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Chapter Text

“Breaking news: Catalyst and Hellfire have been spotted in central L’Manburg. We advise all citizens to stay inside. This is not a threat to take lightly, please proceed with-”

A bat swings and hits its mark, effectively cutting out the emergency warning they’ve both heard countless times. If somebody saw that they would be arrested immediately. Thank Aether everyone is terrified of them. Catalyst sighs, looking towards Hellfire. He hopes the disappointment he feels can be conveyed through his porcelain mask. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Hellfire says. “I did us a favor, fireball.”

“This was supposed to be a quick job.”

“Yeah?” the arsonist says, “and you’re supposed to have a proper name.”

The blond’s brain stops. “That makes no-” he pauses. “Y’know what, at least I wasn’t named Sapnap, you irresponsible twat.”

There’s a minute of silence between the two villains, a porcelain frown meeting chocolate brown eyes. From an outsider’s point of view, it seems like they might fight at any moment, this feeling only amplified by their post-apocalyptic surroundings. Instead of a yell, or a curse, or anything you might have expected, the two begin to laugh. 

“You’ve been spending too much time around George.” 

"Have I?” Catalyst says smugly. “I don’t think I have, really.” 

Sapnap huffs. “You’re such a little shit.” 

“Mhm, and you’re an idiot.”

“What would Dream think of you saying that?”

It’s meant to come off as a joke, but catalyst doesn’t take it as such. They’re five minutes behind schedule, Sapnap broke an emergency announcer, and he’s distracted. Nothing good ever comes of being distracted. He isn't in much of a joking mood anymore.

“Nothing good,” he says sharply.

They don’t talk after that, making their way back to The Exiles in silence. Dream is a sore topic between the two. Sapnap believes he can be too unforgiving at times, especially with Catalyst. The boy (to no one’s surprise) disagrees. Dream does what he has to in order to prepare them for conflict, to keep them ready.

(always pay attention to your surroundings. Be suspicious of every noise- every movement)

Speaking of noise, he hears whispering. 

The voices are dangerously close, echoing from an alleyway just to the left of them. He sticks a hand into his messenger bag, rummaging around. He grabs Sapnap’s hand and pushes him towards the general direction of a shortcut to The Exiles. The shortcuts are a handful of portals linked to the main gate of the city, and the most efficient way to get there.

Sapnap gives him a curious look. 

“You need to go,” he whispers. “We’re being followed.”

“What? Catalyst, I can handle-” 

“I said go,” the blond urges, steadily becoming more impatient. “I heard a-”

There’s a shout of pain and Catalyst unfortunately registers it as Sapnap’s, looking over to see red devouring the white fabric of the arsonist’s shirt. He was hit in the shoulder, which thankfully isn’t fatal, but it’s an injury no less. He pushes down the annoyance that bubbles up in his chest. 

The blond boy holds back a particularly colorful swear, reaching into his bag and fishing out a bottle of golden, glittery liquid. He feels sick while looking at it. He shoves it into Sapnap’s hands quickly, partly to get rid of it and mostly because, y’know, his friend is bleeding out. He shoves the pyromaniac, getting him out of the open. Heroes always go for the wounded. 

Like he summoned them by name, the shitheads appear in his path. He doesn’t look at the approaching obstacles, instead reaching into his bag to locate yet another glittery bottle. This one is neon pink, an unholy mixture of glitter and paint rests inside. George had suggested cramming in as many distractions as he could, and why would he say no to such a hilarious idea?

He throws it at the heroes before they even have a chance to open their obnoxious mouths. 

The bomb goes off, covering the surrounding buildings (and heroes) in a mixture of neon pink smoke, glitter, and paint. He turns around to find Sapnap still lingering, looking vaguely proud of something. He only relishes in the annoyed shouts of the heroes for a moment, and then returns to worrying for the fate of his idiotic friend. 

“Dude, did you get extra lab time this week?” 

“Stop talking, Dick’ead,” Catalyst shouts, watching worriedly as the smoke begins to clear. “Get the fuck out of here; don’t you know you’re injured?!”

Sapnap looks shocked, though there’s an emotion in his expression that the blond can’t place. Is it satisfaction? Smugness? Disappointment? Aether only knows. 

“Yes sir,” Sapnap says, giving a fake salute. “If you don’t end up back home I'll kick your ass.”

Catalyst rolls his eyes. “Leave.”

It only hits him after Sapnap’s gone, but he said multiple curses. He can see Dream’s disappointment already. What has he become? A low-stress situation turning him into a - a rule breaker? That’s unacceptable. He can already see it now: Dream's gonna take away his mission privileges and leave him staring, watching hopelessly as the clouds taunt him from within his glorified cadge for who-knows how long. He can't let that happen.

There’s soft, aiming to be silent footsteps behind him. Catalyst holds back a sigh, highly annoyed. These idiots want trouble? Fine. Sapnap already has what they came into L’Manburg for. It wouldn’t hurt to cause a little more mischief. 

“Catalyst,” a stupid, horrible, and painfully familiar voice says. 

Ugh. The blond boy spins on his heel, turning to face the hero. He flips on his voice modifier, movement quick and fluid. The goal is to make it look as if he’s brushing back his hair. Talking is unfortunately necessary when it comes to this particular hero.

“Poet,” Catalyst greets. “I’m in a rush, could we make this quick?”

“We could,” The Poet says. “If you’d cooperate with us instead of acting like a child.”

“Oh, I act like a child?” he laughs. “You’re no better-”

Catalyst cuts himself off, spinning around to catch the dagger thrown at his back. A second later and he would have missed it. Why does he keep getting so distracted? Besides that, these assholes have absolutely no chill. He hasn't even attacked them yet! (not counting the glitter bomb of course)

“Alright,” he says, tossing the dagger onto the ground. He grabs a glitter bomb from inside his bag while locating an escape route. “I’ve had enough.” 

He throws the bomb down with no hesitance, jumping onto a window ledge and climbing the ladder beside it. If that wasn’t there, he’d have to fight. Violence is cool and all, but it never really sat right with him. Why harm another person when he’s meant to heal? It's pointless to him. 

(We show no mercy, little flame)

He’s breaking another rule, but he can’t bear to hurt these people. Not after seeing that strange hero that messed with his instincts. Besides that dilemma, Sapnap is normally the one who handles the combat. Catalyst just stays to the side, throwing bombs and fucking up electrical systems. 

