Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was only cold during the nights of Logstedshire, but Tommy had still made attempts at carefully matting up as many wools, tiny twigs, and thin strips of bark together as he could. It was a sort of easy process. Wilbur had once taught him how to spin wool using a single stick but that skill and memory was long lost by the time Tommy was exiled. So instead, Tommy had settled just fine with braiding up or poking at his mess of soft items until it vaguely resembled something flat and wide enough to wrap around himself with. It hadn’t nearly covered him from his toes to his torso but it was large enough for him to lose some of the aching cold.

If Wilbur were there, he would have probably figured out how to make a blanket and a coat by the time Tommy deemed the ‘blanket’ worthy of use. If Wilbur were here, Wil would have made a table to work upon, he would've laughed at the image of Tommy there, on the ground, fruitlessly trying to attach more material to a glorified doormat. Wilbur was the one that actually created things, even if he had done so just to destroy them. One of the only things Tommy had known how to do was break things apart.

At least that was one thing he had in common with Alivebur.

"Tommy! Where have you been?"

Tommy hadn't looked up from his current project of extending his blanket because he had gotten used to the shock of Wilbur softly speaking to him. The voice was airy and light and fond in a way that only Ghostbur could have spoken. Tommy still struggles to think of who else had the same tinge of fondness when speaking to him during that time of his life.

"I've just been here, Ghostbur. I haven't left," Tommy had grunted, fingers already tangled in his attempts to tie a long piece of bark twine to a corner of his blanket. Tommy vaguely heard a soft, surprised sigh above him.

"Oh! Well, I'm glad I found you even though I got lost. What're you making?"

Tommy had given up on weaving in the new twine and instead had taken his shitty flint knife and had worked on stabbing the tip into the corner of the blanket. He twisted it and used both his hands to turn it 'round and around as his feet kept the blanket itself in place. When he had eventually lifted off the blade, there was a small hole that had been forced through the blanket’s corner. Tommy had then picked the twine back up and threaded it through the hole before tying it there multiple times.

"A blanket. It's cold at night."

Tommy had waited for a response to this and was both pleased and disappointed when Ghostbur hadn't responded. He huffed and leaned over to bring his foraged pile of wool and down feathers and bark closer to his 'workstation'.

He had managed to cover up the hole he made and weaved about a palm’s size more of surface area to the blanket before Ghostbur decided to speak again.

"It kind of looks like dad's old pillows! Y'know, the ones he used to make when his bird instincts were kicking in and he wanted to start flying East—”

"Fuck off! It doesn't," Tommy had hissed. He hadn’t bothered to correct Ghostbur on his familial wording for Phil. He had already tried to before but it always just ended with Ghostbur looking like he was going to cry before drifting off into the forest.

Tommy had scowled and paused to blearily stare at his blanket. A bitterness had spread at the back of his throat when he realised it did sort of look like a shitty attempt at nesting.

"I think it's nice! Reminds me of home, though it would look a lot nicer with some blue. When's our vacation over, Tommy?"

Tommy hadn't answered. He also hadn't slept with a blanket that night. On the bright side, the matted mess of wool and twig and twine had made a real nice kindle.

And now Tommy’s sitting at a better campfire. Wilbur fixed it up, the wood in it looking almost fucking artisanal with how picturesque it is. Phil hasn’t left. Phil currently sits across from Tommy and is in the midst of anxiously felting an incredibly stiff woolen beanie. Tommy swallows and raises a hand to tiredly wipe at his crusty eyes. It’s been a week. Wilbur is pissed.

“What eggs do you want for breakfast?” Wil asks as he takes out cooking utensils.

“Omelette. Put whatever you want in it,” Techno says. It’s offensive how put-together Techno always is in the mornings. Wilbur cracks two eggs in a bowl and starts mixing them. Tommy still hasn’t asked Dream about that apprenticeship. He plans to. He’s not scared! He just needs some time to really be sure of this decision.

“Uh, scrambled?” Tubbo asks, stumbling toward the campfire.

“Same for me,” Tommy mumbles soon after, autopilot. Wilbur smiles at them and nods.

“Could I have an omelette too?” Phil pipes up tentatively. Wilbur completely ignores him in favour of cracking two more eggs into the bowl.

Tubbo plops down next to Tommy and promptly leans onto Tommy’s shoulder to fall back asleep. Tommy resists the urge to respond in kind. The past few days have been weird. Techno had prevented him from going anywhere without fucking supervision. Tubbo’s been playing this strange game of pretending-everything-is-normal-even-though-it-definitely-isn’t. Wilbur’s been normal though, he’s just been dismissing Phil at every given chance.

On the bright side, they've got the ground floor flooring and walls of their house finished. They just don’t have any doors or windows or a roof done at all yet. Tommy’s tempted to burrow into a hill and start camping there. The tents are getting old, fast. The ground is starting to take a toll on their backs as well.

Soon, Wilbur is flipping an omelette onto a plate for Techno. A heaping pile of perfectly scrambled eggs slide onto a single plate for him and Tubbo, who insists on holding the plate as they share from it. Phil eats stale bread as Wil eats an omelette with the pan as his plate.

Tommy watches Techno indifferently enjoy breakfast. He’s been ignoring Tommy’s probing questions about the Wither skeleton all week. Tommy’s sure that Techno’s kept the skull. Techno just pretends to not hear him whenever he brings it up.

“So, have any plans today?” Phil asks them all conversationally.

Wilbur’s fork jabs into his food and makes an uncomfortably loud click in contact with the pan. Phil winces before collecting himself. He’s the Angel of Death for Gods’ sakes, passive aggression shouldn’t be so hard for him to handle, Tommy thinks.

“Do you?” Wil retorts pointedly, everything but an actual snarl. This time, Tommy winces too.

Phil huffs, scratches the back of his head and under the brim of his hat. Techno drops his plate into the deep-set of similarly used dishes and gets up to pick up the whole pot for cleaning. Tubbo throws their finished plate like a frisbee and Techno rolls his eyes when he’s forced to blindly snatch it out of the air.

“I was actually going to try finding an actual place for myself. Uh, sorry for stealing your tent, Tech’,” Phil says, gesturing at his aforementioned son.

“S’fine. It’s an honour to care for our elders,” Techno quips, lifting the pot up and planning to use washing dishes as an excuse for leaving them and this conversation. Phil doesn’t seem to know whether to feel more beaten down from that or glad that the joke was relatively tame.

“And I wanted to,” Phil’s gaze lands on Tommy, ”I wanted to see if we could finally get XD or Dream, anyone who can, to help with your hybrid stuff?” Phil says, sounding coaxing.

Before Tommy can vehemently deny needing Dream at all, even despite his plans already including Dream, Tubbo straightens up and nods vehemently. Wilbur looks regrettably in favour of the idea, much to Tommy’s mild annoyance. Tommy can’t help himself from scowling still.

“Dream’s an asshole, trust me,” Tommy says. He mostly directs it toward Tubbo, who should understand by now, but Tubbo only huffs and avoids his eyes.

“I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Tubbo argues half-heartedly.

“You shouldn’t already be fucking choosing him over me!” Tommy snarls abruptly, tensely angled towards Tubbo. Tubbo’s face flickers into something scared and confused before going back into stubborn skepticism. Techno keeps close enough to do—something. Probably. Restrain him, most likely. Tommy gulps.

Tommy coughs awkwardly and calms down, suddenly aware of everyone’s gazes. Phil’s borders on suspicious whereas Wilbur’s is decidedly more anxiously concerned. Phil and Wilbur speak at the same time, their words coincidentally exactly the same.

“Did he do something when you met—” Phil swallows down the rest of his words and Wilbur angrily clears his throat.

Tommy’s ears blush red as they all stare at him expectantly. He bites back his immediate instinct to lash out and scream in their faces. He’s in control. He gets to decide what happens as long as he keeps his fucking head. He reaches up and rakes his hand through his hair and shrugs disjointedly.

“He offered to teach or help me or whatever. That’s all. He was just fucking creepy about it,” Tommy explains, chest opening a little. It feels strange to be forthcoming.

It must be strange to be forthcoming as well, since Phil brightens all victorious-like at the admission. Wilbur furrows his brows and looks about ready to demand even more information, but Phil quickly speaks first.

“He wants to help you? Did he figure out what kind of hybrid you are?” Phil asks, relieved. Tommy shies inwards a little, but Tubbo elbows him hard.

“Fuck—He did. But it’s stupid and doesn’t matter and it’s none of your business,” Tommy grunts as Tubbo elbows him again. Phil looks about to jump every time Tubbo ‘attacks’ him.

Tubbo sends him a threatening look that really doesn't do anything at all other than to partially guilt Tommy. Blustering, Tommy decides to give the game away anyway.

“Fine! He said I was like him or whatever. But I’m not because he’s a little bitch and doesn’t know shit. And he wasn’t even fully clear, he just threw around words like changeling and fae and Admin…” Tommy tells them, mumbling towards the end.

Tommy looks off to the side as they all just stare. The grass looks mighty interesting, all green and the like.

“Changeling? What the fuck does that mean? You don’t looks like a faerie or demon at all—” Wilbur starts to say, scoffing. Tommy smiles and nods gratefully, about to add-on to it.

