Chapter Text
The gardens were always cold in winter. That was a fact that even those native to the Antarctic couldn't really ignore. And for Tommy it was all the more obvious. Despite the thick fur-lined cloak that his maid had wrangled him into, the frost that ate at the trees managed to nip at his skin. A prospect that he could tell ate Wilbur up inside. His brother had decided to be the one to hover over him today, which gave the blonde all the more reason to go out of his way to stay outside for longer. Wilbur danced from foot to foot, hoping in some convoluted way to alleviate the cold from his body.
Tommy picked at his cuticles, cut and proper, a long throw from the ragged state they were in upon his arrival back to the empire. Within the uneven groves of the nail bed Tommy found himself, small imperfections that could not be shunned into conforming. Perhaps it was tragic the small level of autonomy that he revelled in, but between baths and post-dinner chess the blonde found that it was of equal value when looked at face on.
Every inch of claim he could have over his body, Tommy cherished. As if it was something to be proud of, the skipped meals- a testament to his triumph. The bile that would drip down his chin as he grinned a little too pleased at his father, an idol of asceticism. The victory was short lived, in that his next days were spent within his fathers bed, being spoon fed a broth from the kitchen. Watery and filled with several herbs, with little cloves that sank to the bottom of the china bowl. The all too corrosive smile that rested upon Phils face as he would card his hands through blonde curls played as a sickening rhyme in his head.
Tommy could remember Phils tone of voice as he would whisper, greedy and self-satisfied. “If you ever do this again nestling, I will see to it that I personally keep you here and feed you every single meal, just like this, until I think you've learned.” The way his stomach had caterwauled in pain at the feeling of being full put the blonde off ever trying it again. The uncomfortable watery cramps made the boy squirm from where he laid upon the furs of his fathers bed, or what would more rightly be called a nest.
Some part of Tommy knew that Phil would be far too pleased to indulge himself in that punishment. The man had always enjoyed doting on his children. It took form in the way that he would bandage Techno’s wounds after sparring, laying a gentle kiss on the material every single time another was wrapped, and despite the way Techno would carry himself outside of closed doors, the brute was always gently appreciative. It made itself known in the seldom moments spent in the library with Wilbur as he watched him tune his instruments.
The latest time Tommy had seen him in the library pained him even to think of it. The heavy spruce doors were open only an inch, but as he roamed the stone hallways Tommy saw it clearly. Phil had sat upon a plush chaise lounge, Wilbur at his side, as he cradled the brunette's head in the crook of his neck. The marble had been cold under Tommy’s feet, though he felt the warmth of his fathers breath against Wilbur’s neck as he watched the scene unfold. A strange sort of jealousy took hold, contrasting in the way it painted itself across the blonde's face. In many ways he would hate the very thought of craving his fathers arms to settle around him just as they did Wilbur. But, there was a part of him, nestled deep inside of his neglected heart that was so innately, unloved. And in its nature, it craved a touch separate from the condescending gaze of his father, one that held the very same love, except, existed outside of the grotesque possession Phil held over him. To be loved, not as a baby, but as a grown son, one who did not flee, one who was not forcibly wrapped in his fathers arms, but instead chose to indulge in that touch. Indulge in the very same love that was given unconditionally from Phil, from his brothers. Except, it would not be born from the desire to have Tommy, and instead, only hold.
The ice danced over the cobble flooring of the garden’s walkways, reflecting the world back at him, but in a strange sort of daze, an almost image, familiar yet so different. It felt wrong to berate it, afterall just as the ice, Tommy was but a figure of himself, a peculiar reflection of golden hair and spiteful words. Though as of late, that reflection had warped itself into an underhanded act of revenge. Every moment spent outside agonising in the frost was a victory over the possessive hold of his brother. Wilburs fingers that would trace circles on his milky skin would freeze in the icy wind, a just retribution. And the gentle carding of his hair as he lounged on the couches in the library as he listened to Technblade extensively explain the intricacies of the Odyssey. Frustrated whispers about the truth of the human condition and betrayal would fade to nothing as Tommy would sit outside. In truth, the blonde felt a little cruel, afterall, not only was he shunning him in any way he knew how, Techno also had live his life knowing that the academia he had spent his entire life studying was complete and utter shit.
