Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything hurts. Any attempt to concentrate on something other than the pain is fruitless, as if even his own mind was filled with nothing but the dull throbs of a rapidly worsening headache. Sharp pain, like hundreds of knives shot up from his chest along with each labored breath the boy took. His ribs are most definitely bruised, if not broken, his mind supplied. Albeit unhelpfully, seeing as there was absolutely no way he would let him see a doctor, even if he was quite literally on his deathbed. 

Vaguely, he could hear a voice yell out in what he could discern was a frustrated tone, however his mind was too hazy to pick up on any of the words. It felt like hours, lying on the cold tiled floor in pure agony, before the voice that had been shouting at him mere moments ago suddenly went dead silent. With a concerning amount of effort, the boy finally managed to crack open one of his eyes, just in time to notice the large hand reaching out towards him.

Fingers buried themselves into the soft tissue of his throat, forcing him to look up. A blurry, contorted image of a man's face floated before him, meaningless words swam in and out of his ears like streams of raging water. As if the pain accompanying his breaths wasn't enough, now, the boy was unable to breathe at all. Stars started to prick on the edge of his vision from the loss of oxygen. 

And he should've defended himself, he knew that. It was very much unlike him to go down without a fight. Yet there was just something about the way his whole body felt as if it was waterlogged, as if his foot was tied to a rock, pulling him under the currents, drowning him, that drained all the fighting spirit he had left. He was exhausted. 

So perhaps that was the reason he didn't even flinch as the man's grimy hands closed in even tighter on his windpipe. Perhaps that's why he didn't resist the darkness as it slowly encroached his field of vision. 

The boy's heart raced inside of his beaten ribcage, yet he still couldn't will himself to move.

Maybe, if he just let his eyes drift closed for a few seconds…

.

.   .

.   .   .

Tommy jerked awake with a sharp intake of air. Where… is he? Had he fallen out of his bed, and just slept on the floor? His eyes darted around with the lingering panic of his fitful sleep, scanning the surroundings. 

Oh. Right.

Dumpsters upon dumpsters lined the bleak, gray walls of the tight alley he was currently hiding in. The bins were overflowing with an ungodly amount of trash, and briefly, Tommy wondered whether the people of this neighborhood just collectively decided to turn this nook into a makeshift dump and leave it to rot. Assholes. The air reaked of spoiled food, and a few other, considerably worse things, that the boy decided not to think about, for the sake of his own sanity. 

Tomorrow will mark the third month since he left his home. Well, " escaped" would be much more applicable to his situation, but that would make him look like some sort of pussy that can't handle a bit of tough love, which he is not. Tommy is a big man, and he is fine. His dad wasn't a bad guy, no, he just got a bit carried away with the punishment part of discipline. And it was Tommy's own fault that things ended the way they did. After all, he's the one who constantly gets on people's nerves with his antics, and dad just wants him to be a bit more likable. 

Yeah, that's it. He doesn't even know why he ran, he's just… taking a small break, that's all. Well, that's what it was supposed to be at first. Tommy only planned to be gone throughout the day and then return right in the evening, but just thinking about how angry his dad will surely be about his disappearance made him reconsider the duration of this "little break". He's not avoiding it , no. Tommy's not afraid of anything, least of all his dad's fury. Yet what was meant to be just a day's worth of departure slowly spiraled into multiple weeks, even months, and here he is now.

A loud growl coming from his stomach interrupted the boy's line of thought. Ah, yes, there's one other thing to add to this unfortunate situation — Tommy came laughably ill equipped, taking just whatever he could carry in a small backpack. Though he managed to ration the food, which he packed in anticipation of staying out a single day, it only lasted him a week anyway. The little money he had with him was quickly spent on more food, but even that didn't last him forever. So when desperate times called for desperate measures, he resorted to stealing and pickpocketing to meet his needs. 

Well, he wouldn't exactly call it pickpocketing, he's just… borrowing it. Permanently. 