“Admin?” Techno asks softly before Tommy can forcibly move on with verbally carving into Dream’s character. Tommy shrugs.

“Not really. Dream said I could be, though,” Tommy clarifies guardedly. Techno finally puts down the pot of dirty dishes and turns his full attention towards Tommy.

“‘Could’ as in you have the ability to become one or ‘could’ as in you might be one?” Techno questions. Tommy scrunches his face up in genuine semi-confusion.

“‘Could’ as in the ability to become it, I guess,” Tommy murmurs.

Techno tilts his head, regarding Tommy with careful scrutiny. There’s that look again, it’s like Techno doesn’t know what Tommy is aiming to achieve. It feels almost accusatory. It’s been directed against him for the past week.

“And what did he offer you? Nothing serious, right? You’ve got to be careful with owners and Admins,” Techno says. Tommy rolls his eyes this time.

“I know, I know. Power corrupts and whatnot,” Tommy grumbles. Techno’s brows raise.

“‘Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ Didn’t know you knew any of that, you take that off Wil or something?” Techno acts, half-mindedly sending Wilbur an approving look. Wilbur pulls an offended and befuddled expression. Tommy freezes and clumsily looks away.

“Fuck you. I read it myself. I figured you’d have left cool shit in your room but it was all books. Then, I thought maybe you’d have put contraband or something interesting in them,” Tommy whines.

“He wants you for an apprenticeship?” Wilbur asks, skeptical.

Tommy nods again. He tries to come up with a fun or offensive way of explaining ti further but he can’t.

“So, do you want to? Do you want to do the apprenticeship, I mean,” Phil asks straightly. Wilbur makes a sort of half-sneer.

“Don’t pressure him,” Wil says, biting.

Phil goes to defend himself or reiterate his phrasing but Techno shrugs. The casual shift in Techno’s stance is entirely artificial. He’s posturing in a way that’s more similar to a commander than it is to the normal, relaxed model he’s trying to present.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Techno says. He sounds completely neutral despite being very on Phil’s side. When Wilbur turns his annoyance on Techno, Tommy has finally gained the conviction to speak. A part of him is set on doing it just to get it all over with, another part of him achingly wants to simply prevent Wilbur and Techno from arguing.

“Yeah. I think I actually want to do it.” Tubbo looks all primed up to tackle him into a hug—looks like Tommy has just said something important. But not in the way Tommy thinks it’s important. He looks like Tommy’s had a breakthrough in some mental state. Tommy frowns. Tubbo settles for beaming proudly at him.

“That’s,” Tubbo softens his tone and expression from the intense cheer it had been moments prior, “—That’s good, Tommy. I hope it goes well for you.”

Tommy shifts in his seat, weight feeling uneven in his core. Discomfort buries in his gut. It still feels strange to be so much more aware of what they might think of him. That they genuinely believe something is wrong. But nothing is wrong! He’s perfectly fine. He’s not really insane, it’s just a bit. A really long, manipulative, morally-questionable bit. Tommy huffs a little and tells Tubbo he isn’t stupid.

“I didn’t say you were,” Tubbo teases, grinning. The discomfort relaxes away slightly.

“Well. Thanks. I guess. I think I’ll be back by lunch then.” By now, all of them must have picked up on his uneasy emotions, but the idea of him getting “help” must be enough to stave it off for now, since they all turn their attention back to focusing on that.

They ask him what he plans on learning from Dream—magic, Wilbur asks if he’s really sure and Tommy takes a deep breath and answers yes. Techno asks if Dream is going to train him combatively—I don’t know, maybe? Phil asks if Dream knows about Chat and Tubbo stares at Tommy until he eventually says that he doesn’t want Dream to know. The conversation between them all is more active than it’s been since he first woke up in this timeline, and yet Tommy can’t figure out if he’s overwhelmed or glad. It’s nice to have them almost planning with him.

He likes that they’re interested in what he has to say. He wants to tell them more, wants their opinions on his deeper plans. He wants to ask if they’d be willing to do things for him like fight or steal. But those questions would be out of tone with what they’re currently thinking about. They think he’s just some kid about to have an internship. He’s planning some fucked-up espionage to eventually become powerful enough to, what, overthrow Dream?

Tommy just has to make sure he can keep on an equal level with Dream. That’s all this is for. If he and Dream are equivalently matched, nothing bad could happen to him or his family. If everything goes well, things can just be normal for them. It’s not complicated at all. There’s no match to settle anymore. Everything he’s doing now is just precautionary.

Dream isn’t even important. It’s only what he knows that’s important. Dream isn’t dangerous if Tommy doesn’t make him dangerous.

When the conversation finally dies down and Tommy actually has to get ready to get up and leave to go find Dream, the plan feels more simply laid out in his mind. One, learn anything he can from Dream. Two, make sure Dream has no reason to hurt anyone he loves. Three, optional, kill the guy just to doubly make sure. Four, relax. It’s just three or four steps, easy.

It’s unexpectedly easy to find Dream. Tommy had wondered if he’d have to call or pray to XD to take him to the bitch, but all it takes is Tommy wandering around spawn for him to eventually run into Dream. Phil had followed, but Tommy had utilized some of that ‘Wilbur Anggression’ to get his dad to stop lingering around him and go focus on whatever he said he was planning to do.

Tommy finds himself inelegantly standing paces away from Dream. Dream is actually busy with something. And that something is people.

“I can take you to the community house, give me a second,” Dream says. He makes a placating gesture to Punz and Purpled. Dream’s gaze lands on Tommy but he’s too stunned over the pair of people to feel anything about it.

They must have joined just now, Tommy thinks as he stares at them. It’s weird. He doesn’t remember interacting much with the mercenaries other than for, well, mercenary contracts, but now he’s hit with the apparent realization that the two had originally arrived together. And that they look much less scary than he had originally perceived them as—Purpled, especially.

“Tommy! Hey, have you thought about my—” Dream greets brightly.

“I did. We can talk about it later,” Tommy says, cutting him off distractedly.

Tommy walks over to introduce himself to Punz and Purpled. Punz steps before Purpled, almost shielding him in a way. Tommy tilts his head, Purpled and Punz do look…brotherly? Tommy blinks away his confusion and reaches out for a handshake. Punz takes his hand in a solid grasp.

“I’m Punz,” he says, he then jerks his head back at Purpled, “And this is Purpled. You must be one of Philza’s sons? Wilbur? You look younger than I had expected,”

Tommy laughs, a little startled. Punz stares at him seriously, eyes tracking his movements. Quickly pulling himself together, Tommy shakes his head.

“No, you wouldn’t know me I guess? I’m Tommy. Uh, I guess I would be Phil’s third kid? Wilbur sort of forced my adoption,” Tommy says. The handshake drops.

Tommy feels oddly energized at seeing people he recognizes. At the same level, he sort of likes Punz for helping at Pandora’s Vault. Punz has always been sort of reliable. Even when the guy was working for Dream, it was like there wasn’t any true loyalty. Punz is a simple person when it comes to money. Tommy thinks it’s weirdly comforting even though he doesn’t think he’d ever actually trust Punz, same goes for Purpled. Purpled grumbles something and sidesteps Punz, properly greeting Tommy himself.

“So we shouldn’t be worried about you then?” Purpled asks bluntly, voice thinly laced with amusement. Punz’s face contorts in annoyance at Purpled.

“That’s not how we practised—” Punz whispers.

“He’s, like, my age,” Purpled murmurs back, rolling his eyes subtly. The way he says it is a little condescending, but Tommy feels his face stretch into a grin regardless.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about me at all. I’ve only been raised in The Angel of Death’s house and as Technoblade’s brother,” Tommy says heavy-handedly, more joking than threatening. Purpled smiles back, delighted.

“Learn anything interesting from them?” Purpled retorts, interested, in the same kind of provoking tone. One of Punz’s hands lands heavily on Purpled’s shoulder. Quickly, Purpled's face smooths into something more indifferent. Purpled cracks a small grin.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Purpled re-greets, formal tone bordering on mocking.

Dream taps on his shoulder and Tommy jumps, frightened. Mood plummeting a bit, Tommy scowls and turns to him. Dream’s mask is tilted toward him imploringly.

“What?” Tommy snaps, his shoulder quickly moving away from Dream. Punz and Purpled track the movement identically. Dream raises his hands in a mollifying manner.

“So have you decided on my mentorship yet?” Dream asks.

Tommy glances at Punz and Purpled out of the corner of his vision. Slightly miffed over being pressured with an audience, Tommy jerks his shoulders up in a facsimile of a shrug.

“Yeah. I’ve decided on doing it. Just so I won’t explode or whatever. You better not try to pull any funny shit over me,” Tommy threatens. For a second, Tommy would swear the smile on Dream’s mask stretched.

Phil had left most of his heavier things at Techno and Wil’s camp to move later. Now, he’s busy scouting around for somewhere to settle officially. He’s decided to at least try and make it seem as though he isn’t there to anxiously keep an eye over them. So Phil scraps his first idea to ‘casually’ become a direct neighbour and is instead going to lay his claim comfortably around the spawn and community house. Not because they would be more likely to wander by as time goes on, not at all. It’s just a smart place to be if he decides to go off on an off-server trip.