“Fuck!” The Poet shouts, grabbing his attention. “Where’d he go?” 

It’s kind of funny. Then he almost rolls off the building trying to dodge another dagger. 

There’s a crown engraved on the handle, just like the one from earlier. He’s not surprised The Soldier is around, he’s always near The Poet. They’re like some kind of nightmare two-in-one, do not separate package. The only thing that would make this worse is if Zephyrus is around. 

Honestly, fuck them. He hopes they both step on a piece of freshly-chewed gum. 

Focus, he tells himself. Think about your undying hatred later.

He grabs an electrical line next to him, putting his hands on the handle of the ladder after feeling an uncomfortable buzz of energy in his veins. It’s hard to focus, but he centers himself, transferring the horrible lightning into the metal handles. It burns slightly, but his healing factor kicks in without a moment to spare. 

He’s within reaching distance of the heroes, but it doesn’t matter. The poet makes a grab for the ladder but jumps away like he’s been burnt, shouting. Catalyst grins, making a run for it. The heroes are yelling something but he pays no mind to their words. 

A few turns and an extra loop as a precautionary measure later, he’s at one of the shortcuts. Sapnap is waiting there, seemingly healed and definitely stupid. 

“Do you ever listen to anything I say?” Catalyst asks, out of breath. 

The older of the two grins. “Never.” 

“Okay, enough with the talking. We’ve gotta get out of this area.” 

“bummer. You’re gonna be all serious now because we have to talk with Dream.”

Catalyst raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I'm sorry, do you want to get lectured?” 

Sapnap looks offended. “Now why would I ever-”

Catalyst cuts the arsonist off by pushing him through the portal, following shortly after. As expected, they argue the whole way back to Dream’s . . . apartment? Office building? Both? Neither of them fully know what it is. They argue about that as well. People pay no attention to the pair as they stroll through the streets of the rundown city, yelling about what kind of building Dream owns and occasionally smacking each other. 

They say that The Exiles was once a giant kingdom, but The King had become greedy and fought to take control of the surrounding nations. It ended about as well as you’d think. War and bloodshed went on for ages until both sides agreed to split the land equally. The split ended with The King disappearing and leaving the kingdom in shambles. The townsfolk never repaired the damage. 

Both sides built around the rubble, causing a weird mix of modern technology and ancient ruins scattered across the territories. The End Portal is on the stupid heroes’ land. Dream has said that’s where Catalyst's people came from. Unfortunately, the nobles of the other nations had tricked his kind and stolen their power, wiping out every Phoenix that offered their help. 

Dream says that he’s the only Phoenix left alive.  

It’s a lot of pressure for one person. 

He feels a shoulder bump into his, pulling him out of his trance. “You good, kid?”

Catalyst frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sapnap huffs, rolling his eyes. “You stopped walking.”

The giant clock that George is convinced will collapse any second chimes, signaling that they are a whole ten minutes late. Twelve, by the time they make it to the stupid building. 

Catalyst grabs Sapnap’s arm, making a run for it. 

Punz is waiting for them at the door when they arrive, an amused look on his face. “You’re-”

“Late.” Sapnap finishes. “Yeah, we know.”

Punz puts their hands up in mock surrender. “Yeesh, don't kill the messenger dude.” The mercenary steps aside, letting them enter the building. 

Sapnap leans into the youngest’s personal space, whispering. “How mad is he?”

“At you?” Catalyst asks, “probably like, a five.” 

“What about you?”

Catalyst shudders. “I don’t think there’s a scale big enough to do it justice.”

He and Sapnap split ways at Dream’s door, quietly fist-bumping. Whatever happens, there’s no doubt the blond deserves it. That doesn’t mean he’s happy about it, though. He pushes open the unfairly huge doors, taking a deep breath. Maybe Dream is feeling merciful today. 

“Dream?” He calls out. 

“You’re late,” is the response he gets. “Twelve minutes. Why is that?”

He knows better than to reply. 

The man waves his hand lazily. “C’mere, spitfire.”

Catalyst walks over with no hesitance, though he’s a bit slower than usual. Can you blame him? It seems like Dream is two seconds away from snapping his spinal cord! Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but he’s being really cryptic. He stands next to Dream's desk, avoiding eye-contact in favor of looking out the large windows. 

“Those two heroes you fought today, they’re still alive, right?”

“Yes.” 

“Why?” Dream asks. “I’ve told you before, we have no mercy for traitors. Especially when they injure one of our own.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t interrupt.” The boy shuts his mouth instantly. “If I told you I was going to hold a knife to your neck, you’d let it happen, correct?”

Slowly, the younger blond nods. He doesn’t flinch when cold metal meets his neck, hovering over his pulse point. Dream is watching him with curious eyes.

“If I were to kill you here and now, you wouldn’t protest?”

There’s extra pressure applied to the blade and Catalyst can feel his heartbeat tick up a few notches. It’s obnoxiously loud in his head, screaming at him to run, to fight back. All he does is push back his tears, nodding slightly. The air in the room is stiff, like it can feel the tension between the two. 

“Then why don’t you kill when I ask you to?” The blade is gone now, replaced with Dream’s hand on his shoulder. “You comply with everything else, why is this where you draw the line?”

The boy doesn’t have an answer to give. 

Dream makes a noise of disapproval. “Think about that, would you?” the grip on his shoulder is loosened, but then there’s a hand on his cheek. “We have another mission tomorrow; make this one smoother than the last. I know how much you hate The Observatory.”

Catalyst thinks back to the hands tapping incessantly on his case, the greedy eyes that would watch him like he was something to be bought. He doesn’t want to go back to that. 

He waits for a slap, but it doesn’t come. 

“You’re dismissed, Tommy.”

The boy preens at the rare usage of his name. It seems like he’s getting closer to earning his name as a whole, earning his right to being independent. 

There’s one thing he knows for certain, though:

Tomorrow has to be perfect.

Chapter Text

Tommy has never been above L’Manburg before.

For a moment, his thoughts betray him. L’Manburg looks beautiful from high up, bright colors and shining lights painting a modernized masterpiece. It puts The Exiles to shame, considering his home is nothing but crumbling junk and dull, organized shades of green and grey. 

He’s on top of the biggest building in the area. It isn’t nearly as tall as he makes it out to be though just as wonderful regardless. He can imagine touching the clouds floating above him, conversing with the stars about everything they’ve seen while drifting. 

