."

"It was exactly the latter," Kristin confirms.

"Ah."

"You found it cool, honestly, but Wilbur was ready to have a meltdown." Kristin doesn't provide visuals for this, and Grian can't seem to meet Her eyes. "He wasn't particularly happy about it and Techno found him unnecessarily aggressive, but they warmed up to each other. Everything turned out fine."

Grian gets the feeling that this simplified the issue more than it had any right to, but he wasn't about to ask for clarification. This is already entirely too much clarification for one day, and the part of him that wants the pain in his head to stop would prefer if the explanation ended here.

Kristin taps Her black nails against Her glass and stares at the table. "And...I think that's about it for you three. Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno, I mean. You did a lot of things together after that, of course."

Here, Grian sees images passing by like a sideshow. Technoblade and Philza in winter attire, flying planes; Wilbur and Tommy hiding in trees and speaking with unfamiliar people with expressions that imply mischief; Technoblade and Tommy on Skyblock, the former undoubtedly being scammed by the latter and his friends (one of which Grian recognises from the files from his server—Aaron? Erin?), teaming up together in Bedwars and fighting side by side; Wilbur and Technoblade on a private server, Wilbur messing around with command blocks and applying effects to dozens of nameless people while the two of them float above. The four of them all slung over each other, crowns sat heavy on their heads as confetti and bright lights surround them on a podium—as if they had won a competition of some kind.

It doesn't take Grian very long to notice that he isn't in a single one of these images, and the sinking feeling in his gut doesn't tell him that it's just due to timing issues.

Tommy seems to notice the same thing at the same time, and he looks up at Grian and Kristin with concern in his eyes. His wings look tense, matching Grian's, and despite seeing such happy images of himself and his family, he doesn't look very excited. He furrows his brows at Kristin, who is looking down at the pictures with a soft smile, and asks, "I—Kristin, this is great to see and all, but...where's Grian? He hasn't shown up in a single picture. Did something...happen?"

Kristin's brows pinch inwards ever-so-slightly. "Depends on what you mean by 'happen.'"

Tommy frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She sighs and sits back. Grian watches Her expression with earnest, scared and curious. "A lot of things 'happened' to Grian over the years. Mostly after highschool."

"...what happened in highschool?" Grian asks, then clears his throat. "College, I mean."

She leans Her elbows on her knees and gently waves over the table. "I think you'll have to brace yourself."

"Why?"

"If your head was hurting before, it's going to get much, much worse now," She says grimly. Grian nods, hesitant, and She waves Her hand to form images.

Just the vague shape of the school is enough to make Grian's heart rate pick up instantly.

The pain suddenly dulls into a low throb, but Grian takes no comfort in it. "We don't really need to go into specifics. You went to highschool in an Earth server with two of your friends after they invited you to visit a little while before. You thought it'd be fun, since most people outside of Earth servers just did school at home, and Phil didn't really see much wrong with it at all. But, when you got there..."

The image swishes to another scene, as if travelling through the vision, before abruptly stopping inside of a train. Little Grian is wearing exactly what Grian is wearing right now, which is sort of hilarious, and when the door of the train opens, he has a bright smile on his face, wings flared out wide behind him.

"...things were wrong."

The point of view of the visage moves with Little Grian as he steps out of the train, and when the person waiting there to greet him enters frame, Grian's vision goes white.

He's out of his seat, hands pressed into his eyes with a shout of pain, glasses almost knocked off of his face, and Tommy instantly shoots up next to him and grabs hold of the sleeve of his jumper when he stumbles and almost falls. Words are tumbling from his mouth before he registers what he's saying: "I can't, I can't, that's too much." His next breath is more of a gasp. "I can't look at that."

"Who—" Tommy starts, and Grian can't see what he does because his eyes are closed and it feels like there's a bullet in his brain, "What's wrong, Grian, who is that?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to know," Grian replies through gritted teeth, trying to force the pain away. "I don't want to look. I don't. I can't."

"You don't have to look, Grian," Kristin says softly, and for some reason, Grian could almost sob with relief.

Tommy voice is strained with panic. "Kristin, what's wrong with him? Why is looking at this shit hurting him?"

"Well," Kristin says, and Her voice sounds tight. "The block that was put onto your memory is more of a soft block than anything. You just...don't remember these things. You can still handle the idea that they happened even though they conflict with whatever fake memories that were already in there." She takes in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out in a deep sigh. It sounds too high and too sharp, and then everything becomes very muffled all at once. "The one I created was...much more effective."