As Phil takes off his hat to shake his hair through, he hears intentionally loud footsteps. Turning around as approachable as he can, Phil is glad to see that it really is another person. They wave at him in a greeting and seem to recognize him. They’re a creeper hybrid decked in simple gold armour, as far as Phil can tell.

“Are you looking for something? Anything valuable around here is probably gone or claimed already,” They say, not mean. Phil grins at them.

“Yeah, mate, I’m just looking for a place to settle. Are there any land claims I should know about? I’m Phil,” he greets, reaching out for a handshake. They accept it, grip firm.

“Sam. This area should be good, just avoid accidentally cutting down any lemon trees. Ponk’s been planting them all over the place while he’s working on his base. You’ll be staying around on this server?” Sam says, pleasantly surprised.

Phil’s brows furrow slightly at the name. He knows Sam from his light skimming of DSMP members. A Redstone contractor. He also happens to share the same name as whoever Tommy was pleading for in his delirium. Phil tightens his hand’s grasp slightly, his smile a tad sharper. They drop the handshake and Phil gives the hybrid a subtle once-over. 

“Most likely. My youngest is having some trouble and I wanted to keep an eye on him,” Phil says, half-baiting.

The visible portion of Sam’s face, the one not covered by his strange respirator, lights up in recognition. His eyes are characteristically pupilless and entirely black like someone had dropped ink into them. Something about his features is surprisingly kind despite the mask and eyes.

“Oh, Tommy? Is he doing alright?” Sam asks, politely interested and maybe genuinely worried.

Phil cocks his head minuscule.

“He’s fine. You know him?”

“I met him a little after he joined, actually! He was rummaging around the community house with Tubbo. I gave him a potion, kid’s nose was bleeding,” Sam says, voice level. Phil blinks, suddenly focusing on that rather than his suspicion on any connection this Sam might have with Tommy.

“Was he hurt anywhere else? Where were Wil and Techno—my other sons?” Phil asks concernedly. Sam’s eyebrows and cheeks shift into some sort of approval at Phil’s worry, and Phil suddenly realizes the man wasn’t smiling until now.

“It was only a light nosebleed, the potion fixed him up quick. I think he and Tubbo were playing around and just got overexerted while your other kids were working on clearing space,” Sam says, tone a large step lighter than it had previously been.

Phil can’t find it in himself to be annoyed at having been unknowingly judged. Phil relaxes, though still keeps Sam’s name coincidence in mind. It’s not criminal to be suspicious. That, and something about Tommy and Tubbo accepting potions from what is supposed to be a stranger rubs Phil the wrong way just slightly.

“Thanks for helping him,” Phil says, his brain jumps through a few hops before he continues, “He’s been struggling with some hybrid stuff lately, only recently it’s manifested.”

Sam’s brows lower unhappily, worriedly, “Negative manifestations? Do you mind if I ask what specifically?”

Phil glances around a little, just to do something. He swallows before deciding to fuck it and giving up more information. The longer Tommy stays on this server, the more people will eventually learn about him. Might as well give some warning.

“He’s having trouble with urges. Physical and magical urges, you could say. Among other things, it’s been hard for him to adjust,” Phil says. Sam nods in understanding, more understanding than Phil himself had given when he first learned about it from Techno.

“He’s a little older than usual ages, right? Must have been a large surprise. If you guys need anything, I’d be happy to help. I know a thing or two about urges,” Sam offers sympathetically. Phil purses his lips automatically.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Phil says. Sam smiles awkwardly and turns to leave. Phil is about to refocus on his task as well, but something stops him and he turns his attention back on Sam.

“Actually, do you—” Phil scratches at his eyebrow abashedly, “Do you know anyone that could help with more behavioural-based problems? Not even just hybrid ones—Tommy’s a teen right now and I’ve been realizing a few things about, well, things.” Phil finishes weakly. He’s not about to tell this guy about Tommy’s voices and about his own neglectful parenting.

Sam stands there in slight surprise before quickly straightening and nodding, much to Phil’s chagrin and relief. Sam’s brows pull together in thought and then raise in self-satisfaction.

“I think I know someone that might be helpful! In fact, I’m pretty sure Dream was planning on inviting her,” Sam starts to tell him.

Chapter Text

Dream grasps Tommy’s wrist with the intent of pulling him aside, and Tommy suppresses the urge to break the man’s arm at the elbow. With a strained smile, Tommy nods a goodbye to Purpled and Punz. Dream idly says something about XD showing them around, and just before Tommy turns away from them he sees XD appear behind the two.

“What the fuck are you doing—?” Tommy starts to say.

“We need to discuss the apprenticeship,” Dream says brightly, confidence in every atom of his body. Tommy frowns.

“Right now?”

Dream nods, dragging Tommy towards the Community House. Once realizing this, Tommy yanks his arm out of Dream’s grip. Dream continues walking forward, only pausing to look back at Tommy with a raised brow before continuing.

“You coming? It’ll be better to discuss somewhere less so,” Dream gestures lazily through the air, “exposed.”

Dream continues walking towards the building, and Tommy follows with slight reluctance. Tommy stares hard at Dream’s unprotected back. He probably could just slice through the fucker if Tommy had brought a sword. Tommy really should be carrying a weapon with him, though Techno and Phil probably wouldn’t let him.

Tommy grins to himself, ridiculously smug over Dream holding the door open for him. The amusement dies a little when the door closes loudly behind them. Dream quickly gains back distance ahead, gesturing for Tommy to follow.

To his surprise, Dream doesn’t exit through another ground floor door nor does he aim towards the stairway leading up. Tommy watches with twitchy confusion as Dream stalks over towards one of the spaces between chests and squats down.

Dream brushes his hood back and pushes up one of his sleeves to reach down and feel over the ground, over the seams of the floorboards. Dream’s fingers bend slightly, and the floor pops up a little like the edge of a lid. Tommy whispers an unnerved ‘What the fuck?’ as Dream suddenly opens up an invisible trap door in the ground.

Dream manoeuvres himself into climbing down the now-revealed ladder and into the apparently-secret-cellar-under-the-community-building. Tommy has now clue how Dream managed to put it there. Isn’t the building atop water? Tommy follows after Dream hesitantly, and as Tommy climbs down the urge to kick Dream in the head grows higher.

Tommy’s feet finally hit flat ground and he stumbles slightly. Not wanting to let Dream at his vulnerable back for too long, he quickly turns to face Dream again. Instead of dramatically standing before him with arms out like a showman, Dream has made his way over to a large workbench and shelving unit. Books line the wall opposite the ladder and Tommy takes in the stone walls and simple layout. Not much of an evil lair, but it’s the actions that make an evil lair, not the aesthetics. Right?

If anything, this little basement is more akin to Tommy’s raccoon hole below Techno’s cabin than it is anything actually intimidating. Tommy shakes his head, clearing the thought from his mind. His space was nothing like Dream’s. Tommy’s had nice wool. And a bed. So Tommy’s was definitely better.

Tommy takes a deep breath in and shifts his weight.

Dream stands at a relaxed slouch over the table. He reaches up and pulls a few thin books, the covers shimmery in the way enchantments can only be, off an overhead shelf. A pair of plain, diamond boots rest on the workbench before Dream.

“Could you hand me the orange potion on the shelf on your left?” Dream asks, focused on flipping through the enchanted books before him.

Tommy immediately glances to his left and spots the requested potion. It’s obviously a fire resistance potion. Tommy makes a face to himself at the thought of Dream thinking him so stupid as to not be able to recognize what potions are what. Tommy raises a hand to reach out for it but he realizes what he’s doing and pulls his hand back like the potion might burn him. Tommy drops his arm and turns back towards Dream angrily.

“You’re not the boss of me. You can’t order me around,” Tommy spits. Dream sighs an air of light, fettered annoyance. Tommy shivers. Dream’s upper torso twists as he turns his head towards Tommy. Dream’s mask shifts in a bored way, leather straps pristine but not as tight as they should be. All Tommy can think about is how Dream kept that very same mask throughout every battle and war they had.

“I’m not ordering you to do anything. Ease up, will you? I was just asking you to hand me something,” Dream says. He must be rolling his eyes.

Tommy scowls, he pauses. He then swiftly snatches the potion off the shelf and tosses it in Dream’s vague direction. Dream’s arm shoots out and catches it confidently. Dream’s head didn’t even twitch to it. Tommy scowls further.

“Thanks.” Dream mutters as he turns back to his work, firmly annoyed now. Dream clasps the neck of the bottle to a loop on his belt and then refocuses on the boots.

Dream picks them up along with the books and takes a few steps to get in front of the anvil connected to the work bench.

“Da mihi Speed of souls, gravibus sicut pluma, verum praesidium…” Dream chants, voice softer than Tommy’s ever heard him speak. Tommy furrows his brows.

“What do you need Soul Speed for?” Tommy interrogates, taking a step closer.

Dream stills, and suddenly the almost imperceptible glimmer in the air dies out. Tommy blinks, surprised at the shift that he didn’t realize he’d been seeing.

“You speak Latin? Learnt or innate?” Dream asks lightly.

Tommy sputters, about to argue that “Speed of Souls” is very definitely not English. But when he opens his mouth to say so, the words in his head translate out differently.