It’s a bit boring being up here for hours, watching the streets for heroes. Dream and the others are breaking into Pandora’s Vault looking for something called an Ender Eye. The name reminds him of something. Too bad he’s refusing to ask questions about it. Questions aren’t ever answered without risking a furious Dream. He shifts the bandana around his neck, vaguely uncomfortable. 

A warning goes off to his left, snapping his string of thoughts in half. He really should be paying better attention to his surroundings. It’s the one job he was given. 

All his thoughts are mixed up into one confusing glob of words. He’s thinking about the air, the mission, his surroundings, the mysterious noise coming from directly behind him-

Ah. That’s a problem. 

“I don’t think I've ever seen you alone before.”

Zephyrus. Isn’t his luck just amazing? Life loves giving him little blessings doesn’t it?

Tommy frantically taps the alert on his wristband, hoping that it’ll reach everyone in time. There’s no doubt the heroes are already making their way to Pandora’s Vault. He can see moving blurs of energy bouncing around the buildings, heading for the heart of L’Manburg. 

He doesn’t bother talking with the hero, reaching into his bag. He tries not to let the glass bottles click around too much, considering-

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, mate,” and Zephyrus has the audacity to sound bored. What a bitch. “Unnecessary trouble for the both of us, yeah?”

-This hero has an unfairly sharp sense of hearing. Okay, plan B time. Tommy switches on his voice modifier, looking for a specific bottle in his bag. It’s made with a different kind of glass, purely so he doesn’t confuse it with the others. His wristband receives a response.

It’s a signal for back-up. He’s got to lose Zephyrus- and quickly. 

He takes a deep breath. “What if I told you I wasn’t going to throw a paint bomb?”

The hero stills, though his guard doesn't drop. “Really?”

Tommy nods. “What if I told you,” He says, taking a step backwards and getting closer to the edge of the building. “That I'm going to throw two instead?” 

The hero immediately goes into a defensive position, curling up. The blond boy has to keep himself from laughing as he hops off the tower, falling slowly to safety. He’s beaten Zephyrus and gravity all in the same day. That’s gotta be some kind of new record. 

Potions are so, so very helpful.

It takes him far too long to hit the ground, but once he does, he takes off running. The process would’ve gone much faster if he was allowed to use his wings, but Dream is really serious about keeping them hidden. Something about learning not to rely on his natural strengths or whatever? Sapnap says it’s bullshit. (Tommy is starting to agree)

Besides that, Zephyrus hasn’t made any concerning noises of movement, so he carries on his merry little way. Except it isn’t very merry, because he’s heading into a potential war zone. He throws a smoke bomb at a hero that doesn’t see him lurking in the shadows, simply to inconvenience them. It’s one of his most glitter-heavy bottles. 

The heart of L’Manburg is just as chaotic as he expected it to be. He sees the spark of Sapnap’s flames vanish, taken out before they even start. Dream is fighting with The Soldier, neither of them have an Ender Eye. From what it looks like, Pandora’s Vault isn’t even open. He saw them sneaking in though, how could it not be busted?

He rolls to the right, just in time to dodge the slowness potion currently spilling onto the ground. These shitheads know potions now? Who taught them that? 

“I’m surprised they didn’t send you to Pandora,” Zephyrus says, insultingly casual. “It seems like you’re the only one capable of anything productive.”

“CATALYST!” Dream screeches. 

Zephyrus looks smug, somehow even through his stupid mask. “Well?”

Tommy springs up, running towards Dream. How dare that stupid hero? Sapnap is incredibly hard working, if not a little distracted, George is awesome with all their science-y computer stuff, and Dream- well, he makes their plans. He bets Zephyrus is just self-projecting. Yup. That’s exactly what it is. Poor man is carrying L’Manburg on his back. 

He fights his way to Dream, wincing when the man immediately grabs him by the shoulder. 

“Where have you been? I signaled you an hour ago!”

“An hour-?” Tommy pauses. “Hourglass! He must have-”

“I don’t want excuses.” Dream snaps. “You’re going to stun them, We’re going to leave, and once you get back to The Exiles, you’re never going out again, do you hear me?”

Tommy feels his stomach drop. “Yes, Dream.” 

Dream is already running off, probably to help George with the red-and-blue hero currently rocking his shit. combat has never been the brunet’s best skill. Tommy ignores the overwhelming feeling of guilt and dread forming in his brain, grabbing his tacky (though reinforced) toy gun. He grabs a foam bullet, guides his energy into it, and aims for the Red-and-blue fella once he gets a clear shot.

The hero goes down with a cry, leaving Dream to grab George’s hand and head in the direction of a shortcut. He watches them go, making sure no one tries to follow the pair. The electricity in his body- the fire- feels wrong. He’s not meant to harm people with his gift. He feels awful. 

When Tommy finds Sapnap, he’s fighting a woman. He isn’t sure what her ability is. Matter manipulation? I mean, she’s holding a floating plant, so. Y’know. It’s gotta be that. He loads his gun, aiming at the hero. It feels wrong, it is wrong. (why is he doing this?) 

Like the other hero, the woman falls. Tommy always aims for the legs and no higher. Electricity is no joke, especially when it comes straight from an open source. His skin vibrates, his migraine worsens, but Sapnap disappears in a cloud of fiery smoke. 

He hears a heartbeat, strained and overworked. The person isn’t dying. They should be fine. 

The heroes are figuring out his position. He needs to retreat, to head back home and accept his punishment. He needs to follow the rules, the same rules he’s been living by his entire life. Now is far too late to rebel, to even think they could be wrong. He’s being ridiculous. Healing the enemy is- well, it would be traitorous. 

. . . Does he really care though?

The pounding in his head matches his heart as he vanishes into the shadows, following the slow, irregular heartbeat. When he makes it to the heart, the odd hybrid is sitting against a building’s edge, bleeding from a bad burn on his stomach. This isn’t right. Sapnap did this, there’s no argument. They’re just doing their jobs, though. Surely there’s been an equal amount of carnage on both sides? 

Dream says what they’re doing is right. This is alright. 

No. No, it’s not, this isn’t right. Tommy isn’t right, Dream isn’t- 

“Hey, are you alright?”

“I should be asking you that!” vaguely, he realizes that his voice changer is off. “You’re bleeding.”

The hybrid hums. “Last time we met, it was the opposite.”