Grian's head is swimming. He can hear Tommy's shout, distant over the horrible pain, and he doesn't even know where it's coming from anymore—whether it's behind his eyes or inside his brain or somewhere deeper, and he's pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard he's scared they might pop.

Images are forcing their way into his mind, clawing through an unnatural darkness that drains away all the colours and static you see when you close your eyes and leaving nothing. He sees white, mostly—long streaks of white atop a head of brown, navy blue and light blue and red, and he feels something sharp in his mouth and nausea is crawling up from the pits of his stomach and things are just wrong, so, so wrong—

There are people talking distantly above him (shouting, he realises—one of them is shouting), but it comes to a stop when he feels a large hand pressed against his back, just between his wings. It hurts back there, too, a vile crushing feeling that worms its way into his very bones and makes it feel like his wings are being put through a press.

"Grian," he hears. Kristin's voice cuts through the noise with ease, and it's so, so loud.

"What is happening?" he almost pleads, voice high. There are tears pricking the corners of his eyes he can hardly breathe. "I can't—I can't see, I can't breathe—I just—it just hurts, mum, I can't—"

Kristin makes a pained noise and freezes for a moment. When She starts moving again, rubbing a tiny circle between his wings, She shushes him, and he does actually sob, this time. It comes out as more of a cough (because it feels like there's something stuck in his throat), but the tears that streak down his face are hot and grounding. "I can make it stop. But you'll remember things you might not want to remember."

"Just—please—"

"And you'll see things you don't want to see," Kristin continues, talking over his wheezes. He can't tell if this is magically-induced because of the memory and the headaches or if this is just a panic attack. He's inclined to believe that one is feeding into the other, or they're both feeding into each other, and he doesn't even care anymore, he just wants it to stop. He needs it to stop. "And you'll know things you don't want to know."

"I don't—"

"And you'll be who you might not want to be," Kristin says. "Again."

Grian gasps in a breath and his voice breaks. "I don't care, just—please—" Another breath. It's so hard to breathe through the pain and the tears and the sharp edges in his throat. "Please, I can't, I want to remember. I want it to stop."

He hears nothing from Kristin after that—just two gentle hands on either side of his head, and suddenly he feels—almost hears—something cracking in his mind, that pitch black wall breaking and those colors and shapes forcing their way throat, and his vision is swimming with every colour imaginable (gold—predominantly gold, above all the whites and blues and greys) and he swears for just a moment that he can finally see faces, ones that he didn't meet on Hermitcraft or mysteriously was friends with after the blank spot formed in his mind, ones that he hasn't seen for so many years that it almost hurts to see them with such clarity—

And then it stops. The colours stop swirling. The pain disappears. For a moment, everything on the inside of Grian's mind freezes.

Tommy almost falls flat on the ground when Grian suddenly lurches and collapses to the floor. The scream drawn from Grian's throat sounds painful and raw, grating against Tommy's ears, and he watches in horror as his red wings pulse with a deep purple and an eye of the same shade snaps to life just above his brother's forehead.

Nobody can get a word in before Grian slumps to the side, completely unconscious.

Chapter Text

Grian can't open his eyes.

There is momentary panic before he realises that he doesn't have eyes. He doesn't have a body in general. He can't feel his arms or legs, and he realises rather quickly that he just is, a disembodied consciousness in this endless void around rippling him. Nothing more than thoughts, words on a page, symbols against a blank slate.

It feels horribly comfortable.

He finds himself trying to turn his consciousness around somehow, to look around the space he has been situated in, but there’s nothing to see. He doesn’t even know if he could call this the Void. The Void is far more habited than this, somehow—at the very least, it feels like a place. This is…nothing. These is between somethings. It’s empty.

He doesn’t know how to speak without a mouth, but he somehow manages.

…hello?

𝙹リᒷ. I See him. He wakes.

Finally.

Grian is startled out of his skin by the sudden appearance of—voices? No, that would require hearing, these aren’t voices. They are words being transmitted by other parties—other parties that he can’t see, which terrifies him more than he’s willing to admit—but they aren’t using sound waves to transmit. The closest thing Grian can call it is the feeling of simply knowing something is true in a dream, despite not hearing or seeing or having any way to know it. It doesn’t make sense. If he had a head, it would probably be hurting.