“‘Celeritas animae’ isn’t Latin—” Tommy stops abruptly when the unexpected sounds of Latin roll off his tongue in clear opposition to his intention. He takes a moment to run back the past few seconds and is disgruntled to find that Dream had been fully chanting in Latin.

Dream turns again now, mask of course smiling wide.

“So partially innate? I used to have the same problem of not being able to tell the difference,” Dream teases.

Tommy’s face contorts furiously and he stalks forward towards the anvil. Dream shifts out of his way when he reaches for the enchantment books. The enchantment book’s Galactic Alphabet title stares back at him obnoxiously. Tommy squints, glaring harder at the book. In a split instance, he can almost read it as English, it turns back to gibberish just when it seems to make sense. He could read it, if only for a moment.

He shouldn’t be able to though. It’s in Latin while simultaneously being in a different cypher. He’s not fluent in either. Tommy pushes the book away and frustratedly rakes his hands through his hair to pull at it. Calloused fingers brush against one of his wrists and Tommy flinches away from them. He takes a step away from Dream and animalistically bares his teeth at him.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” Tommy threatens.

Dream stares at him—the fabric behind the mask hiding what Tommy is sure is displeased glance at Tommy’s bared teeth—and shrugs.

“Just don’t hurt yourself, Tommy,” Dream says.

Tommy is only partially able to swallow down his hysterical laugh at that admonishment from Dream, of all people. In fact, the vicious irony and hypocrisy of it has Tommy’s mouth slipping into a grin.

“Of course.” Tommy says, a tinge mocking.

Dream only tilts his head a little before turning back towards the boots and restarting the enchantment. The books lay open around the boots on the anvil.

“Da mihi celeritas animae, gravibus sicut pluma, verum praesidium…”

Tommy’s focus over Dream’s every movement falters as magic starts its swirl over the boots. Shiny waves of silk-like light weave and wrap around the boots. The books glow a little brighter, white in its aura. The letters on the books themselves glow and shake before shooting off the paper and slapping onto the boots. The lines burn into the diamond, seemingly indenting the hard material, before they begin to fade. As they fade away, the diamond relaxes back into its smooth state. The books crumble up and dissolve into ash and soon all that remains is a shimmer upon the boots.

Dream breathes out like he’s done something actually taxing. It seems silly, judging Dream so harshly for being mildly tired out from an enchant, but even if Tommy wasn’t from the future, it’d be unimpressive. Tommy’s seen Phil enchant things loads of times. Tommy glares when he realizes Dream is staring at him.

“It’s harder than it looks, y’know. I haven’t built up experience reserves on this server yet,” Dream remarks. He crosses his arms in a confident mirror of Tommy’s closed, awkward stance. Dream gestures toward the boots with his head, “They’re for you.”

Tommy scoffs.

“I don’t need any of your shit.”

“It’ll be useful for our first lesson.”

Tommy freezes at the words. Phantom coldness bites at his fingertips and he combats the feeling by digging his fingers deep into the meat of his biceps.

Dream’s arms drop from the fold and he raises them up to gesticulate exasperatedly.

“C’mon, Tommy, they’re just boots. I don't know why you’re so on edge. Is it the lighting? I know it can get stuffy down here,” Dream says, genuine confusion lining the words even as he jokes.

“Why do I need them?” Tommy asks tightly.

Dream scratches his chin a little under his mask.

“I thought you were a little smarter when you translated the Latin. What else would you need Soul Speed for? We’re going to the Nether,” Dream tells him.

Tommy feels stupid. He digs his nails into his palms and grins harshly instead of showing his inadequacy.

“Of course I know that,” Tommy argues back dishonestly. Thinking quickly, Tommy asks, “But why are we going to the Nether?”

Dream reaches out in Tommy’s direction and Tommy stumbles back a little, only to feel foolish when Dream just half-mindedly feels around for a pen. Tommy relaxes as Dream retreats his arm, successfully grasping a pencil, and focuses on writing something down. When Tommy tilts his head to look at it, he’s annoyed to find that its unrecognizably scripted in Galactic.

“So what kind of magic are you willing to learn,” Dream asks lightly, not even looking at him. He’s avoiding Tommy’s question. Tommy wants to strangle him.

What kind of magic? What kind of question is that? Given the option to do magic, Tommy would want to learn as much as possible, anything really. Shooting fireballs and healing wounds and shit. Tommy shrugs. He doesn’t exactly want to tell Dream about the time travel or about the zombification and withering magic.

“Anything, I guess,” Tommy says, settling.

Dream hums for a moment, seemingly pleased with the answer.

“We’ll go potion ingredient hunting in the Nether. Just collecting glowstone and magma balls. Potions are a good beginner start for anything to do with magic,” Dream finally answers.

Tommy furrows his brows, annoyed. He was expecting something. Well, more interesting, maybe even cruel. But potions hunting? Tommy used to do that all the time in the future. Speaking of Wilbur, Tommy opens his mouth.

“Wilbur’s already taught me stuff about potions. And he doesn’t want me going to the Nether,” Tommy tells him,

Dream gives off all the air of rolling his eyes despite his face being hidden. Dream picks up the boots and presses them into Tommy’s arms. Instinctively, Tommy naturally adjusts his arms up to hold them. Tommy shoots him another glare, though Dream has seemed to already gotten used to them.

“You’re a real grumpy kid considering you agreed to lessons. Is there any respect in you that I could have an itsy bit of?” Dream lightheartedly haggles. Tommy knows he’s not being serious. Still.

“There isn’t even a shadow of an idea of respect for you in me,” Tommy drily grumbles.

Dream gives a startled laugh that has Tommy reflexively flinching back, the boots hiking up in his arms. When Dream stops, Tommy’s shoulder is suddenly heavy with the weight of Dream’s hand.

Dream stares into his eyes—well, as much as he can with the mask—and bends just into the edge of Tommy’s personal bubble. Tommy would love some extra air to expand it.

“You’ve yet to have my respect either.” Dream states. Tommy opens his mouth to retort, to tell Dream to get his hand off him, but Dream backs off faster and is already stalking across the room to the exit.

“And don’t you want to be something more than just someone who follows your family’s orders? Y’gotta get out of their shadows somehow, and surviving the Nether is easy while still being impressive,” Dream says.

Tommy thinks about the sea of lava underneath most of their Nether portal point. It took practice to not look down—at first it was because looking down would freak him out but later, he had learnt to not look down because of how tempting it was to fall in. He can surely handle the Nether now. Plus, it’s only natural for people to trip and fall.

He could strip one of Dream’s lives away, bring the bastard down to two. He can continue having accidents. Slowly chip away at Dream’s existence during their lessons.

“When do you want to go?” Tommy asks, the perfect picture of politeness. It probably comes off as sarcastic, but Tommy’s really trying his best.

“Knew you’d come around—” Dream snarks, Tommy wants to chuck a boot at Dream’s head, “Whenever you’re next available should be good. This isn’t actually a lesson and I do need a bit more planning.”

Tommy attaches the boots to his hip inventory and climbs up the ladder after Dream. When he lands two feet back on the grounds of the community house, Dream is already gone.

Phil runs into Dream almost immediately, which is both lucky and disorientating. There’s a plot of land close enough to his kids’ place that he could fly or run over to them if needed while also being far enough away from them to not constantly run into each other. All he’ll be needing to build with is logs and planks, so he’s not to concerned over resource gathering at the moment.

“Oh, hey! I wanted to talk to you,” Phil starts with. Dream nods in response, the mask on his face only slightly less unnerving that XD’s.

“I wanted to talk as well—” Dream begins to say carefully. Phil winces when he suddenly realizes that Dream invited him to visit, not to stay.

“Ah! Yeah, sorry about lingering on your server for so long, and I know this is a bit sudden but would it be alright if I stayed? I don’t have any big plans or the like, I just wanted to keep close—honestly, I might still go off-world for missions but—”

“—We’d love to have you here on the server! I wanted to talk about Tommy,” Dream cuts in, amused.

Phil relaxes, the dozen of insistent excuses and reasons to let him stay melt away as Tommy’s name leaves Dream’s mouth.

“Oh, he’s gone to you about accepting your apprenticeship, right?” Phil asks, semi-relaxed.

“Yeah, he seems excited to do it,” Dream tells him, continues, ”I wanted to get your permission to take him to the Nether,”

Phil widens his eyes a little, about to say no. But Dream is a capable person and should be able to keep his son safe in the depths. And if Dream knew what Tommy was, he would know if it was safe for him, right? Still, Phil is already on Wil’s bad side, and it’d be just another thing to add to Wil’s “Why Phil Should Be Put In A Retirement Home” list.

“It’d be alright if you take me or one of my other sons with you,” Phil settles on.

Dream tilts his head a little, clearly seeing Phil’s hesitance.

“You must be very protective of him. He seems protective of you all as well, y’know. XD explained the incident with Schlatt with me the other day. It might be good to practice some separation though, since a lot of that protectiveness might be instinctual,” Dream says, not exactly disapproving of the condition Phil has given him.

Phil agrees, if only a little bit. Speaking of instinctual things, Phil perks up.

“Sam said you were planning on inviting someone that just so happens to have a background in things like…like therapy? Have you already invited her? I wanted to see if maybe I could set something up between her and Tommy,” Phil asks.