Tommy winces. He threw sand in this person’s eyes. In his defense, it was. A disorienting experience. 

(“What are you?” The boy asks, holding him down by the shoulder. “Where are you from? Why do you work with them? Why are you . . . so familiar?”

Tommy blanches. His voice mod is cracked, he can’t speak. He throws sand from beneath him, he doesn’t look back when a shout reaches the still air.)

Tommy debates. He can hear the other heroes, far from here. They’re talking about damage, though there’s hardly any done. Dream is going to murder Tommy. There’s no question. Incompetence to the highest level has been committed today, by him of all people. This isn’t supposed to happen. He has to be perfect. He is perfect.

(not anymore)

“Listen, I'm not gonna kill you, so don’t - don’t freak out.” Tommy says. 

The hero raises an eyebrow. “Mhm, of course. That is the most convincing thing I've ever heard.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, walking slowly towards the injured hero. It’s almost like the time he had to corner Sapnap before the man let him heal a gaping fucking hole in the arsonist’s hand. This hero is a lot more cooperative though, which is shocking, to say the least. 

He crouches next to the boy, removing his gloves. “This won’t hurt you, but you must remain still.” 

“Will it hurt you?”

Tommy is still, hands left hovering over the hero’s wound. 

He shakes his head. “That isn’t relevant, stay still.”

“Or what?”

Tommy focuses, gathering energy in his hands. Little pulses of energy slither around his hands like snakes. “Stay. Still.”

“Okay, okay- yep. I’m staying still. Look at me. The stillest.”

This is terrible. Tommy, as corny as it sounds, thinks healing thoughts. He thinks of the odd tie he feels to the hero, the obligation he has to him. The pain caused by his friends, everything he’s done, all of the wrong choices, it needs to be corrected. 

There’s a lot of conflict in his brain- Dream said they were the good guys. He’s never wrong!

None of that matters right now. All he’s doing right now is healing. He’s doing the thing he was made to do. He’s utilizing the gift his ancestors gave him. There’s no crime in that. His hands glow a strong, stable, and shiny gold. He presses them to the hero’s wound. 

“Woah!” The strange one shouts. “Hey- hey, no. Stop, that’s weird-”

“Shut up!” Tommy growls. “Do you want to bleed out?”

“Uh, no.”

The conversation stops there. The light fades from Tommy’s hands, The wound on the hero’s chest is gone, and the building has tilted an inch or seven to the side. There’s two copies of the same hero in front of him, both look concerned. 

“Your mask is cracking.” They say. 

Tommy jumps back, feeling his stomach stay wherever he was before. That is concerning. His stomach is, like, important. Right? Yeah. 

He doesn’t catch the mechanical bird on his shoulder until it’s too late. It breaks right through the crack on his mask, splitting it into two uneven, horrifying halves. 

His mask is gone. His face is showing.

“Theseus?” The strange boy questions. It was whispered, but he caught it anyway. Who the heck is Theseus? “Hey, uh- Catalyst? Can you look at me?”

Tommy looks away from the metal crow he crushed, staring at the ground. “Go to hell, bitch!”

The blond stands, but he isn’t quick enough. The hero catches him, forcing his chin up. He makes eye contact with glowing purple eyes. It’s kind of soothing. It reminds him of the flower Sapnap gave him once, the one George hid in the lab for him. Despite the apprehension forming in his clouded mind, he can’t bring himself to look away. 

“I’m sorry,” The hero whispers. 

Tommy wants to say something. Fight the wave of calm, fight the weight of injury. He shouldn’t of healed this stupid hero. Why did he even think he’d have enough energy to speed away afterwards? He can barely heal a  paper cut  without feeling tired. 

He wants to say something, but in the end, sleep pulls away his consciousness, grabbing him by the collar while he kicks and screams. 

This is what rebellion causes, Someone whispers. It sounds like Dream. 

Failure. 

Chapter Text

Peace seems like something from a fairy tale. 

It feels like he’s dead. He probably is, considering that’s the only time he's relatively calm, relishing in the discount version of feeling relaxed. He must’ve made it back to The Exiles and immediately gotten his existence deleted. Yep. That’s what happened. Dream was definitely pissed enough to warrant that. Something’s off, though. That’s way too simple. 

It feels like he’s laying on clouds, for one. If he truly is gone from Lady Death’s domain, then he should be sitting on cold, horrible glass. People should have been watching him already, he should’ve been presented by now. Even if that’s somehow wrong, Sapnap would’ve at least shown up to walk him through remembering how to breathe. 

That’s another thing- why isn’t he panicking? 

He opens his eyes slowly, slowly so that he doesn’t absolutely lose his shit. Maybe he’s in the lab? The beds there are semi-comfortable, and- his surroundings aren’t familiar. He tries not to let the part of him screaming take over his thoughts.  He’s not in The Exiles. The heroes got him. 

Dream is going to be absolutely pissed. Tommy doesn’t even want to think about how severe the punishment for this is going to be. Aether, why did he heal that stupid hero? Because it was the right thing to do? Nope. No! He’s a traitor to his home, to Dream!

Is that really such a bad thing?

He, in all of his panic, doesn’t hold back the tail-end of his internal screaming. It sounds more like the air in a balloon deflating. He hates it. He hates this. Shit. 

The room he’s in doesn’t look like a holding cell, which is equally surprising and terrifying. Are they going to keep him? Like a pet? He’d rather be stuck in prison, thank you very much. He keeps his movement to a minimum, hoping that his captors think he’s still knocked out. Do they know he’s awake? Are there cameras in here?

Why him? Why this? Stupid weird hero. Stupid conflicted morals. It’s all their fault. 

A little part of him is glad to be away from whatever consequences he’d be going through right now, but it’s only a small, elated part that’s been yelling about freedom. The rest, more logical parts of him are terrified. His mask is gone, his voice mod is gone- everything that hides the vulnerable parts of him- gone. 

How does one feel freedom and utter despair at the same time?

Emotions are horrible. This is horrible. He can’t get his brain to stop going in circles. 

The door knob swivels. Tommy stays completely still. 

Everything Dream taught him about situations like this is suddenly flooding back. He was supposed to be skilled enough to never need it, but, here he is. The door opens, a woman with bubble-gum pink hair walks in. She has the same heartbeat as the second hero he stunned yesterday. He schools his expression, trying not to wince. 

“Hello,” she greets. There’s a smile, but it seems slightly strained. 