Rubbing any remaining sleepiness from his eyes, Tommy reached for the small backpack that was laid under his head like a makeshift pillow. His hand plunged inside, as the boy took a mental note of its contents. Phone that had run out of battery quite a while ago, keys, a half-eaten granola bar and his jacket that he shoved inside to make the backpack at least somewhat comfortable to sleep on. But where's the… Ah, there! Finally, Tommy pulled out the wallet. 

If he was any less hungry, maybe he would've found it funny that he keeps borrowed money inside of his own wallet, but another loud growl reminded him that he needs food. Now. Well, he could always just eat the granola bar, but was he really that desperate? God knows that thing's been there even before he took the backpack with him. No, he's too cool to resort to that.

Instead, the boy reached inside of his wallet. There should be just enough money to last him the next couple of days if he rations the food carefully. However… a cold shock, like a bucket of ice water spilled over him when the wallet opened to reveal absolutely nothing. No, that can't possibly be right-! Surely, the money just fell out of the wallet into his backpack. Frantically, Tommy conducted another search, his hands both skimmed the whole pack at least thrice, yet he still came up on a whole load of nothing. 

Okay, okay, it's fine, just calm down, Tommy. The boy sighed. It's fine, it's not like this would be the first time he has no money. He'll just go up to the town square and get some more funds.

—×—

A few rays of sunlight escaped through the curtain of clouds overhead as Tommy marched through the streets. Summer was in full swing when he made his departure from home, which meant he not only didn't have to worry about getting cold, but had a reliable source of money too. People were flooding the infamous town square all year round, but summer especially showed a massive increase of naive tourists who were too busy admiring the architecture to properly guard their valuables. 

But now, as the scalding summer sun transitioned into a mere ember in time for fall, so did the tourists slowly reduce in number, returning to their boring lives. Gone was the humid heat of August and in came September's gentle chill, soft winds teasing the merciless gales of winter. Tommy knew he should be coming up with some sort of plan for how to spend said winter, considering he's not returning home anytime soon, but honestly? He was never one to carefully plan ahead, even this very situation had come up on a whim. Whatever happens in the future is future Tommy's problem, thank you very much. 

The crunch of his footsteps came to a halt once he reached the square. People may not be as highly concentrated here as before but it'll still be enough to get a decent amount of money. Hopefully. 

After weeks of practice, the act came to him like muscle memory. Just blend in with the crowd, pick out the unfortunate person, slip past them, silently take their shit and leave as inconspicuous as possible, rinse and repeat. Easy. He never actually keeps any of the wallets he steals, though, only the money. He's not that much of a jerk. The rest gets left on some of the many benches around the square, so that the person will have a chance to get back to it. 

Or not. It would be a lie to say Tommy particularly cares about what happens to the people after he takes some of their money, he's mainly just doing it because it would be pretty fucking inconvenient to carry around dozens of wallets. Obviously. 

The day drags on as he goes through his usual routine. Much to his dismay, the earnings are much lower than what he's used to. If the summer crowds were still around, he'd have a good few meals worth of money by now, but the only thing he's gotten so far is a flimsy few pounds that probably won't even last him two days. Whatever, maybe he should just call it a day for today. This is much less cash than what he expected, but it'll be enough for today at least, and then he can try his luck tomorrow. Yeah, that's a good idea.

Tommy's feet drag him from the square to the shopping district. It's been a long day, a long day without food and an unsuccessful day. At this point, he just hopes he'll find something cheap to eat. Though as soon as he enters the district, an obscenely delicious smell of freshly baked pastries hits his nose. The boy catches himself before he could turn and look for the source. No, that shit's gonna be expensive. He has to save the money, not spend it all. Don't even think about it.

…but a single glance wouldn't really hurt anyone, right?