Dream looks taken aback but quickly reasserts himself. His hand raises and combs through his hair, momentarily pushing it back before it falls back into place. It’s a relatively normal action that Phil is sort of surprised to see on Dream. Then again, Phil’s been under the assumption of Dream being non-human.

“Yeah. I can invite Puffy earlier for you. She’ll probably arrive this following week if I get that done today. Oh, by the way, I gave Tommy some boots for our Nether trip so don’t be alarmed if you see the enchants,” Dream says. Before Phil can again remind Dream that they’re not comfortable with Tommy going into the Nether with Dream alone, Dream continues, “He’s a little old to be going to the Nether for the first time, don’t you think? Maybe that’s why his hybrid traits manifested so late.”

Phil clears his throat, uncomfortable. Techno’s traits had rapidly manifested when Phil had taken him to the Nether when he was younger. Phil had decided to wait a little longer for Tommy because of that. But now Tommy’s got voices like Techno, and they had tried their hardest to keep even netherrack away from him.

“I guess it’s alright for you to take him to the Nether. Still, ask Techno or Wil if they’d like to come as well,” Phil says.

“Of course, and if they’re not free I promise to bring at least Bad or Skeppy with me,” Dream confirms brightly.

Phil finds himself nodding back despite being less sure. He’s glad to have gotten the Puffy stuff prepared though.

“Thanks for letting me stay, mate,” Phil says, opting for ending the conversation. It falls a little flatly, awkward, but Dream is kind enough to ignore it and give his goodbyes as well.

That was strangely easy, but Phil’s too tired to question it too deeply.

Chapter Text

Wilbur starts finding things tucked away around Tommy. Things that must've been tucked away by Tommy.

There are potions that Wilbur makes and half-mindedly gives Tommy. They show back up nestled into the knots of trees. Into holes near stumps. They show up among everything Tommy interacts with. Hidden and stowed away next to the tent, next to the campfire, around their building grounds. Tommy keeps one on his belt.

There are other things. Iron and string. Empty bottles and unused flint. They all get hidden among the noise of their camp.

Wilbur starts finding weapons and starts of weapons. Arrows sidled neatly along the edge of Tommy's tent, under the tarp at the front and easily accessible. Wil finds sharpened arrowheads left in an extra bucket of water. Tommy has been wet sanding.

Reluctantly, Wil brings this up with Techno. Wilbur wants answers. He wants to know why Tommy eyes Techno's swords when he thinks no one is looking.

“It’s just Hybrid instincts. Or Chat pressuring. Nothing we can’t handle, Wil,”

“But shouldn’t we try, I don’t know—discouraging it? It can’t be healthy to be slipping daggers anywhere we sit. He has no reason to,” Wil tries.

“It’s natural. And are you sure about there being no reason? I mean, for Tommy, the knives might be a must because of the stuff that happened with Schlatt. Even if Tommy didn’t have a chat, young hybrid instincts could urge him to be more protective of you after something like that,”

Wilbur huffs. Techno copies him semi-mockingly. “But what instincts? What part of being a ‘Baby Chaos Demon’ or whatever makes him territorial over this place? We’ve been here for a month Techno and he still keeps asking if we can move back to our last server,” Wilbur continues.

He kicks at a pot and is unsurprised to see a bottle of healing, hidden next to the pot, crack from the force. He eyes the shards and idly digs his shoe into the ground to bury the broken glass. Techno groans, annoyed.

“You can say Admin, you know. It’s fucking insane, but it’s what he is. Or could be. It’s weird, I admit. He's probably more territorial of us than he is about this place,” Techno grumbles. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of Admins having families. XD was my first experience with anything like that, and I haven’t really spoken to the guy. I know they can be prickly about fighting, but that might just because Admins get angry over me serial killing orphans,”

“You should stop joking about that.”

“I’m sure I’ve actually killed at least one orphan,” Techno tacks on.

Wilbur sighs and glances over the ground behind him. After making sure there weren’t shards of glass there, he leans back and thumps onto the ground hard, head bouncing semi-painfully against the grass. The pain of it must appear on his face because Techno looks amused.

“Maybe you should stop doing that. I think it’d give Tommy an aneurysm,” Techno jokes. Wilbur frowns.

“He probably would get upset. He fussed over me nicking my finger the other day,” Wil tells him, almost bragging, “It was cute. Him caring so much,”

Techno rolls his eyes.

“It’s obsessive, is what it is. Didn’t you see the way he kept glancing at the bandage on Tubbo’s knee? He should know it’s just a scratch and yet he’s checking over it like the kid’s leg will fall off. Stocking up on supplies is bad but obsessing over small injuries is fine to you?” Techno says, grunting. He starts focusing back on lugging a plank into the flattened ground within the home foundation.

Wilbur shrugs.

“I think him being worried about us is better than him being anxious for a fight.”

“Who’s to say him slipping knives into his socks isn’t him being worried for us? I know I…” Techno trails off into a mumble, “—I used to check for dangers around you and Phil when I started with Chat.”

“You and Tommy can still check without carrying multiple dangerous weapons on you at all times. You wear armour like normal people wear clothes, Techno. I have a feeling Tommy would be the same if he had his own set,” Wilbur says.

“He should have his own set. You should, too. Everyone needs at least one set of armour,” Techno reasons.

Wilbur hums, eyes tracking over the clouds. He really should get back to work. He thinks about Tommy instead.

Techno grunts, hammering a nail into a stubborn plank of wood. Doors are his least favourite thing to make. They’re supposed to be detailed and inviting, but he doesn’t exactly want it to be inviting. Given the option, Techno prefers to set up spruce doors that look like borderline dungeon gates. He likes the robustness of it. His style is cabin-in-the-woods, not family farm and bee sanctuary.

Still, he doesn’t exactly want to inspire the same tastes in Tommy. The kid deserves to make his own style if Wil would actually let him.

AND YOUR STYLE IS UGLY AND BORING. I think it’s actually rather pleasant, all cozy and nice. I ONLY LIKE THE TORTURE DUNGEON PART. Everyone here likes the torture dungeon part! I DON’T LIKE THE TORTURE DUNGEON PART, I AM NOT PART OF THE HIVEMIND! Weren’t you the one who started the blood chant a few hours ago?

As much as Techno would love to wrap Tommy up in all the armour and weapons he could carry, Techno has to admit that it is a little overboard. Nobody else on the whitelist server even has Netherite, or even a vendetta against his family, so there’s really no point to overpreparing. Tommy does not need to be prepared. Techno does not need to overprepare.

But what if XD tries taking Tommy away? No room for a foreign Admin on a whitelist-only server? WHAT IF TOMMY HAS ANOTHER FREAKOUT AND ACTUALLY MANAGES TO KILL SOMEONE? That would be great! OKAY, WHAT IF HE MANAGES TO KILL SOMEONE IMPORTANT? That would maybe be bad. EVERYONE BUT PHIL SHOULD HAVE SPARE LIVES LEFT IF THAT HAPPENS Oh my god, is he going to kill Phil? THERE’S NO WAY, IT’S NOT LIKE HE HATES PHIL—OH WAIT.

Okay. Maybe Techno does need to prepare. Just a little bit. Nothing extensive, just enough to be able to restrain Tommy with something other than his hands. He isn’t at all sore from stopping Tommy during the first few days, but he would still like to avoid it now that Tommy is getting proper training.

It better be proper training. Who knows what that green Teletubby could be teaching him. What if Tommy thinks hoodies are suitable for battle? That’s ridiculous. There’s no way that would fly on the field. Maybe he himself should show Tommy a couple of things.

APPRENTICE ARC? CRINGE.

He wouldn’t go so far as to make Tommy his apprentice or anything. That would be weird and too much responsibility. It just might be smart to teach him some useful stuff and share some useful tips. Like how he should organize his inventory, or where to aim for a quick death—and where to aim for a slow death.

That sounds like an apprentice. TOMMY IS ALREADY APPRENTICING FOR DREAM! Techno would be a far better sensei! SENSEI? WHAT IS THIS, AN ANIME? With Tommy at our side, we could definitely take over the server! WE JUST NEED TOMMY TO COUGH UP A COUPLE MORE WITHER SKULLS…

Tommy and Wilbur do not need him plunging the server into chaos. As much fun a couple of Withers would be, there’s no way Techno is going to nurture that specific little talent of Tommy’s. There’s no way he can just forget it either.

His little brother can wither someone, or maybe just mobs. That’s still unfairly powerful. Really, when Wilbur first came home with this random kid, Techno didn’t exactly think it was a good idea. Sure, Wilbur isn’t a cross-server warrior, but he is still a genius in their family of high strengths. Some normal kid wouldn’t have been able to keep up with any of them.

But then Tommy isn’t a normal kid. Tommy is shaping up to be more similar to himself than Wilbur, which should be impossible considering how far Phil had gone to find someone with Techno’s problems. And maybe it’s not exactly the same, Chat is sentient. Chat gives him ideas and Chat says things that he would not and could not have thought of.