Tommy doesn’t respond. He’s not supposed to. If he’s going to earn back Dream’s respect, his trust, he needs to be flawless. (he ignores the bit of him that whispers he never had either) 

She tries making eye-contact with him, he looks away. That wasn’t part of the instructions, but Dream doesn’t like him to make eye-contact unless specifically stated. Maybe these people are the same way? Like that or not, he can’t risk angering them. He stares pointedly at her nose.

“It’s kind of hard to have a conversation if you’re set on not responding, kid.” The woman says. 

Tommy internally curses. Kid. That’s what he is to them now, a child. Maybe he is one, but he certainly doesn’t behave like it. (he isn’t allowed to) It’s insulting that they don’t remember what he’s capable of simply because of his age, because he’s a kid and children are easily influenced. That’s wrong, though. He works for Dream because he wants to. (does he really?)

The woman comes closer, holding her hands out. Out of pure instinct, Tommy scoots back, hitting his back against the weird wooden thing behind the bed made of clouds. The hero looks at him with so much pity he might throw up. 

“I know you’re worried, but you don’t have to be,” The woman moves a bit closer, Tommy shuffles to the right. “It’s scary to be without your gear, isn’t it?”

Against his better judgment, The blond rolls out of the bed, hiding behind the side of it. He follows the childish rule of “I can’t see you, so you can’t see me”. It’s not very effective, but at least he doesn’t have to look at the woman’s expression anymore. From what he sees of it, it’s full of sorrow, of pity. Do the heroes really think it’s that bad in The Exiles? 

(Is it really that bad in The Exiles?)

He wants to apologize to the hero. Wants to break things, wants to demand to be released so he can run home and destroy the growing doubt brewing in his mind. His training permits none of those, so he stays behind the bed, horrified to find teardrops rolling down his cheeks. How long has it been since he last cried? Years ago, for worse reasons. How weak has doubt made him?

“I’m leaving now, but one of us will be back later.” The hero says. “We’ll have to check your health at some point.”

Apologize, his mind hisses. He stays quiet as the door shuts. 

He’s alone again. 

His mind drifts from his body. Tommy tries to grab it, to pull it back, but his eyes go unfocused and he’s suddenly a prisoner to his thoughts. He stares blankly at the fuzzy, barely-there lamp in front of him, wondering when it got this bad. He needs to get up. His body doesn’t respond. 

The tears still fall, silent as a tree crashing into the earth. No one’s there to help, but only because no one knows it’s fallen. Sapnap used to help him when this happened, after long days of fighting the urge to burn his glass cage and the people around it. Sapnap isn’t here, though. No one is. He’s alone, and it’s entirely his fault. 

The blond’s vision is blurry at the edges. He bets it looks like he's possessed, staring intently at a lamp, deadly still. That’s what gets him feeling in his arms, what makes him move slightly. He can’t let these people know he’s weak. He knows better. 

He stands up, fighting against the urge to let himself drift again. It’s like his brain is full of the stuff George calls cotton, fluffy and suffocating. He checks around, trying to feel normal in a body that’s everything but familiar. His limbs aren’t his own. He finds the camera after what feels to be ages, hidden in the giant bookshelf he didn’t see until he knocked into it. 

He holds his eyes shut. His mind returns to him fully this time, without hesitation. He doesn’t know how long it took, but It’s back nonetheless. He flips off the camera, deciding what its fate should be.

The camera ends up in pieces. He plays with the glass shards, sitting at a weird desk with a metal chair that he reminds himself not to touch if he loses control of his energy. 

There’s a knock on the door this time, moments after he breaks the camera. It’s not surprising. Maybe they’ll put him in a holding cell now that he’s broken something. That’d be better than whatever kind of twisted shit is going on right now. 

A man with an unreasonably large bucket hat walks in. His heartbeat matches Bird-Brain’s. 

Zephyrus, he means. Sapnap came up with Bird-Brain. His heart breaks a little, like a fragile lollipop left in a box for too long. He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but it sucks.  

“Hey, mate.” Zephyrus says. “Didn’t expect you to be a child. That complicates some things.”

Yeah, Tommy thinks bitterly. Now you can’t murder me on the spot. 

The hero looks to the table, something in his expression shifting when he sees the camera, smashed to bits. He seems slightly concerned about the glass in Tommy’s hands. He should be. Anything can be a murder weapon if you’re motivated enough. 

The two blonds stare at each other, the unspoken question of “are you going to put it down, or are we going to have an issue?” is slowly taking over any fight Tommy’s got lingering in his brain. He’s tired, without his gear, and as much as he’d hate to admit it, he can’t go up against Zephyrus in hand-to-hand combat. 

Tommy stares at the glass in his hands, putting it on the table. Zephyrus moves towards it, picking it up. The younger blond goes back into his corner. He knows the hero can still see him from where he’s standing, the boy just wants space in-between them. He wants to be out of snatching distance. 

The man looks passive, but his heart beats with understanding. “We aren’t going to hurt you. Some of us are upset, sure, but we know you’ve never meant any harm. If you did, a good handful of us would be in early retirement.”

The boy doesn’t respond. These heroes should hate him, should send him to jail or condemn him to death, yet here they are with their stupid sympathy and - and understanding. How could they understand? How do they know he’s never wanted to harm them? Maybe he has! Maybe he wished death on them at some point, wished misfortune. 

He hasn’t. Not once. He could have, though, and yet they still show him mercy.

“You were always such a little shit during fights, what happened to that?” Zephyrus is treading into dangerous territory. He doesn’t stop speaking, though. “Does someone tell you when to fight? When to snap? When to talk? Are you not allowed a voice?”

Tommy says nothing. 

“Fire isn’t easily controlled.” Zephyrus says. “It spreads quickly under loose guidance.”

The door to the room opens and closes. The ruined camera is gone. 

Once again, Tommy is left to his own devices. 

Fuck Zephyrus and his stupid cryptic speaking. That’s the one thing Dream and him have in common; really weird wording. Tommy hates it. It makes him feel like they’re going to make him solve a riddle about space or something. He bets they know the difference between “their” and “there”. Strange, that’s the word he often uses to describe people. 

He’s not wrong. People are strange. Especially the ones around him. 

His ear moves as someone shouts, echoing down what seems to be a hallway outside his door. They seem frustrated. Their voice is familiar, though he doesn’t know why. If he tries to remember, if he squints his eyes and concentrates, He thinks they sound like that one boy who’d come in with the man Dream was fond of, the one with ram horns. 