Wilbur wrapped his arms around himself and blew down the neck of his coat, hoping that the hot air would cast away the bite of the frost, even some. A whine left the brunette's throat as he watched Tommy sit upon the stone of a fountain, the water long since frozen still.
“Can you not?” A sort of chiding tone, one oddly reminiscent of a mother scolding their child.
“What? I’m just sitting down, you didn't have to come outside, I'm not a baby I can walk by myself” Tommys tone was equally as whining, a mock of his brother, one that was followed by Wilburs furrowed brow.
“Yeah but I'm freezing my ass off and it's obvious that you're doing this just to annoy me. We’re going back inside. I’ll walk with you all you want when the frost clears” The avoidance of Tommys statement of independence wasn't lost on the boy. Though it was clear that Wilbur had just decided that it wasn't worth addressing.
“Sucks to suck, doesn't it?” Maybe it was childish, and maybe it betrayed the truth of his age, but the joy Tommy took from seeing Wilburs face screw up in a frisson of annoyance before melting into something much more soft, gentle and insecure, was worth it.
It felt intimate, if that was what you could call it, as if even despite his capture, and despite the unchanging want to run, there was still a part of Wilbur that held the same gentle kindness that was so alienated from his temper. Though Tommy was under no illusion about his brother's temperament, and character, quiet moments apart from harsh words and even harsher hands truly held status within the boy's heart.
“Right that's it, get up” Wilbur laughed as he leaned across the gap and gripped the boy's upper arm. It wasn't a mean grip, just firm, yet still holding a degree of gentleness. Tommy was quickly wretched up from the stone, stumbling, the blonde let out a laugh, not quite catching his footing before the brunette let go.
Onto the ice and onto the stone of the fountain, Tommy slipped. The pain wasn't quick, it took a moment after the shock to really catch on, like the apprehension held back the tides before growing tired and letting them flow. Small laughs left the blonde as he lifted his hand up to his head, gripping at his left temple where an ache had set in, breathy giggles filled the silence. Wilbur had fallen silent, though that quickly changed as he rushed onto the floor, returning his hands to the boy's forearms.
“Oh God Tommy are you alright? Are you– Are you hurt?” Fumbled questions and mumbled little sorry’s were betwixt every spare breath the man had. All Tommy could do was laugh, it all felt so absurd. Blood poured down his face, throbbing as it moved, it was strange how warm it was, and even despite the fact that his head had a wound in it. Tommy could imagine that the warmth would burn anyway, his skin being as cold as it was.
Harsh footsteps all but ran across the cobble, echoing as they frantically quickened. War calloused hands met their counterparts as they danced over the musicians' own, finding their home upon the too skinny arms of his younger brother. Tommy could hear far away shouting and the responding argument, though he could feel the panicked breath against his cheek so closely. Strange how noise worked, always quiet when it ought to be louder. He left out a small exhale of breath at that, an almost chuckle.
The blonde was hoisted into warm arms, a comforting familiar. Though his forehead throbbed Tommy found himself hiding within the crook of his brother's neck. A kind of safety that could only really be found in another.
Time was still in Techno’s arms, gentle and possessive, but still nonetheless. Hallways with decade old paintings passed by as if cannon fodder, tapestries that the blonde used to marvel at were of no importance when nestled in the strong arms he had quickly become acclimated to. If it were not for the dizziness felt with every turn of the boy's head Tommy would feel disgust at being so easily manhandled. The innate hatred of being seen as a lesser being was lost to the tides of the subconscious.
Slow blinks entered a metamorphosis. Cocooning themselves within blank stares and abdicated to sleep.
–
The surface Tommy awakened on was soft, though that was not abnormal. Comfort was no stranger to the prince. That was a notion that perhaps Tubbo had been right about. Not that the boy would ever admit it. Any thought of his dearest friend fled as quickly as they came, a mental block entrapping them in the darkest corners of the blondes mind. Only to be seen when the darkness claimed his bedroom, and the only light came from the moon reflecting off of the mirror laid upon well maintained vanity. Sometimes Tommy would swear that he saw his friend's bloodied reflection in the glass. Convulsive sobs would wrack his thin frame as he gently touched the glass, hoping that the surface would shatter, impale him and take his life just as Tobys was robbed. Bloody and vile.