It’s hurting anyway.

He is confused.

That is understandable. He knows not what is happening to him. Give him a moment.

…I’m sorry? Where am I?

Above. Below. Between. Nowhere. Everywhere.

You said to give him a moment, did you not? Stop confusing him. He will not understand.

I—what—what is happening? Why can’t I feel my body?

Who are you?

Hello, Xelqua. We are so happy to have you back.

Suddenly, Grian can See.

He can See clearly what he had remembered that night that Tommy almost left the server himself—he can see himself fighting the Ender Dragon, alone in a world where he was not supposed to be alone, where the islands were broken apart and the battle itself felt impossibly gruelling, taking hours to complete when it should have taken only a few minutes. This Grian that he sees—not quite him, he realises, not quite who he is right now—is younger by a few years, but still in his current age range. He doesn’t remember this fight—and then, as if a light switched on, he does.

He remembers the dragon splitting apart and the deafening cracks signalling her death and the whispers in the back of his mind as he sank into that portal of stars and suddenly wasn’t. Just like how he isn’t now.

He is remembering.

Slowly. Let him take it slow.

Of course.

The voices—not voices—sound soft, lingering in the corners of his perception as the forefront of his consciousness is taken up by the steady drip of memories back into their rightful places, seeping in through the now shattered wall blocking them from him.

Those…visions that Kristin showed him, at first sitting uncomfortably atop his mind, unable to settle in, now feel like actual memories, seen from an inside point of view that would have been impossible to see from the provided angles. He hears…voices. Unfamiliar and familiar all at once.

Slowly, Xelqua. Do not overwhelm yourself.

Why do you keep calling me that? My name is Grian. Gree-an.

Your name is Xelqua.

Grian is not willing to admit that the insistence makes him wildly uncomfortable. That isn’t his name. His name is Grian, and he finds himself repeating it to himself as if he needs the reminder.

Its name is Grian.

The player that you wear like a second skin, its name is Grian. You used to be that player and only it, and it was perfect, and now you are it and you are you and you are better than perfect.

ℸ ̣∴𝙹, he’s confused. Calm yourself.

No, I’m not…confused.

Or, I guess, I am confused. But I understand, a little bit.

I think I’m starting to remember.

What do you remember, then?

I remember the dragon fight. I remember…being confused that I was alone, even though I jumped through the end portal with everyone else. I fought the dragon, and when I went through the portal…

…you two were there.

“There” is an arbitrary term that does not apply to us. We can be neither here, nor there, and yet everywhere at once—

But yes, we were there. Do you remember what happened next?

Grian tries, he really does, but it’s…hazy. It’s hard to remember when he wasn’t a physical thing and there were no visuals or sounds to associate with what happened, just words and words and words, and it’s like trying to remember quotes from a book after a first reading. You can remember the gist, but being able to remember what happened feels impossible. It doesn’t make any sense. His head hurts.

…no, I’m…sorry.

I remember talking. And—thinking, I think, about everything that happened. I remember the rest of Evo, but…

But…?

Grian cannot put aside how eager the not-voice feels.

I…I don’t…

I remember the rest of Evo. I remember…watching the rest of Evo. But—I don’t think I was there. I don’t remember myself…being there, I mean.

Perfect.

And so, to answer your fourth question.

“Who are you?”

Grian pauses, confused. He doesn’t see how that could possibly answer his question, or why he remembers seeing so much happen to his friends but doesn’t see himself anywhere in the memories after the dragon fight, or why the not-voices feel so excited, too excited, but he feels—he doesn’t know how he feels his skin crawl, because he has none. He doesn’t know how he can feel his chest tightening, because he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t know how he feels his head hurting, but it does, and the words all blank from his mind for a moment before he can form a response.

Perhaps a better question is in order:

And Grian knows what it is before it’s asked, because the words slam back into the front of his mind and he knows the answer and Kristin was right and what has he done?

What are you, Xelqua?

…I’m a Watcher.

Right?

He remembers, 𝙹リᒷ.

Indeed, he does.

That means…you’re Watchers.

He remembers.

It’s been quite a while, Xelqua. We’ve been Watching you. Observing from afar.

Even ascended, you’re still more than any other player we’ve Seen. You’re more of everything. You’re more interesting, you have the best ideas, the greatest stories, the closest bonds…

At first, we were furious when you decided to leave us.