YEAH! TOMMY JUST HAS VOICES IN HIS HEAD THAT TELL HIM HOW TO DO MAGIC THAT NOONE ELSE KNOWS. THAT’S SO DIFFERENT FROM US. Noooooo, we’re special! There’s nobody in the world like us! TOMMY’S CHAT PROBABLY HAS THEIR OWN VERSION OF THE BLOOD CHANT TOO Blood, you say? HEY! THAT CHANT IS COMPLETELY ORIGINAL AND NOT AT ALL FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE.

It’s hard to rationalize through the concept of Tommy having a chat or even being a hybrid. The kid was completely normal the last time he visited before this little server-immigration adventure started. It just doesn't make sense. Tommy hasn’t ever even been to the Nether, which triggered the voices in his own head. Techno can't help but be suspicious of its origins but what is he going to do? Tell this feral child that, actually, "no, you're lying to us?" Techno wishes he was sure enough to pull something like that.

But the way Tommy’s gaze fogs up before focusing sharply on his target is so familiar. Tommy’s snarl may not be scary, but it’s executed in the same twist that Techno himself used to pull when he was pissed off and young. Hell, Tommy even tried the same shit Techno did when he was first chained down to a bed and watched from a distance. Phil is treating Tommy in a familiar way as well. Just without the same amount of fondness. Because Phil didn’t raise Tommy from a baby. Wilbur did.

IS TOMMY SHORT FOR SOMETHING? It’s long for ‘Tom’ BUT WHAT’S THE LONG VERSION OF THAT? Tommium? Like William and Philliam PHIL’S NAME IS NOT SHORT FOR PHILLIUM. AND WIL IS OBVIOUSLY A NICKNAME FOR WILBUR. I don’t think that’s right, either I DONT THINK ANY OF YOU ARE RIGHT.

It’s a good thing that Tommy cares about Wilbur and Tubbo. That he cares about Techno and Phil to an extent as well. But it’s still not healthy to just let the kid go feral whenever one of them is injured. Hell, as much as Tommy seems to see him as a threat, the kid still has moments where his eyes fall worriedly onto an injury of Techno’s.

Techno can’t quite get over the smaller moments, too. Creating a wither skeleton is very important, of course, but it’s always good to catalogue other behaviors. Tommy seems to have a small fixation on arson. Which, understandable, arson is fun and exhilarating and one of the best things to do besides directly beating up some enemy, but still. Techno has to make sure the kid doesn’t go and light up a neighbour’s

house. Who knows what that would incite.

IT WOULD INCITE VIOLENCE! I think you should let him burn down some loser’s house. What's the worst that could happen? IF TOMMY SETS A SINGLE PLANK OF THIS NEW HOUSE ON FIRE, I AM GOING TO CRAWL OUT OF TECHNO’S EARS AND BITE TOMMY’S EYES Don’t worry, Techno, we can’t actually leave you. AND WHY WOULD WE WANT TO?

Yeah, not happening. Techno is not going to encourage arson in the unstable teen.

Techno finishes the pathetic detailing on the door and steps back, arms reaching out to grasp the sides. He picks it up easily and carries it over to a doorway before setting it down against it. Without prompting, Wilbur gets up from his lazy lounging spot and goes to hold it while Techno secures it in place with more nails.

First door down. Now he just has to do a hundred other things.

Tommy’s face is set into a perpetual scowl as Dream talks about the Nether, sharing facts and tips about it as though Tommy is completely clueless. To Dream, maybe Tommy is clueless. But Tommy knows almost too much of the Nether now. He knows more about this server’s Nether than Dream does when it comes to mapping and topography.

“Now, we never know where we’ll end up when opening the first portal in a server. I’m hoping it’s not going to be somewhere too dangerous,” Dream says as he goes through the motions of enchanting a set of general armour for Tommy. The diamond boots shine blue on Tommy’s feet as Dream enchants an iron chestplate for Tommy to wear.

Tommy scoffs despite himself and hides it under an annoyed groan. Their spawn over the lava in the original timeline was never not dangerous. He sits bored in his chair, only half paying attention to Dream’s lecture.

“It’s important you take this apprenticeship seriously, Tommy,” Dream says, motioning for him to sit up. “The Nether is an important place for lots of hybrids, and it’s one of those things that Admins have to pay special attention to,” Dream holds the chestplate out in front of Tommy.

Before Tommy can lean forward to grab it, Dream takes it back to the anvil and mutters something about refitting it. Tommy rolls his eyes, hand twitching towards a knife in his belt as Dream’s back turns away from him.

“What’s so special about it that makes it so important?” Tommy huffs.

“It’s full of life, Tommy,” Dream says, laughing like it’s obvious.

Tommy furrows his brows, hand falling away from his knife’s handle. He reaches out with his foot and kicks Dream.

“What the fuck does that mean? It’s full of fuckin’ dead shit,” Tommy says.

“It’s full of souls, Tommy! Souls trapped in the sand and in the monsters there, souls in the bricks and in the ores!” Dream says grandly.

Interest sparks in Tommy. As casually as he can, he slouches back into the chair and shrugs his shoulders.

“Could we use those souls for anything? Or is it just. Cool or whatever,” Tommy asks.

Dream stops his actions and turns to Tommy. The smile on his mask looks indulgent when he tilts his head toward Tommy in acknowledgement.

“I like your thinking, Tommy. We’re going to find out,” Dream tells him, sounding strangely proud. It’s nice. Tommy shakes the feeling off of him and looks away.

“It sounds kind of illegal,” Tommy mutters.

“Well, it’s my server, so I get to make the rules. Besides, why shouldn’t we get to play around with what’s given to us?” Dream says, almost harshly.

Tommy latches onto those words and turns them over in his head. He’s always wondered how long Dream had that idea in his head. It’s almost strange to hear the sentiment over something he agrees with for once. Well, he agrees with it because Dream’s on his side.

Maybe this is why George puts up with all of Dream’s bullshit. There’s power in powerful allies. Tommy should know, he’s got ‘The Blade’ to back him. Still, George has XD. Tommy doesn’t think he’d be able to gather the same amount of favour from XD. Maybe Drista, if he’s lucky. But Drista isn’t set to interact with the server until much, much later.

Something collides with his head, and Tommy’s hands fly out into fists, shielding himself. Dream laughs carelessly now, half-pointing at him and half-gesturing for Tommy to relax. Tommy quickly glances off to the side to see what was thrown and is confused to see a tiny sack of some sort. It’s weighted and slouching into the ground.

“Pick that up, this is what we’ll be collecting,” Dream tells him, calming down. He turns back to his work as Tommy carefully crouches down to grab it.

He opens it gingerly, and squints at the ashy grains inside. His gaze goes blurry for a moment, and suddenly the stuff inside looks recognizable. He shakes the bag a little and the soul sand rearranges itself, the bigger pieces of ground, miniature skulls sifting themselves to the surface.

“Soul Sand? How the fuck did you get this if you haven’t portal-ed to the Nether yet?” Tommy asks.

Dream turns to him, the stillness in his shoulders seeming surprised.

“You actually know what that is? Wow. I’m impressed” Dream says, reaching over to take the bag back. Tommy willingly hands it over.

“Of course, I know what it is. Technoblade is still my brother,” Tommy responds flatly.

Dream hums irritatingly and tosses the bag around, juggling it.

“Of course. Anyways, I brought this over from another server,” Dream informs him. Tommy wrinkles his nose.

“You can do that?”

“It’s right here in my hand, isn’t it?”

Tommy shrugs again and tries to make his face convey ‘That’s not actually impressive, just fucking obnoxious,’ but Dream is back to his ministrations before he can appreciate the expression.

He tries not to sigh too childishly, but he can’t help but glare at the side of Dream’s head. He tries to avoid staring directly at the enchants Dream etches onto the gear, but his eyes still sting at the short amounts of shimmer floating off of the act.

“You know, the glasses XD gave would help with that. I can practically hear your eyes watering at the magic,” Dream teases, not lifting his focus off the work. The information is annoyingly helpful though, and Tommy instinctively reaches into his pocket to thumb at the sunglasses.

He takes them out and winces at the chunky rims.

“They’re not exactly my style,” Tommy states blandly. He also has a small vendetta against looking anything like that mushroom fucker George.

“Well I’d offer you one of my masks,” Dream says, and Tommy immediately snarls. Dream continues “—but that’s for family only. And from that little growl, I’m guessing you don’t want to be seen as part of my clan?”

“I just don’t want to look like a stupid bastard. Your masks are fucking creepy,” Tommy spits. Dream rolls his shoulders and shrugs.

“I guess some people just have little taste. Doesn’t your brother wear animal skulls sometimes? Would you rather have one of those? I’m sure XD would be willing to—”

Tommy’s nerves get the best of him. The tips of his fingers feel itchy at the tone of, what? Concern? In Dream’s voice. He doesn’t need help.

“Could you just fucking shut up? Stop trying to be all fake and, and accommodating or whatever. I’m here to learn shit from you, not to be your friend,”

Dream sighs. He puts down the helmet in his hands and, without turning to Tommy, seems to relax his shoulders from the strange, worried mentor act he had been putting on.

“I really am just trying to help you, Tommy. If you can’t handle watching someone enchant things, you won’t be able to handle a lot of other things. Lots of people deal in magic these days,” Dream says.

Tommy harrumphs, peeves, and shifts in his chair.

“Well stop acting so weird then. And are you seriously not fucking done with the armour?”