Gentle hands traced his face, uncalloused and soft. A clear sign of who it was. Circles were rubbed into his cheekbones, softening the boy’s pained expression. If Tommy was any more of a prideful fool maybe he wouldn’t have lent into the touch. Wouldn’t have chased the hand and the soft chuckle of breath that followed. When the menstrations stopped the blonde let out a grumpy little sound. One that was shown all too obvious in the crease of his brow, the facial expression hurt, pulling at the still raw skin of his temple. No longer bloodied from what he could feel
“Shh, none of that Nestling, I'm right here, Papa’s not leaving you, no. Not anytime soon” It felt like a personal musing, something he shouldn’t be privy to. Tommy felt like a fly on the wall, unresponsive within his own body, spare the little fidgeting to get closer to the warmth that radiated off his father, and the displeased mumbles when the touch was taken.
Tommy began to sit up, though that was quickly halted by a warning chuff heard from across the room. Heat rushed to the boy's cheeks as he realised the all too embarrassing position he was in. Sat cuddled upon his fathers lap, blankets wrapped around his now de-coated frame. The frost that had claimed the boy's hands was now chased away by the fire that raged in the corner of his fathers room.
A hum left his father as Tommy kicked off the blankets trapping his legs. Though the boy would admit he was comfortable. He felt far too much guilt in his position of pandering, when the corpse of his friend was still laid in the execution square in the lower town. The murder had been mere days ago, but the sight of crows picking at milky brown eyes haunted Tommy’s every move.
“Don't fuss. You took quite the little fall fledgling” Tommy could hear the strain in his fathers voice, as if the man had any right to be worried. The blonde frowned at the patronising tone, though the elder blonde kept speaking.
“I think we won't be having any walks through the grounds for quite some time after this, hmm?” Firm finger rubbed circles into the crown of his head, blonde hair aching from where it was touched. His head still sore from the fall.
Tommy glanced over the scene in front of him. Wilbur sat on an adjacent arm chair, brown eyes bleeding with red veins. Just dried tears streaking his face. It was a pitiful sight really. Socked feet fiddling with the embroidery of the rug on the floor, like a child caught straying too far from their mothers side. Guilty and ashamed. Tommy couldn't really understand the grief that housed itself in his brother's face, it was quite funny really, and if he didnt know how badly it would be received he would have laughed. How a man who had murdered without though could feel that level of upset at Tommy falling, was in many ways comedic.
“That's not fair. It was one accident” the boy complained, turning his gaze back towards his father, whose long blonde hair was tied gently back into a ribbon, the little flyaways that framed his face having spilled out of the tie felt almost homely.
“Don’t runt. Don't you dare.” The same chiding chuff left his brother from where he was sat aside Wilbur, perched on the arm of the seat, rubbing circles into the brunette's neck. For the first time perhaps in Tommy's entire life, Techno looked unneat. Braid half undone, and his poet's shirt rolled to the elbows, speckled with blood.
His father waved a dismissive hand at his brother at the command. “We just want my baby to be safe, hmm? It’s not to be cruel, we all love you my Theseus, you understand that right?” a question, surely. “That's why we keep you here, safe with us. Why we couldn't leave you alone in that vile little house”
Tommy turned his head to the side, away from his father, away from his question. One that would surely beg an answer, one that the boy was not so willing to provide.
“Right?”
Tommy let out a non-committal hum, hoping that any sort of acknowledgment to the question would let it rest. He was sorely mistaken, when in response he felt himself be dragged back into his fathers arms, cuddled too closely for the question to have been answered correctly. Not by any means
“You're too little to take care of yourself nestling, today has been testament to that. Imagine my shock when my littlest son was carried into my chambers with his head cracked open, your lucky you only got so many stitches” His fathers lips brushed his ear from how close he was whispering, it was a strange sickly sort of comfort.
“Papa has it handled though love, don't worry” A strong squeeze forced the boy to rest upon his fathers chest, neck hurting from straining to gain personal space.
With a huff the boy nestled into a more comfortable position.
–
The night was dark in the gardens, and though he could not walk in them- not anymore- the willowy dregs of the oaks left upon the ground after the recent storm called to him. They would soon be cleaned by the gardener. In an act to appease the watchful eyes of the youngest prince. Truly it was the most fun he had indulged in yet, terrorising the garden staff with his presence alone.