But even without your memories, you were still the most. Even without remembering yourself, you created the greatest ideas, better than any ascended player I’ve ever seen. And now you’ve returned to us—by your own volition, no less!

Grian—still doesn’t have a body, but he imagines himself taking a step back.

No, wait—

No, I left.

You did.

It’s almost funny, isn’t it? In any normal situation, we would be leagues more influential than a god, even the goddess of death, and yet She managed to keep you from us in such an efficient way. There was nothing we could do.

But you’re back now. You’ve come back to us.

And we have a task for you, Xelqua.

No, no—no tasks. I left for a reason.

When Evo ended and Grian nestled into his place in the sky (of course, it wasn’t actually the sky—it was some place of Above-Below-Between-Nowhere-Everywhere, as he was reminded several times), he felt much like a baby duck waddling after his parents. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was there, if he’s being totally honest—he understood that the watchers overseeing his server, whom he had more or less invited in to interfere as they pleased, had seen something in him that was…different. Different how, he wasn’t really sure, but they seemed very excited about the prospect of having him along, so along with them he went.

It started off normally. As normally as it could be, being immortal beings in the Above-Below-Between-Nowhere-Everywhere, that is—Grian was able to Watch (and it was a capital-W Watch, as he didn’t have eyes for a majority of the time he was there) the rest of Evo go down, and what a glorious thing it was, really. He never left messages in rhymes or anything like that, instead resigning himself to simply observe from afar while 𝙹リᒷ and ℸ ̣∴𝙹 did the interacting. He wasn’t entirely sure if he could meet the standards previously set, and he wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to harass his past servermates like that in good faith.

He particularly liked watching Martyn and Jimmy. There was just something about their drama that felt good. If he had a tongue, he’d probably ascribe it to taste, somehow—the energy they let off, their bickering and pranking and fear all swirled together into something that Grian could have called a delicious cocktail of player emotion. Nevermind the fact that he, too, was a player—he wasn’t entirely sure of that, then. Could you be a player and a Watcher at the same time? Did something change when he became a Watcher?

He decided that yes, something changed. He remembered vaguely the process of it all—his soul being wrested from his player body, leaving the empty coffin of flesh and bone and blood drifting aimlessly in the Void somewhere in an excruciatingly painful manner. He was given a new form that wasn’t really so much of a form as it was a shape for his soul to fill. Because yes, while it is true that if a player somehow ended up in their Above-Below-Between-Nowhere-Everywhere, they would probably see nothing at all, it was possible for them to take a shape. His shape looked rather like his body did, if not with several more accessories—a robe, for one, and a mask without holes for his eyes, which were not on his face anymore. 𝙹リᒷ and ℸ ̣∴𝙹 explained in a horribly convoluted way that his shape was still his soul, his consciousness—it was how he could present himself in a visual and even physical way to a player, if he wanted to for whatever reason. If his eyes, of which there were billions, or maybe just five (he can’t really remember), were ever destroyed, a part of him, too, would be destroyed along with them. Along with his wings, which apparently represented the ability of Watchers to reside, formless, In that Above-Below-Between-Nowhere-Everywhere.

It was a lot of information to receive at once, topped off with the warning that it was entirely possible to be stripped of his Watcherhood if he was to break their very simple rules by stripping him of his wings and eyes. 𝙹リᒷ and ℸ ̣∴𝙹 never spoke much on that topic, but Grian didn’t need them to. He knew exactly how bad punishments for not following rules could get, and while he was never particularly inclined to stick to doing what he was told for the sake of it, or for the sake of it being the right thing to do, he was inclined to not get in trouble, so he nodded along (metaphysically, of course) and Watched as he was told.

It was that type of normal, for a few months (he’s pretty sure it was a few months, at least, but he Saw a lot and Watched a lot and time, obviously, is hard to track in the Above-Below-Between-Nowhere-Everywhere, so he could never pinpoint an actual concrete amount of time, and for all he knows, it could have been years). He Watched Evo end and Watched other servers go about their days, Watched 𝙹リᒷ and ℸ ̣∴𝙹 weave servers into what they wanted them to be, take premises and storylines and inject them into the fabric of the server, and eventually, learned to do it himself.

He remembers the first server he Made very vividly (“made” being a loose term, here—he did not make the server, as that isn’t what Watchers do, but he “Made” the server into a story, and thus). It was also the last.