He can’t remember the man’s name, but the boy’s was something odd, like an insect-

The door bursts open, revealing the boy- obviously older, horns more noticeable- still wearing a worn-out pair of overalls. He seems shocked to see Tommy, but the feeling is mutual. They weren’t allowed to see each other after Dream had discovered they were talking, worried that this boy would distract him, fill his head with lies. 

“Tommy?” and the name, his name, has only ever sounded right from the brunet’s mouth. He had been the one to name him. The one to give him a sense of humanity.

“Bee,” he breathes out, shoulders dropping from their stiff position by his ears. 

“What are you doing here?” The brunet asks. 

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asks. “This place isn’t meant for us.”

Bee looks guilty. Dread crawls its way into his heart. “Listen, Toms, I’ve got a lot to explain, but you’ve got to be ready to accept it.”

“You work with the heroes,” Tommy accuses. 

The brunet winces. “Yes, Tommy, but-” he cuts himself off. Looking for the right words, maybe. All Tommy can do is stare. “Dream’s not good, The Exiles aren't good- they’re corrupt.”

“So what, these people are better? And I'm supposed to just believe you?”

“You believe Dream!” Bee shouts. “When has he ever given you solid evidence, Tommy, think about it!”

Tommy shrinks back, curling into himself. He doesn’t need evidence, Dream’s always right. He knows the stories, the one’s he’s been shown in history books. (some of the pages were ripped out, some made of entirely different material, but who was he to be suspicious of that?)

Bee seems to move, walking towards him. Tommy curls up more, holding his hands over his ears. It isn’t right, this isn’t right, why is he on their side and not his? 

“Tubbo.” Someone calls. He’s too disoriented to identify their heartbeat. “Let him be. You’ve pushed him too far.”

There’s a soft “bye” and maybe, if he listens hard enough, a “sorry” but he doesn’t care. Was Dream right about Bee? (or, apparently, Tubbo) All these people seem to prove is that Dream stands correct on everything. Why would he ever doubt that? 

The door closes. 

Tommy is alone once more. He can’t tell if that’s a blessing or a curse. 

Chapter Text

They don’t bother him for ages after Tubbo’s appearance. 

A note appeared under the door while he was attempting to clear his thoughts, silent enough to be subtle yet loud enough to be heard by the right set of ears. He stared at the envelope for ages, the tiny smiley face in the corner somehow coming off as aggressive. Lethal, even. He couldn’t decide if opening it was worth the trouble he’d find himself in. 

He opened it. Someone here is taking him back to Dream tomorrow night.

The tone of the letter is nothing but business, but Tommy can’t help but think it’s sealing his fate, locking him into a contract he isn’t allowed to refuse. He’s seeing through tinted glass again, watching the faces of selfish, awful people as they try to bribe Dream into selling Tommy. Like some kind of messed up child’s toy. He’s got a tag and everything, like those porcelain dolls that have their creator’s names carved into their backs. 

Can you be sick of something yet miss it at the same time? If he never went back, if he told someone here about the letter, that would be it. He’d never see Sapnap or George ever again. They’d probably hate him. He’d become an enemy, fighting on the wrong side. 

Tommy sighs, hiding the letter in a busted up geography book near the bottom of the giant bookshelf. He doesn’t have a say in the matter. He’s going to go back, accept his punishments, and burn the doubt out of his mind. That way no one gets hurt. 

Except him. 

He tries the door handle, wondering if it was left unlocked. It opens without a fight, and Tommy almost laughs. Instead he agrees to accept the illusion of freedom he’s been given. His footsteps are silent, exploring the weirdly empty hallways. 

He makes it down a set of stairs, immediately looking for a way outside. He avoids an open area with a lot of chatter and follows another hallway, stopping when a cloud of annoyingly familiar purple particles forms in front of him. The strange hero appears soon after, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. 

“Where are you going?” He asks. 

“None of your business, bitch.”

“Ranboo.”

“Right,” Tommy says, unimpressed. “None of your business, Ranboob.”

They stare at each other, frustration clearly written in both of their expressions. Neither of them budge. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, as they say. 

Tommy sprints. 

He makes it through the door before Ranboob has a proper grip on his shirt collar, running around what he thinks is a garden. He almost steps on a potato, taking a sharp left to avoid the plant. Ranboo runs right into it because Tommy is better in every way and Ranboo is simply stupid. Tubbo would agree with him if he wasn’t being such a traitor. 

Tommy watches the boy lose his balance, almost laughing at his misfortune. He forgets about finding a way out, content to watch Ranboo eat shit in the mud. It’s not like he’s going to leave this place. He’s being taken back, so it’s pointless to try. He did have half a brain to leave all together and start a new life far, far away from here, but that would be stupid. Dream would find him, just like he always does. 

So he’s stuck. He’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be, and he’ll be going back to a place that isn’t good for him. It’s still the lesser of two evils, right?

There’s a shove on his back and he goes falling forward, train of thought falling off its tracks as he does an amazingly flawless job at catching himself before he hits the mud. It would be nothing short of embarrassing to let himself fall and-

He can hear Tubbo laughing, sitting in the mud with him. 

“I don’t think I've ever seen you fall!” 

Tommy tries not to smile at his (ex) best friend, but it’s incredibly hard. He hasn’t seen Tubbo in years, and he looks happier than he ever was in the Exiles. It’s bittersweet to see the brunet willingly turn to the traitors, but he’s glad Tubbo found his home. In another life, maybe this place was his home too. Maybe they spent everyday together, running around with bruises from tag and stupid decisions. A life of peace. 

That’s just a fairy tale. An elaborate story they used to tell, starry-eyed and hopeful. 

There’s no way a world like that could exist. 

The blond shakes his head, hoping to clear the gunk out if it like an etch-a-sketch. Tubbo is still laughing, leaning on Ranboo so he doesn’t fall into the mud. There’s an involuntary smile on both of their faces, and Tommy finds himself giving into the urge to laugh. 

It starts small, like the laugh he pushes when Dream makes a joke you’re required to laugh at, but then it grows. He laughs like Sapnap did an impression of the Old King, holding an ancient crown like a piece of costume jewelry without a care in the world. 

“I don’t think I have,” Tommy says, breathless. “Until now, I mean. It’s kind of illegal.” 