The balcony was equally as cold, and the rampant music from inside the ballroom filled the boy with no warmth. Extravagant parties had been held in honour of the return of the youngest imperial prince, this one was just one of many. Countless countries' royal families and political figures had all gathered in ostentatious dresses and equally as wealth ridden suits to give their congratulations, though Tommy knew it was all some carefully written publicity plot. A cesspool of bad gossip, and even more derivative conversation.
It would be a matter of time before someone came to find him, drag him back to the ‘festivities’ and watch as he was peraded like some sort of pet in front of rival leaders, in some underhanded way to show the true wealth of the empire, their ‘strong’ family unit.
Shallow footsteps met stone as they pushed back the curtains and joined him on the balcony, from the walking pattern alone he knew it wasn't one of his brothers coming to torment him or his father to scold him for leaving. So the blonde turned. Only to be met with the smug expression from perhaps the worst man he had ever had the misfortune of meeting, though in that very same breath one of his closest friends; Sovereign Lord Dream of the Essempi.
“Thought I'd catch you here. Cant say I'm upset though, it's awful in there. For a country shrouded in ice you think it'd be a little less hot, huh?” Tommy appreciated the casual conversation, though curled his lip up at the small talk. A fickle reminder of the normality he no longer lived in.
The blonde turned his gaze back to the beech hedging that ran across the confines of the palace grounds. Careful in their growth and equally as beautiful. Silence reigned sovereign over the balcony, Tommy not willing to acknowledge the man who had dealt a hand in the murder of his friend. He didn't deserve that much if you asked the boy. And so he took to picking at the scar that had wormed its way onto the skin of his forehead, clashing hideously with the small scar over his eye. Tommy missed the way it scabbed, picking at it and admiring as the blood rekindled reminded him all to familiarly of the haughty ruby jewellery placed around too young children necks for stuffy luncheons, mothers fussing over their children’s appearances as to look the best in their snide game of politics and niceties.
“We match you know.” The taller man remarked as he tapped his finger against the upper side of the boy's cheekbone, causing the blonde to move away, not before glaring at the man with his milky eye, and curling his upper lip in an expression of disgust. Not that it was untrue, as on the opposite eye from his own laid a similar scar over Dreams eye.
A light breathy chuckle left the man at the display of defiance, a homely game of cat and mouse that the two had played ever since the boy was young enough to understand how to engage with another. A smile graced the elder blondes face as he turned his gaze unto the garden, just as Tommy was.
“Even if you are still as much of a brat as I remember, you must come spend time with me in autumn, as much as you annoy me, I do enjoy your company. We all missed you when you ran away, and to think you were hiding just under my nose” Teasing little remarks yes, but it hurt all the same.
“Now you're just being cruel, you know i can't do that” Tommy half laughed a sad little thing, as he turned around and put his back to the grounds, it felt almost as if a betrayal, the gardens were a solace in isolation, and now he was set adrift without them. Instead he gazed back at the light that ebbed from the chandeliers in the palace’s largest ballroom, set out for only the most esteemed guests, or so Wilbur would lament. The drapes embroidered and the floors ever so polished felt vile when he looked at them, so cruel to be living like this, when he could think of several people more deserving, more willing.
The man laughed, loud and wheezing, a hearty little thing “Oh come now, surely they would let you leave? It’s not like you're out of sight, you're with me!” Dream quickly shut his mouth at a mournful glare from the boy. Perhaps that was Dreams kindness trait, his ability to read someone, it saved the torture, unless he was actively trying to cause hurt.
A halfhearted huff left the man as he righted himself from where he stood leaning against the railing. Gorgeous emerald velvet overcoat covered in little speckles of snow from the culled snowfall that morning.
The man was silent as he reluctantly moved back into the ballroom, sending one last questioning glance back at the boy, before letting the curtains that were drawn to keep the cold from seeping in, close. There was an ache as he watched the blonde re-enter the social hierarchy of the ballroom, Tommy finding comfort in isolation, yet still aching for the presence of another.
Yet, it was a little too obvious for the boy, that there was only one true escape, and it did not take form in a carriage, or in a frantic run on foot. It existed in the glint of a knife, and in the knot of a blanket that hung from a curtain pole. Perhaps that is why he delighted so much in the blood that poured from his head that morning, it was a reminder of the fickle mortality that he held. The power he held.
The jaws of the beast would run bloody with his design if only he had the means to do so.