It was a highschool. He doesn’t care to remember the people that were on it, really—he remembers them as characters, not as people, and as such, would much prefer not to remember them at all—but he remembers the story.

He didn’t plan it out very much. He wasn’t one for trying to force more to happen than the players forced on their own, but he gave them a premise and set the stage for the players to do all the work themselves, and they did.

He didn’t mean for it to resemble Akademi High School, really, but it did.

He felt sick Watching it, sometimes, and sometimes, more times than he wants to admit, he felt… gleeful. It wasn’t him wanting other people to suffer through what he suffered—no, it was nothing as human as that, he doesn’t know what he would do with himself if it was that—but it was something…unnatural. Not player, not even a little bit—it was an ugly satisfaction, a warmth in the pit of his stomach, a buzzing in his form that told him that the pain those poor players were feeling was delicious.

And 𝙹リᒷ and ℸ ̣∴𝙹—they hadn’t known how good suffering could taste. Or, rather—they did, but they didn’t know how much fuller it was, how much more it could satisfy than petty drama and fun, light-hearted shenanigans. Intense, positive emotions only happened once in a while—marriages and gifts and birthdays and all that—but intense suffering could go on for so, so long before a player broke, and that was a constant stream of sustenance that nobody could pass up on, not 𝙹リᒷ, not ℸ ̣∴𝙹, and for a while, not even Grian.

People left the server. It got too much for them, and if Grian recalls from his Glances after it was all over, many of the players on it never spoke to each other again. It was a pity—their dynamics were some of the best Grian had ever seen, though 𝙹リᒷ and ℸ ̣∴𝙹 seemed particularly insistent that it was his storyline that had caused it.

There are no boring players, 𝙹リᒷ would say amongst 𝙹リᒷ’s congratulations. Just boring stories and good stories.

There are no boring players, ℸ ̣∴𝙹 would chime in, overenthusiastic as ℸ ̣∴𝙹 always is. Just interesting ones and special ones, like you, Xelqua. You’re so special.

He was a bit special, Grian figured. Not just because ℸ ̣∴𝙹 repeated it as frequently as a player would breathe, but because what he created really did feel special. It was awful and horrible and some of those poor, poor players would probably not sleep well for ages afterward (Grian would know, he checked), but it was wonderful at the same time. It was horribly, awfully, disgustingly wonderful. The conflict was enough to almost split him in half, tearing him between the Above-Below-Between-Nowhere-Everywhere and the Void where his body floated, suspended, still alive but not quite living, and he knew how easy it would’ve been to let go of that part of him that felt so sick, but he…

He doesn’t know why he couldn’t, really. But he supposes that must have been tied to the reason why he was so okay with becoming a Watcher in the first place. Why he didn’t complain. And—he still isn’t quite sure, but maybe it was the feeling of being…appreciated. Acknowledged? Loved. Not that he wasn’t loved at home or loved by his friends, but…something about it felt wrong. It all felt wrong after getting home from highschool, no matter how many years ago it had been, it all felt…itchy and vile and not what it was supposed to be, not what he knew it as.

Before Akademi, love was flying races and quiet nights by a fireplace and gentle hands brushing through his wings and gardening and spooky stories and teasing and all of those other lovely little things. And then love was temperamental. And then love was not being yourself, never being yourself, and it was hatred and hitting and sharp things in your mouth and blood on your hands and clothes, and from then on, love made him feel sick to his bones.

The Watchers said they loved him. Grian wasn’t stupid, so he knew off the bat that that love wasn’t real love. It was something closer to obsession than anything else, because the Watchers were obsessed with players and Grian, in their eyes, was the epitome of what a player’s potential looked like (though, looking back on it in that mindset that he has, they missed out on picking up Martyn, really), and they were obsessed with him. And maybe he wanted that. Maybe that soft, gentle love didn’t make sense to him anymore. Maybe it didn’t feel like anything at all. He wasn’t home long enough to learn it again, after all, and when Evo started and he found the Watchers, whose love was burning and violent and all-encompassing and everlasting, he felt…well, he felt it again. Love, that is.

It burned when they tore his soul from his body, and the burn felt familiar.