Yeah, just a quick look and Tommy will go his own merry way. Turning his head, his eyes eventually settled on a small stall that displayed all sorts of pastries, but mainly bread. Placing a stand like this right near the entrance was pretty fucking evil, but he can respect the grind. Well, he got his look, now it's time for him to go. Yet before he could turn around, his mind finally registered what was so unusual about the stall. It was unguarded. The cashier must've gone to the toilet or something, because there was currently literally no-one in the general vicinity of the stall, save for him.

Goddammit. Now he has to take a loaf, doesn't he? 

Well, he doesn't have to, but oh boy does he want to. Although… he never actually tried stealing anything bigger than a wallet. Would it be a good idea to jump straight to a loaf of bread? Eh, who cares. It's not like there's anyone around to see him do it. Tommy approached the stand at a snail's pace, as if preparing for the pastries to tackle him at any given moment. After taking one last good glance at it just in case any cameras were hidden inside (which there weren't, that's just asking to get stolen from, in Tommy's humble opinion), the boy reached hand inside, grabbing one of the loavaes. Just as he was about to carefully retreat…

"Hey! What do you think you're doing, young man?!" A mature, feminine voice screeched from somewhere behind him. How the fuck did she even get there? He double, no, triple checked to make sure there wasn't a soul that could see him, yet she stands there as if she'd been looking at him the whole time. Silvery strands of hair were accenting the woman's natural brown, her forest green eyes squinted in a mix of disbelief and disgust. 

"What does it look like I'm doing, bitch?" Tommy, never the one to think before he speaks, barked before he could consider his words. He winced as the sentence finally registered in his head. This woman just caught him stealing… and he called her a bitch. One thing he learned from all the time he spent out  here was that people react poorly to Tommy's forwardness. 

They expect him to play into the sad and pathetic homeless orphan role, to beg for food and water, but when Tommy openly tells them he doesn't want their pity, they villainise him. God forbid he doesn't act like the expired box of cereal they gave him would change his life… All people ever care about is getting the social brownie points from "helping" him, but never actually about his well being. Assholes. Whatever, it's not like the big man himself needs anyone to care. He's been perfectly fine on his own so far, and he will continue being fine without any self serving fucker's interface. 

"How dare you call me that, you… you…" the woman's hands clutched her flour-stained apron as she continued to gawk at him like an enraged bull, "shameless… thieving brat! People like you are a tumor in our community-!" Tommy ignored it when his body tensed at her loud tone. By that point, her shouts have attracted a sizable group of people. The boy opened his mouth to bark yet another reply, but before he could, the woman shouted again.

"Someone, please help-! This brat is stealing from my stall!" She cried out, turning to the group. "What do you have to say 'bout that, kid ?" A deep, masculine voice asked, one which Tommy quickly matched to a man who stepped out of the group. A man that looks like he eats kittens for breakfast. Shit. Shit, this is really bad. The boy's heart hammered inside of his ribcage as if it was trying to escape his body. Sure, Tommy could handle an old woman, but this guy? He could fold Tommy like a fucking lawn chair-! 

Wouldn't be Tommy's first time, a pesky voice reminded him. No, he can't think like that. It's time for the most advanced tactics. 

"OH my god… what the hell is that?! Look behind you, big man!" Tommy choked out. Yup, as stupid as it is, it always works like a charm. Heads turned, and as soon as they did, Tommy bolted.

In that moment, he really did feel like a movie's main character, as if he's running out of a collapsing ancient tomb, with some terrific monster on his tail, all because he stole the cursed artifact contained within the crypt's twisting hallways. Yet this wasn't a movie, and Tommy wasn't a confident explorer worming his way out of death's grasp, nor was he a valiant hero tactically retreating from a battle he couldn't win. No. He was just… Tommy, who's trying his goddamn hardest to navigate a tough situation, who's…

No, there was nothing courageous or heroic about his escape, only the feeling of yet another defeat threatening to drown him in his own, poorly masked misery, and a stinging fear of what would happen, were he to get caught. 