“Enchanting two sets of gear is a lot harder than it looks. If you could do it, I’d be having you do your own, but—”

Tommy gets up and snatches a book from Dream’s shelf. He glances over the cover title, his brain translating it in an instant. A part of his mind goes off somewhere else, subconsciously checking whether or not it’s efficient to start with that one. Tommy frowns and picks up a different enchanted book, glances over the title, and then pulls the helmet away from Dream.

He sets it on the anvil and opens the enchantment book. He’s watched Techno and Wilbur do it so many times now. He’s done it himself almost as much. He jerks his head, mostly because it's a habit that Phil has infected him and his brothers with, and wills the words off the page. He feels something magical in him loosen and creak a little, and it's not a familiar sensation but it feels correct.

The texts upon the pages of the book splits and detaches from the surfaces. It starts slow but soon, the characters are lifting off and applying themselves to the armour in rings. They press against the surface and shine before disappearing into a shimmer over the metal. He feels his energy drain slightly, but not in a way that feels like he'll do something silly like pass out. It's supposed to be the siphoned energy from work and slaughter, right? Tommy happens to have experience left over from what little mobs his family let him get away with fighting.

“…Of course you know how to enchant. You’re Phil’s kid. I can’t believe you’ve been letting me do this myself this entire time, oh my Gods—” Dream groans, lighthearted. He sounds pleasantly surprised though, and Tommy can’t help but grin proudly.

“You didn’t ask, dumbass,” Tommy says back smugly, the quip not as venomous as he intends it to sound.

“Hey Wil, would you mind—?” Phil starts to ask.

“Whatever it is, no.”

“Okay. Uh, Techno—?”

“I’m busy building a house, Phil,” Techno grunts.

“Alright. I guess I’ll just, uh…” Phil trails off as his two eldest sons focus on their own things.

He nods to himself once and turns around to head back to the area he’s chosen for his base. Dream will just have to ask Skeppy or Bad to accompany them to the Nether.

Awkwardly making his way away from Techno and Wilbur, Phil speed-walks his way back down to where he’s setting up himself.

Chapter Text

The third thing people notice about Puffy is her clothes. She’s got layers of fabric draped over other layers and a coat that seems to fit all over it despite keeping her silhouette visible. Said coat had a vibrant redness to it that is surprising due to the obviousness of how old it is. The black fabric edges of it are faded and yet it’s as though she takes care to re-dye the red portion of it. Never mind the fact that all of it boils down to being a pirate get-up. It’s rather polite-looking as well.

The second thing people notice about Puffy is her horns. They protrude out from the sides of her head and sturdily point towards wherever she looks. The natural way they have grown and curled has eventually left them looking fierce and yet untouched. They could be weapons but function as accessories in just the same fashion.

But the first thing people notice about Puffy is her hair.

It fits both her and her name. It’s puffy and soft and looks like the characterizations people do of those sheep that you’re supposed to count before falling asleep. It’s almost ridiculous how cloud-like her hair is.

Phil can't help but feel a little intimidated. From what he’s heard from Sam—and Phil still isn’t comfortable with that name—she really is a pirate. A real-life swashbuckling, sea-marauding, treasure-plundering pirate. And she’s also apparently a licensed therapist. Phil meets so many interesting people, too many people, in his travels.

She's joined just an hour ago, her rucksack still on her back. On Phil's assumption, she's just left the community house and is about to be shown around by Sam. Speaking of Sam, the creeper hybrid is to her left, fumbling with the edges of his mask that had shifted at Phil's arrival.

Phil stands before them on the path, a little unkempt and a little frazzled. He'd wanted to be there at spawn to give a good impression but he'd fallen asleep late and had consequently woken up a little late. His flight landing gusted air directly into their faces and now he's under the bemused stare of what he dearly hopes is Puffy.

Otherwise, Phil doesn't think he'd be able to survive the embarrassment.

“Ay, mate, nice to meet’cha!” Puffy says suddenly, grinning and giving a small salute. She sounded like a pirate. Sam startles and chokes down an amused reaction.

She holds her hand out for a shake, teeth bared in an enthusiastic grin. Phil blinks, just staring for the moment, and she slumps from the spontaneously energetic form she had just been in.

“Sorry, that’s not actually how I talk. But I sorta felt like I had to say something with how you were looking at us all frozen,” Puffy says now, voice now distinctly lacking the ridiculous accent. Her hands gesticulate around casually.

Phil doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he just awkwardly reaches out and meets the handshake. Her grip is firm and with a single harsh lever downwards she releases her hold and leans away, back straight but not stiff. She has good posture, it must be the weight of her horns.

Phil hasn’t really interacted with sheep or ram hybrids beyond Tubbo and Schlatt and both kind of fuck over traditional greetings. So Phil doesn’t know if he should be bowing or saying something other than a—

“A ‘hello’ would be nice,” Puffy says kindly, amused. Phil freezes and nods, blushing.

“Uh. hello. Hi,” Phil greets, one hand coming up in a small, close wave.

Puffy beams and tilts her head and hat.

“You’re a friend of Sam, right? He mentioned a potential client, maybe clientele, if I came to this server. Y’know, I only really know Sam and Skeppy here,” Puffy shares, still just as sociable and charming as before.

Phil finds himself nodding as she speaks. It’s been a week and a handful of days now since he and his family have moved to the server, and Phil has yet to be able to talk to Tommy about the Schlatt situation. Every time he tries, Wilbur’s there to shuffle Tommy away and Tommy himself has been avoiding him—even easier now that Tommy has, thankfully at least, started taking up lessons with Dream.

“It’s my son,” Phil says immediately, she raises a brow and he clears his throat to continue, “My youngest, he’s fifteen. He needs some help, I think? He’s been dealing with some new developments on the hybrid side and it’s been tough getting him to accept help and the like,” Phil tries to explain.

Puffy crosses her arms and rocks on the balls of her feet slightly.

“Cool. Always nice to see parents reaching out for this sort of thing. Does he need any of my specific help though? I just want to make it clear that I’m not going to be, like, reporting whatever he says to me to you nor would I be acting as communication between the two of you. That, and it’s already sounding a bit like, horrifically, puberty. Teens get cagey, especially when it comes to body development,” she says carefully, not unkindly.

“I’m sure he’d like you, Phil insists, part of him sweating. Puffy just raises a brow at him.

Tommy knows something is wrong as soon as Tubbo declares that they’re going to be doing chores together today. It’s easy to tell despite Tubbo’s bright expression. It’s obvious to anyone, really, in the way Tubbo’s grip is tight around Tommy’s wrist as he pulls them away to do “chores.”

“I’m sure you can collect stones on your own,” Tommy says lamely, avoiding Tubbo’s eyes as he’s led farther away from their settlement. Tubbo scoffs but doesn’t elaborate until they’re sufficiently isolated away from Wilbur and Techno.

“We need to talk, Tommy,” Tubbo huffs, crossing his arms. Tommy scowls, face twisting up unhappily.

“Over what, if you can’t get it through your thick skull that I’m from the future?” Tommy snarks. He’s brought it up multiple times already, whenever he and Tubbo get a moment alone. Tubbo purses his lips. Tommy continues on, spurred by the silence.

“Which really is quite silly if you think about it, because I believe whatever you tell me but you can’t spare a single bit of reciprocal respect in response—”

“I believe you, Tommy! Of course, I do!” Tubbo shouts, clenching his eyes shut.

Tommy finds himself still on edge, still angry and annoyed. His shoulders stay raised and glares at Tubbo disbelievingly.

“You don’t. You’re just saying that! You just want to, to—” Tommy sputters angrily, angling forward accusingly, “—you want to trick me! You think something’s wrong with me and now you’re siding with Phil and Techno and Wilbur and, and—”

“There is something wrong with you, Tommy!”

Tubbo’s face screws up and he blinks rapidly, as though to stop himself from crying despite how futile it is at this point. His eyes focus just off of Tommy and his lips are warbly pressed into a weak imitation of a smile.

“You’re from the future. I believe it.” Tubbo whispers carefully, chin lifted but avoiding eye contact. “You’re Tommy. I know you are. You’re just so…different now.” Tubbo finishes lamely, gaze finally falling to stare at Tommy.

Tommy scoffs. Something anxious itches at the back of his neck. “Of course I’m different. I’ve got two years on you. Comes with being from the fucking future,” Tommy says, empty of any actual passion or smugness.

“Then you got a whole lot of stuff to tell to a professional—like those people you pay to vent to. Y’know? I’m glad you trust me enough to come to me but maybe I’m not—” Tubbo swallows, looking vulnerable before stubbornness takes back over, “I’m not what you need for this stuff. I can’t handle you, sometimes,”

Tommy doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to say. Tubbo’s either lying and trying to appease him or Tubbo really does believe him and is…confused? Tubbo is probably just confused. Tubbo just thinks he knows better. It’s always been that way, hasn’t it? A flurry of deep-seated frustration bubbles in his chest but Tommy beats it down before it can surface into anything.

“I tell you I’m from the future and your suggestion is to get a therapist?” Tommy asks, incredulous.

“Talking to someone isn’t going to burn the world down,” Tubbo says eventually. “At least, I don’t think it will? Patient confidentiality and all that.”