But this wasn’t what he wanted, not really. He didn’t want this…sadistic, distinctly non-human desire for an entertaining show, for the suffering of others. He talked to 𝙹リᒷ and ℸ ̣∴𝙹 about it, fully expecting them to hate him for his hesitation, or to de-Watcherify them right then and there, but they were nothing but sympathetic. They almost talked about his remaining morality like it was a disease, told him he would be rid of it soon, that he had created something truly great with that server and that soon, he would even be seeing his own memories as they did—

And Grian stopped. And he asked them what they meant by that.

And, well, they said what any Watcher would say.

Akademi High School? 𝙹リᒷ had crooned, not-voice silky as always.

I remember that one, ℸ ̣∴𝙹 had excitedly recalled, and Grian did not have a heart but he was sure in that moment that it stopped. One of my favourites.

One of the things that made us love you so much in the first place.

You did wonderfully there, Xelqua. I could feel your pain. I could really See what the experience was doing to you. You’re so expressive, the way you move, the way you talk, the way you hold yourself—

You and your friends were delightful performers. Top of the line. It's been a while since I've seen a villain that vile—

—or a hero that helpless. I've always loved the players with so much fight in them at the start. You were much more assertive as a teenager before him, weren't you? Not to say that you aren't now...

Grian doesn't remember what was said after that, because in that moment, he realised that he desperately needed to leave.

It was a selfish snap back to reality—hearing them talk about him and his suffering, what was unequivocally the worst period of his life, like it was some...like it was a particularly entertaining stage play made him feel ill.

He knew that he still had a link to his body, somehow. The fact that it wasn't outright killed when he was taken was some sort of miracle that he thought he understood. He knew that it had been discarded into the Void, as that was where he was when it happened, and he was rather sure he knew who was watching over it while he was being a Watcher.

Finding the body was a non-issue—the idea of a Watcher having difficulty locating a player was laughable, and at the very least, if Xelqua the Watcher was no longer a player, then Grian the body still very much was. It was getting into the body that was the problem. He had no idea how that would work, but he tried his best to figure it out with the information that he had. He could go down to the physical plane in his visible form, so he did just that—showed up next to his pale body as an outline of a person, a soul without a space to fill.

If his soul was taken from his body, surely he could put himself back in.

Grian grabbed his own hand and, making his intentions apparent (though it's not like that helped, since there was nothing in the body to argue), merged himself with his physical body.

...the first thing that he did was throw up. The second thing that he did was cry out for his mother with a scratchy, unused throat.

It was awful to have a body so suddenly after having none for so many months—the prickling in his limbs was so painful he almost wept and the sensations (the awful, awful hunger and the exhaustion) were overwhelming. The worst part was how little he could see, though—as if ninety-nine percent of his brain had been shut down and he couldn't force himself out of that tiny one percent. It was almost painfully limited, and the immediate underestimation made his skin itch. As soon as the thought hit him, he realised that he could still open the eyes that floated around him and See—his soul was still one of a Watcher, just stuck inside of a player's body.

He didn't want to go back. He could feel the eyes on the back of his neck—not his own, but the eyes from the Above-Below-And-All-The-Other-Everywheres, and he knew 𝙹リᒷ and ℸ ̣∴𝙹 and perhaps others were Watching him, Staring at him, and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

When Kristin did show up, he was inconsolable. She could hardly understand what he was saying—She hadn't seen him in months, almost a year, and suddenly, Her son's body had ended up drifting through Her domain, completely unresponsive and, horrifyingly, empty. Soulless. She kept him alive, of course, and then he was there, alive and filled with a soul that was not the same as it was when She saw it last, but it's still Her child and he's still curling up into Her side and weeping into Her dress and begging Her to get rid of "it," whatever "it" may have been.

It took some coaxing to get him to mention the Watchers by name, and when he did, She knew that it was not in Her realm of ability to strip a Watcher of their power. They are both powerful types of immortals, gods and Watchers, and yet they function in completely different ways and can hardly touch each other without explicit allowance.

And yet. There was something She could do.

Watchers are very strict about interfering with players and realms that were not their own, and judging by the fact that they had not swooped in to take Grian back, it was clear that they were still adhering to those rules despite Grian's...up-in-the-air nature. The soul that he had, built from twenty-five years of experience, twenty-five years of memories, was the only part of him that was a Watcher. His body was still there, and therefore was one of a player, and if Kristin could just force away that part of him that was...corrupted, in a sense, maybe he could live without ever having to know.