"Get back here, you…" The man yelled, his words echoing through the streets as he ran after the boy. "You little pest-! " Ouch. Yeah, no, that… hurt more than Tommy would ever admit. Because he's used to being called a bitch, a brat, and a slurry of just about any other insults people could come up with, and trust him- they get creative. But this one? "Little pest"? That one is new. 

But ironically enough, isn't it oh-so fitting? Tommy, the small, Tommy, the insignificant, and worst of all– Tommy, the annoying, the infuriating, the…

No, he doesn't have the time to mope like a pussy right now. He needs to focus all his energy on running the hell away, lest he wants this absolute unit of a man to catch him and use him to perform human origami. Yeah, no. That's not fucking happening. 

Luckily for him, running is one of the few skills that come to him like second nature. While he is quite lanky, his taller stature grants him a noticeable boost of speed. That, and the time he spent going to the track team, while he was still in school, coerced to join by his best (only) friend. Thanks to all that, even if the man isn't necessarily slow, faced against Tommy of all people, he was doomed to fail from the very start, as evidenced by his slow decrease in speed, and increasingly heavy breathing, even though they barely even ran across the second street, and Tommy has yet to run out of breath.

Though unfortunately for him, the man refused to give up as easily as Tommy anticipated. He didn't even save his breath from the profanities he kept shouting at the boy. It took another handful of streets to tire the boy out, and by that point, they had run far away from the square, the shopping district, and Tommy's spot respectively. And yet he could still hear the man's, now audibly dragging footsteps from behind him.

"Just… fuck off already, will you-?" Tommy turned around to face the man, continuing to walk backwards, so he could look at him while also not letting the man catch him. A not-so-subtle layer of sweat dripped down the man's bald head, staining his gray tank top as if he spent the whole day working manual labor, when really, he just ran after a kid for 30 minutes straight. 

"You have a lot of nerve to say that," the man rasped out between his panting breaths, "I won't," another wheezing breath left his lungs, "I won't let you go until justice is served, stupid brat-!" Finally, he finished. And wow, talk about hero complex. Tommy remembers his superhero phase from when he was like 6, but he doesn't remember the part where Batman chases street kids that are just trying not to starve. Huh. Maybe he missed an episode.

Tommy huffed, swallowing back the sharp reply he was itching to bark out. Instead, he saved his breath and turned around, fully intending to pick up the pace and try to lose the man around a few corners. But just as he turned, the boy felt his heart fall down so far, it nearly collided with the filthy floor.

Shit. Shit, shit-

It seems that walking backwards was a severe mistake. He didn't see where he was walking and he… backed himself into a dead alley. Tommy stood and stared in stunned (panicked) silence, as if his gaze alone would break away a passage through the thick wall in which the alley ended. No, no, no, this can't be happening- he ran all the way here, just for what? To get beat up anyway, because he was too stupid to look where he's going? 

He turned quickly on his heel, only to see the man standing in the mouth of the alley, blocking Tommy's only hope of escape. And even worse, he was laughing. A hearty, boisterous sound that echoed not only off of the walls caging him in, but also bounced off of the walls of Tommy's skull, reverberating inside of his brain. No, no, no, no-

"Well isn't that just poetic justice at its finest?" The man choked out between bouts of laughter, deliberately slowing his pace as he's closing the distance between him and the boy. His dull brown eyes reflected the addicting madness only a predator could experience as it finally corners its prey, and nowhere near the heroic fury of a vigilante the man seems to believe himself to be. Tommy gulped, taking a step back.

"What's wrong, little vermin? Cat's got your tongue?" The man teased, and Tommy wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid shit-eating grin off of his face. But the boy isn't stupid, and he can tell that the man already has the upper hand over him. He takes another step back, ignoring the way his breathing accelerates. And then another, and another, yet the man refuses to step back, to the surprise of absolutely no-one.

"..look, you- you don't have to do this, you know..? I'll…" The boy retorted, preparing for the inevitable once his back will touch the far wall of the alley. "I'll pay you back..?" He blurted out, his tone, albeit desperate enough to be believable, ultimately betrayed that he, in fact, cannot pay anything back. 