Tubbo laughs a little but quiets quickly. It all feels silly all of a sudden. Tommy scratches his palms and looks away.

“Did Phil ask you to do this,” Tommy snipes next, eyes narrowed. Tubbo sighs.

“No, actually. I think you should go to Phil about getting a therapist, anyway. He’s rich, isn’t he? I’m sure he could get you someone. Same with Wilbur as well, if I’m honest,” Tubbo pauses and embarrassedly scratches his head, “Techno is weirdly functional, I think. He seems fine,”

“Techno needs institutional help, Tubbo,” Tommy says, rolling his eyes.

Tommy thinks over the idea cautiously, imagining himself laying in a stiff chair and flaying himself out for someone he doesn’t know. It doesn’t sound like something that would be helpful. Tommy hates hearing people complain about their lives, why would someone else want to listen to him complain about his?

Tubbo stares at him with these horrifically imploring eyes and Tommy huffs.

“Fine, sure. I’ll think about it,” Tommy tells him.

Tubbo smiles, relieved in a way that Tommy hasn’t seen in months.

“I’m glad.”

It won’t be healing. But at least if things go wrong, Tommy can use this as precedence for an insanity plea. That way, nobody’s going to blame him if he snaps, that would be inconsiderate.

“If I hate it, I have every right to kill the shrink sicked on me,” Tommy jokes. Tubbo immediately looks upset. “...I’m joking,”

“Tommy’s a good kid, too,” Phil says then. He thinks fondly about the little blonde boy that would tug at his low-hanging feathers.

Puffy nods slowly, mumbling a short “uhhuh” noise. She flashes a blinding smile and shoots her hand back out. Phil takes it and manages to avoid stumbling from her aggressive shaking.

“I guess this is a deal then, I’ll do one session with your kid and decide from there. He has to be willing though, remember that,” Puffy says, saluting with her other hand and sending Phil a knowing look. She almost dares him to lie to her with that face.

She grins wide and looks around. Phil abruptly realizes they had been talking about this rather sensitive information at spawn, and that he had practically accosted her at her entrance. She hoists her bag further up over her shoulder and grins.

“I’m excited to settle down ‘round here, at least. You can call me if you need anything, but any comfort I give comes at a rate of fifty emeralds an hour,” Puffy jokes. She nods at Phil once before turning on her heel and leaving.

Phil lets out a breath, glad to know that he’s got at least one person somewhat on his side right now. With luck, Dream’s magic tutelage and Puffy’s counselling will make sure Tommy gets all the support he needs.

Tommy doesn't have a straight plan for it, exactly. He just knows what he wants to happen. He wants Dream dead. He wants to bring him down a peg or two, and the peg just so happens to be a life.

He thinks about it for hours after he gets the confirmation that he and Dream will be allowed to go on a trip to the Nether. Tommy has a sneaking suspicion that Wilbur hasn't been told, but things are easier for everyone that way.

Tommy thinks about it in the bed that Wilbur and Techno begrudgingly work together on to build for him. Tubbo has his own too.

They don't share the room of a tent anymore, but Tommy makes sure Tubbo's room lacks a lock. The house comes along nicely.

Tommy saw exactly which enchantments Dream wove into the boots. Still, he checks it over again and again for some kind of evidence of malicious tampering. He doesn't know if Dream has access to mind-altering or especially malicious spellwork—doesn't know if Dream had that kind of advantage in the last timeline either. Tommy vaguely remembers whispers of Ranboo having mind problems but at that point, everyone in the server was bound to have mind problems. It's probably some secret prerequisite for joining. 'Only Crazies and Murderers Welcome!'

Tomorrow morning, Tommy will get to go to the Nether with Dream. It’ll be the perfect moment alone. The Nether is filled with a bunch of dangerous things. The Nether can explain away pretty much anything, it’s already used as one of Techno’s more personal excuses.

It’ll be so easy, Tommy probably won’t even get in too much trouble with Dream himself if he plays his cards right. He just needs to kill him by accident once, kill him again a second time, and then find a way to end him fully.

Tommy lies in bed, his mind racing with thoughts of the plan he's been brewing. He knows he can't let anyone else in on this. Not Techno, not Wilbur, and especially not Tubbo. It's a dangerous game he's playing, and the less anyone else knows, the better.

As he closes his eyes and tries to drift off to sleep, Tommy replays the events that led him to this point. Dream had caused so much pain and chaos on the server, and Tommy couldn't stand by and let him continue unchecked. Even if he was different, nicer or kinder or even just neutral, Tommy had to kill him. It must be why he was sent back in the first place.

The thought of going to the Nether with Dream sends shivers down Tommy's spine. It's a place filled with danger and uncertainty, a perfect setting for what he has in mind. He can already imagine the scenario: lava lakes, ghasts looming in the distance, and the constant threat of danger lurking around every corner.

But in the midst of all the plotting and scheming, Tommy can't help but feel a sense of unease. He knows that if he goes through with this, he'll be crossing a line he can never come back from. Killing Dream, even with every excuse in the world, will start something that he’ll be unable to stop.

As he finally succumbs to exhaustion and drifts off to sleep, Tommy can't help but wonder if there's another way, a way to stop Dream without resorting to such drastic measures. But for now, the plan is in motion, and he's committed to seeing it through to the end.

Chapter Text

Tommy stares at Dream's back. The bridge is just as precarious as the last timeline's. There's heat on his skin, Tommy thinks. But it's not from the ocean of lava beneath them. It's from anticipation. The plan forms in his head just as he does it.

Tommy kicks the back of his own heel, tripping himself. He falls forward, arms out ahead of him. His palms press against Dream's cloak. Dream topples forward with a yelp.

Out of the corner of his vision, the blazing aura of XD burns into the whites of Tommy's eyes. Pulled here by the anticipation of a canon death. There to announce the loss.

The upper half of Dream's body bends forward, tipping towards death. Tommy can feel the Imbalance. Dream's imbalance. The shifting of weight. The shifting of what's supposed to be happening. The shifting of timelines.

Tommy readjusts his own footing and grins as Dream drops.

Dream's hand catches on Tommy's ankle tightly. Tommy still grins as the back of own his head thuds against the bridge. The dull pain of it does nothing to mask Tommy's exhilaration. He's falling. It's like he's in a battle but this time—this time there are no consequences for him. His feet melt into the lava, but Dream's already dead so it's alright.

XD's mask tilts.

~~

Tommy sits up on his bed. He blinks once, twice before a shudder rocks through him and he remembers what had happened just a few moments ago.

He yanks down the collar of his shirt to look at the hearts on his chest, and is comforted and horrified to see that he's lost one. He died. But that means Dream definitely died as well.

Tommy wipes a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. He did it. He took one down. There are footsteps just within his absolute threshold. There's humming. One of Wilbur's songs.

The door to his bedroom opens and Wilbur walks in with some of Tommy's clothes folded up in his arms. He waves at Tommy, smiles.

"Tommy? When did you get…here…" Wilbur's voice trails off. His eyes gaze unblinkingly at the two hearts on Tommy's chest.

Tommy releases his collar and quickly pulls at the back of his shirt to hide it. It's too late, because his laundry falls from Wilbur's hands and Wil is at his side, hyperventilating.

Wilbur's hands claw at Tommy's shirt, and it's only the months of Tommy experiencing Wilbur's touchy, twitchy behaviour in Pogtopia that has Tommy keeping from flinching.

"Tommy? Tommy?! What happened, why did you lose—" Wilbur's voice comes out high and breathy, fast and unstable, "I said you were supposed to be careful, I said—”

Wilbur's panicked face snarls and Tommy's shirt gets fisted in Wilbur's hands.

"How the fuck could you have—” Wilbur starts, the horrified tears in his eyes contrasted by the angry twist in his mouth.

The door to Tommy's room is already open slightly ajar but it slams open wider, hitting the wall, and suddenly Phil is there, a hand gripping a communicator. The communicator's server messages are projected into text in the air above its screen, floating in place.

Dream tried to swim in lava to escape Tommyinnit

Tommyinnit tried to swim in lava to escape Dream

Wilbur's head snaps away from Tommy at the sound of the door hitting the wall. His eyes fall on the communicator, and Tommy is yanked forward a little by Wilbur's grip in his shirt. Wilbur's chest is still rising and falling in hyperventilation, but the panic over his body gets overtaken by angry confusion.

"Lava? Why would you two be near lava—” Wil hisses, turning back to Tommy.

Phil makes his way over and stares wide-eyed at the two of them, mostly at Tommy. His eyes rake over Tommy as though he'd actually find something from the death. Tommy doesn't feel any different, doesn't feel as though there are any new death scars on his body.

He feels lucky, a bit glad that there are no burn scars decorating his skin. He looks down to check his arms and they're bare, normal. Maybe a little lanky. He really should get back into training.

"Tommy? Are You listening to me? Did that green bastard push you down a cave?! Why is your death announcement—”

"He died in the Nether," Phil says aloud, voice level, "—right, Tommy?" He sounds guilty.

He, Dream, died. That's what matters. Tommy is almost surprised at the reactions of those around him. Two more murders to go, and everything will be alright. Everything will be alright. Tommy tries to push whatever triumph may be on his face by hiding his head in his hands.