It wouldn't be a permanent fix. She knew that when She laid a cold hand on his face, wiped away his tears, and pressed both hands on either side of his head, but She couldn't let him stay like...this. She didn't know how he ended up like that in the first place, and She knew that She probably would not know for a long while, but She resigned Herself to doing what She could for him despite the consequences.

She could feel their Eyes on Her, Staring with a burning intensity, but it was Her domain. If they wanted to come down and pick a fight, they were welcome to try.

...Grian fell asleep as soon as the barrier was formed. She had been watching this body of his drift around for months, unmoving, pale, practically dead, so seeing him with a chest that was rising and falling and cheeks that were at least a little flushed was a relief. She needed somewhere to drop him off, and as much as She wanted to place him back with his brothers and father, She wasn't entirely sure whether Her barrier would hold up after spending time around reminders of his old life, even if it was made to constantly wipe away reminders. The Watcher soul would fight to break through, and She wasn't certain that She would be able to constantly fix the cracks being made—seeing Her would be a reminder, too.

She knew of the admin of Hermitcraft—never spoken to him, of course, but she knew Voidwalkers a bit better than most average players, and She knew that if Grian came floating up onto his shores, he wouldn't immediately turn him away. And Hermitcraft was rather famous for being safe, anyway. It would be good for Grian. He had always quite liked building, more than any other members of his family, and he was far better at it than them, too.

She sent him off in the midst of a thinning event, drifting in an unassuming oak boat onto an inhabited shore, and that was the last Her son saw of Her.

I'm not doing anything for you. You're—you're monsters. You're sadistic.

Only because you taught us how to be, Xelqua.

And we share interests, anyway. There's no point in fighting against us on this. You've already fought for so long. Take a break.

Bite me.

Grian "hears" something eerily similar to laughter, except without a diaphragm to make it sound like actual laughter.

Even across so many servers, after almost three years, Xelqua, you're still just as entertaining. I missed you so much. How could you have left us like that?

We have a task for you.

And yes, it does have to do with your rescue mission on the Dream SMP. No matter what you do there, you will be helping us, so calm down and understand.

...

There is a force on that server. A force that has been there since it was formed, but laid dormant until a catalytic event coaxed it out of hiding and started what is, admittedly, one of the most beautiful stories we ever have had the pleasure of Viewing, even if it was from such a limited point of view.

Something inside of Grian flares up with anger at that—the idea of them talking about Tommy's suffering that way, it fills him with more rage than it did when they did the same thing to him. But he keeps his mouth shut.

But that force should not have been there.

We need you to find it for us.

And kill it.

I—what?

We need you to go into this server and dispose of this force. It should not be there. You must get rid of it.

I'm...sorry, what is "it," exactly?

...hello?

You must figure that out by yourself, Xelqua.

Like hell.

Why would you give me a "task" and then not tell me how to complete it? Don't you want it done?

We want it done.

But we are not in a rush.

And you would make this so much more interesting than it already is.

I'm not doing anything for your entertainment. You either tell me what I'm supposed to do and what it has to do with Tommy and I saving the server, or I'm not doing it at all.

If you can't figure out what it is we want you to do, how would you know if you weren't doing it?

You don't have to be such a contrarian, Xelqua. You know we only want the best for us. All of us.

There is no "us." I'm not one of you.

If you weren't, we wouldn't be talking to you right now. You have always been one of us. You may not have remembered for some time, but it's always been there. You were only able to suppress your nature for a couple of years before you cracked, and a couple of years is nothing in the face of eternity.

And the Life Games were incredible, Xelqua, I can't believe we had never thought of something so beautifully simple before—

So yes, there is an "us." There is a "we." And you want to do what benefits all of us, and so you will.

I do believe this reunion has gone on for long enough. We will be sending you back, now.

Sending him back—with nothing? Are they serious?

Well—hang on, now. You—couldn't you at least tell me more about where I'm going? Since you seem to be Watching so closely?

At least—at least tell me how many lives I'll have. That's what Tommy has been most worried about. Just tell me that, and I'll think about doing what you want.

You don't have a choice either way, Xelqua.

We don't lie.

If you want to save the server, you will do what we ask. We cannot see inside of it. We cannot help you as much as you want us to.

And as for how many lives you will have...

There's a pause.

The force will try to inhibit your attempts to kill it.

You will have one life.

One?

What do you mean I'll only have one?

Goodbye, Xelqua.

No, wait, you can't just—

We'll be Seeing you soon.