Tubbo looks weirdly excited. Ranboo’s eyebrows are up to his hairline. 

“Yeah?” Tubbo says, smiling. “Well I guess that makes you a traitor, then.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “I’m already one, dick’ead.” 

There’s a strange silence that settles over them. Ranboo looks at Tommy like he’s committed a horrible, unthinkable crime. Tubbo looks about ready to explode, unblinking.

“You’re the one who healed Ranboo?!” The brunet screams.

“I thought all of you knew that!” Tommy shouts back.

“I didn’t!”

“Well how was I supposed to know!”

Tubbo laughs. “You’re a proper traitor, Tom!” 

Tommy’s face goes sour. “So are you, shithead!”

“I didn’t mean that negatively-”

“Hey!” Ranboo shouts. “Can I maybe-”

“Shut up Ranboo!” 

Once again, silence settles over the unlikely trio. This is the most he has talked in days, and of course he’s having a screaming match. Tubbo sticks his tongue out, and against his better judgment, Tommy lunges for the boy.

They roll around in the dirt, neither of them winning. It’s not even really a fight, just a way to air out the rest of their frustrations. Tubbo has tears in his eyes and Tommy isn’t any better. It makes him feel like a child again, upset over a match of tag he lost.

“You left me!” Tommy shouts. 

“I had no choice!” Tubbo yells. “They wouldn’t let me see you!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

"Dream’s!” Tubbo shouts, “it’s always his fault, Tom. Not yours, not mine- his.”

Tommy stops, every bit of fight leaving his body. Tubbo catches him when his arms fold, both of them laying in the nasty mud. Ranboo, for once, seems to be minding his business. He’s surprised no one in the building heard them yelling and ran out to stop him from murdering one of their own. 

“I'm sorry,” Tommy whispers. 

Tubbo snorts. “Me too.” 

“You’re still a massive dick.”

“I know.” 

Tubbo stands, offering his hand. A piece of driftwood in an unforgiving sea. 

Tommy takes it. 

The brunet trips Ranboo as he begins to stand up, watching as the tallest falls into the mud once again. They dissolve into a ball of giggles as they dash back towards the building, running through the halls. There’s a half-hearted yell behind them. 

“Where are we going?” Tommy whispers. 

“The laundry room.” 

When they get there, Tubbo throws a towel at his head. Tommy almost screeches, but then Zephyrus pops his head into the room. Ranboo is behind him, holding his head. They have a weird staring contest. It feels like his soul is being studied. 

“What the hell, you two?” 

Tommy looks at Tubbo. Tubbo looks at Tommy. 

They run. 

“Chaotic little shits!” 

They split up at some point, Tubbo dropping him off at the room and sprinting away to create a diversion. Tommy finds clothes on his bed and takes them, focusing only on getting the unpleasant feeling of mud off of his body. He’s still smiling once he’s out of the bathroom, hiding his hands in the too-big jumper he was given. 

His shoulders are relaxed, no longer up to his ears. 

“You aren’t getting attached, are you?” 

Tommy startles, looking towards the door. 

“Eret?” 

The woman smiles. “That’s me.” 

She made it clear ages ago that she wouldn’t take sides, content to help whoever she feels deserves it. Tommy thinks they live a dangerous life, but they always say it’s quite simple. You help both sides, you face the consequences of neither. 

Tommy scowls. “I’m not getting attached,” he mumbles. “I just haven’t seen Tubbo in a bit.”

Eret shrugs. “It’s your funeral, Tom.” 

“It always is.” 

Their eyes have a lingering bit of sympathy, and Tommy wants to stomp it out. He doesn’t deserve pity for digging his own grave. If he wanted to save himself, he wouldn’t have healed Ranboo in the first place. Eret knows that, he knows that. He chose to be a traitor. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Can’t wait,” Tommy spits, bitterly. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Tommy wakes up angry.

That’s not exactly surprising information, considering he fell asleep pissed, but he’s tired of being angry, tired of being confused. Eret’s words bounce around in his head, forming cracks in his skull. He knows he’s getting too comfortable here, he knows it’s just going to completely screw him over in the long run. In fact, losing Tubbo again is going to resemble the feeling of losing a limb. So why can’t he manage to push the boy away?

Why does this shit always happen to him?

The blond makes a low, depressed chirp, almost falling to the floor in shock. 

He hasn’t chirped in years . Tommy immediately leads that thought process to a dead end, unwilling to revisit the memories of the day he stopped. He isn’t a coward for that. Sapnap told him even the bravest of warriors had troubling thoughts. 

You’re supposed to be stronger than the likes of them, a sick, slimy voice whispers. If he squints, it kind of sounds like Dream. No emotions, no attachments- you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Distantly, he feels his wings struggle, the fire in his chest burning uncomfortably.

Tommy snorts. He’s got more than he’d like to admit that he can lose, and he’s walking around somewhere in this building right now. Aether forbid something goes wrong tonight; Dream would go straight for Tubbo. Thankfully, the masked man can’t get to him. And it’s going to stay that way- even if it costs him a life. 

It’s not like he hasn’t got some to spare. 

There’s a knock. 

He makes a vague sound that could be interpreted as a hum, and once again he’s overwhelmed with the horrible urge to apologize as the red-and-blue hero walks through the door. Tommy holds a hand to his chest, hoping to settle the fire that threatens to burn him beyond recognition.

The hero stares at him.

He stares back. 

“Uh,” red-and-blue starts. “Tubbo asked for you.”

The blond tries to calm the nerves that shoot up his spine. He needs to be the image of peace around this fucker, then he can worry himself out of existence about whatever bullshit his best friend has gotten into.

“Why? He asks, a mantra of stay calm, stay calm repeating in his head. “Is he hurt?”

The hero laughs. “At ease, toy soldier. He’s alright.” Then, as if he didn’t already skyrocket to the top of Tommy’s hit list, he says: “Tubbo just sucks at training- wants someone to bail him out.”

The boy narrows his eyes. It’s time to start a war. 

“Oh, I see,” Tommy starts, “were you too much of a pussy to step in? Need a ‘child’ to show you up?”

Red-and-blue bristles. “Watch it, nutcracker.” 

“No, Tommy laughs, “I don’t think I will, bitch boy.”