The man did nothing but laugh, the sickening, cackling noise stirring all the wrong memories in Tommy's mind.

The boy's breath hitched as he took yet another step back. Or at least tried to do so, but it looks like Lady Luck truly isn't on Tommy's side today, because he didn't just step on the ground, oh no– instead, his leg just so happened to make contact with an (in)conveniently placed can of god knows what, and proceeded to slip on it and barrel backwards in a manner he would've found hilarious, were the situation any less… personal.

Great, just… fucking great .

Mentally bracing himself for the pain of slamming into the ground, Tommy closed his eyes, hoping his backpack would break the fall at least a little bit, but… the impact never came.

It was as if he had fallen into quicksand. Not that he ever did so before, but if he had to imagine how it felt like based on the various movies he's seen about it, this would definitely be it. Instead of hard concrete, he was met with a sensation of sinking into the ground at a moderately fast pace. Mud, maybe? Or did he just fall backwards onto a mountain of trash, or something? Whatever, he's just gonna get up anyway. 

However, when he tries to move his legs and arms, he discovers he can't. 

Completely forgetting the man's existence, Tommy's eyes scan his own body for answers. Why can't he just move-? Surely, he didn't break any bones or get paralyzed from the fall, right-? He would definitely feel that, since he can still feel the sinking sensation. 

Full on panic grips his mind when he realizes it's not mud, nor trash that he's sinking into, and neither is he on the concrete. His hands and legs are, currently, submerged deep inside of the concrete, and he's actively sinking further down-

No, no, no, what the fuck is this-?!

Struggle as he may, he yields no results, continuing to drown in the ground at an alarming pace. The boy tries to scream for help, only to discover that he can't even breathe, as the concrete starts to compress his lungs. 

Unseen tears of unfiltered panic slip down his cheeks, but he can't do anything but watch as the ground eventually swallows him whole, submerged him in a world of darkness.

Eventually, perhaps from the sheer amount of panic in his mind, and perhaps from the complete lack of oxygen, unconsciousness encroached Tommy's mind, and he welcomed the familiar pull with open arms.

—×—

When Tommy awoke, everything hurt. Again. Though this pain was different from the kind he's used to– not concentrated in a single part of his body, but rather… he felt as if he was just forced through a fucking cheese grater and then rearranged back together by a child that no prior experience with puzzles. Not to mention the splitting headache, and the pangs of hunger. He had yet to open his eyes, courtesy of his pounding brain, but he could feel something soft beneath him, and hear the buzz of multiple fluorescent lamps somewhere above him.

Okay, where the hell is he? Did he get kidnapped? Is he dead? He should definitely get up-

Rolling from the position on his stomach onto his back makes Tommy realise the backpack is still sitting firmly on his shoulders. Okay, so he's probably not kidnapped, and most definitely not dead. Or maybe he is, but it would be a pretty shitty afterlife if they still made him carry his things around, wouldn't it? Whatever, just open your eyes.

However apparently, even that was a mistake, as a light that would make the sun ashamed of itself immediately assaulted his vision. Tommy groaned, covering his eyes with his hand dramatically. Honestly, fuck whoever had the need to put that light there in particular. Why can't they just put the lamps on the floor, or just somewhere where they wouldn't try to illuminate Tommy's insides upon a single glance? Assholes.

Okay, well, maybe that's a bit of an overreaction. 

With a deep breath he tries again, this time making sure not to stare directly into the light. There, that's better. Except it… really isn't. Because no matter how many times he blinks, Tommy still sees the same dingy, yellow hallway, donned with a carpet that's molding around the edges, and of course, the fluorescent lamps flickering and buzzing above him.

Okay, what the actual fuck? He distinctly remembers falling in an alley, and now he's… here, whatever "here" even is. And what even was the whole deal with falling through the concrete? Another bout of panic starts to tickle the edges of his consciousness as he recalls the ordeal, at which point Tommy decides it's best if he just doesn't think about it too hard. He probably just… fell through a sewer and ended up in some sort of… underground… thing, hallucinating the whole "falling through the ground" bit.