In the end, the blond pisses off the hero so much that he gets chased down the halls. Clearly this hero is used to Tubbo and Tommy’s (almost) full-proof method of annoying people. There’s no serious air to their high-stakes game of tag, but Tommy watches red-and-blue’s body language anyway. Just to be sure. 

They slow down when Tommy yet again heads into the wrong room, turning to red-and-blue in defeat. He lets the hero guide him, but that doesn’t mean he’s won. The blond simply surrendered, feeling pity for the man. 

“Red-and-blue-”

“It’s Jack, you absolute menace.”

“-do you like hero work? Also, why are you such a bitch? Asking for a friend. A lady friend.” 

The hero groans. Tommy grins ferociously. 

Jack shoves him into the training room and leaves without another word. Tommy is mildly disappointed when he realizes the man is gone. He’s easy to piss off. 

Tubbo spots him immediately, dodging an attack from the Soldier like it’s something mundane and not an incredible accomplishment. He knows the older boy is strangely good at dodging and distractions, but it took Tommy months before he wasn’t getting daggers to the side. 

“Tommy!” The brunet shouts, “meet Technoblade!”

He makes eye-contact with the soldier as Tubbo runs up to him. The blond can’t control his panic this time around, immediately looking away. It felt like the guy was staring into Tommy’s soul. It makes him shudder. Fuckin’ creepy, man. Where’s Jack? Can’t he go back to roasting him?

Judging by the way Tubbo eagerly drags him over to the sparring ring, probably not. 

“Techno,” Tubbo says, “this is Tommy.”

The man glances in his direction, then looks to Tubbo. “Has he eaten yet this mornin’?”

Tommy bristles. “I can fight on an empty stomach.”

Tubbo grabs his hand, frantically pulling him away from the sparring ring. Technoblade looks smug and the youngest wants nothing more than to wipe the look off his face. It seems like the man knows exactly what he’s thinking, laughing like someone told a funny joke. 

“goodbye, Theseus.”

He’s pulled out of the room before he can say anything in response.

“I didn’t even think about food,” Tubbo says. He points an accusing finger at Tommy. “You need to tell me when you haven’t eaten.”

“We’re both horrible at remembering that, Tubs.” 

"I can help!” 

Tommy jumps, wings struggling behind him because he got so high up in the air they thought he was trying to fly. Tubbo laughs while Ranboo- fucking teleporting bastard- tries to apologize. 

“Not a single word is to be spoken about this.”

Tubbo gasps. “But Tommy-”

“Not a single word!”

Ranboo is still trying to apologize by the time they make it into what seems to be the kitchen. Tubbo has stopped laughing, but he’s so giggly that you could probably say a word wrong and it’d send him over the edge. 

Some instant noodles are placed in front of him. Tommy nods at Tubbo while the boy sits down, obviously trying not to burst out into laughter. Ranboo looks at him curiously, and the youngest can’t focus on heating the water in the noodle cup.

Tommy sighs. “What now, boob boy?”

Ranboo rolls his eyes at the name. “Noodles for breakfast?”

The blond tenses, unable to think of what to say. Tubbo thankfully beats him to it.

“It’s all he eats,” the brunet says, shrugging. 

The beanpole drops the topic with a similar shrug. Tommy sighs, relieved. 

He heats the water in the cup and stirs the noodles, unaware of the audience he’s gained. Tubbo glares at someone in the doorway, but there’s no active threat so Tommy goes back to boiling the water, pleased to find steam rising from the noodle cup. 

“So,” someone says. “Can you, like, iron clothes with your hands?” 

Tommy pauses, processing the stupidest question he has ever been asked. “No,” he replies, trying to be civil, “I would burn a hole in the fabric.” 

He looks up, finding the person to be just as much of a beanpole as Ranboo. What do they feed these heroes? His heartbeat matches the Poet’s, and Tommy isn’t surprised. He’s just as annoying while not on duty as he is on the field. Tubbo shoots him a look when his expression darkens, obviously asking him not to start shit. 

“I have another question,” the hero says, a feral smile on his face. 

Tommy’s eye twitches. “I have another answer.”

Eventually, he finds out the hero’s name is Wilbur. Tommy absolutely despises Wilbur. No one other than Tubbo has ever matched his level of bullshit, but this streetlamp achieves that and twice over just by asking if he could work as a portable oven. 

“Wait,” Wilbur says. “Can you heat up this pizza slice?”

If Tubbo wasn’t holding him by the shirt collar, he would’ve gone for the man’s throat. “Why?”

The overgrown baby shrugs. “I’m curious.”

“Absolutely not.”

Wilbur pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“None at all,” Tommy says cheerily. 

Bubblegum walks into the kitchen, looking miserable. A headache, considering how quickly she makes a b-line for where Tubbo told him the painkillers are. She goes to stop the woman, but Wilbur beats him to it.

"Niki!” the beanpole shouts. “Tommy’s got magic powers!”

The hero smiles tiredly. “I know, Will,” She says. “We all do.”

“Uh,” Tommy starts, uncertain. “I could help you, if you want. Healing has less side effects than painkillers.”

Niki looks at him like she’s just seen a puppy. Ranboo and Tubbo just raise their eyebrows, the only two in the room that know of his drawback with healing. The woman sits down, allowing Tommy to hold a hand to her head without even flinching. That throws the blond for a loop. Do they trust him that much already?

He shakes his head, focusing. Headaches aren’t pleasant, he knows first hand. She’s probably just eager to get rid of the horrid feeling. 

The headache isn’t hard to shake away, though he is significantly more unbalanced once he’s finished healing the hero. Tommy doesn’t put much thought into the fact that he has healed two heroes now, despite the prominent sinking feeling in his stomach. 

Niki smiles at him. “Thank you.” 

He smiles back. It might be lopsided, but definitely still a smile. “It’s no trouble.”

Wilbur appears in front of him and Tommy barely hides a flinch, glaring at the man. He receives a stupid grin in return. 

“So,” the man begins. “What kind of drawbacks does your healing have?”

The boy sighs loudly, shuffling around to get comfortable in his chair. This is gonna take a while. 

                                                                            =]

“Are you ready to go?” 

Tommy shushes Eret, gently rolling Tubbo off his shoulder. The brunet had fallen asleep and he didn’t have the heart to wake the older boy up. He gets out of bed and a part of his heart breaks away to stay with his best friend. For a split-second, he thinks about staying, thinks about the consequences of that decision. 

He walks over to the door, following Eret out. “Let’s go.”