Yeah. He'll go with that.

So then, logically, the only thing he should do now is find a way out. How hard can it be? The lights are still on, which must mean someone is still here, and can let him outside. 

Finally, he stood up, wincing at the sharp pain echoing inside of his head as he did so. Oh, that's right, he not only didn't have anything to eat today, he also didn't manage to get any water thanks to the whole… bread debacle. And while he won't die from just missing a meal today, dehydration might just become a problem. Actually, Tommy decided it doesn't matter. He's not some kind of pussy who needs to drink water every hour of the day to survive. He can just deal with the headache for a while longer, and then he'll buy a bottle once he's out of here.

"Hello..?" The boy shouted as he rounded the corner, "is anyone there..?" A string of curses escaped his lips when the hallway just continued on, without any door, or just about anything in sight. 

"I think- I think I fell through to down here, and I'm lost," he continued, hoping someone would pick up on his calls, "I don't mean to intrude or anything, just uh- I need some help getting out-!" He yelled, but nobody came.

—×—

Tommy lost all concept of how long he has been walking. He continues on, rounding corner after corner yet the hallways continue to twist on and on, only occasionally revealing empty, spacious rooms. At this point, the boy is hyper aware of how absolutely none of this should be architecturally possible. The halls seem to twist into themselves, cross without actually crossing and lead him in circles even if he could've sworn he would've been outside by now. He stopped shouting an hour ago, or maybe it was two, saving his mouth from getting any drier.

The only few constants throughout all this are the flickering lights overhead (which's persistent buzz does not help his headache at all), the ever so slightly moist carpet beneath, and the crusty yellow wallpaper covering the walls.

Never in his life did Tommy think he'd be so happy to hear another person's voice. It was too far away to make out any words, but still– a voice! Luckily, despite the pounding in his mind, the boy was still able to distinguish where the voice came from, following it frantically as if it had been his only chance of exiting this cursed place.

"...no, no, there's…" the closer the boy got, the more he could hear of the masculine, young sounding voice, "...about cheese? There's a…" Tommy was still only able to piece together a small fraction of the words. What kind of conversations was this person having? Whatever, it doesn't matter, as long as they can get him out of here. 

The relief he felt when the usual crusty yellow got broken up by a bare, white wall was almost dizzying. Finally, finally, he's getting somewhere. The voice was clearer now too, and Tommy could tell they were talking to someone about… groceries? That's probably it. Maybe Tommy got lost in the back of some shop, and this is the front of it? Turning the corner proves his theory correct, when an empty door frame reveals a massive room, packed with shelves upon shelves of different merchandise. 

Though, something was wrong here… maybe it was the dim lighting, or absence of a cash register, or perhaps it was the way the shelves seem to stretch onto infinity, the room being so massive the boy couldn't even see the end of it. Or perhaps it was the complete absence of noises apart from the buzzing of lights and that one voice Tommy followed here. Speaking of, where is that person? This has to all be an elaborate prank or something, first the maze of hallways and now this… never-ending store with no people…? He almost decided not to call out, but the quickly worsening headache reminded him that he doesn't really have much of a choice.

"...h-hello..?" Tommy croaked out, and not because he was scared, thank you very much. His mouth is just too dry from the lack of water, no other reason. The voice that had been going on and on up till now suddenly went silent, and Tommy's heart once again plummeted to the floor. With a bated breath, the boy waited for a reply, or maybe for someone to step out of the row of shelves, but nothing came.

"Hey- come on, I heard you speak like… 30 seconds ago-!" He called out in frustration when he realized the person didn't plan on replying to him. Fine then, he's gonna find them himself. Taking a few steps towards the shelves, the boy's soul nearly left his body when he heard the other person also taking a handful of steps… away from him . No, no, no, no- he did not spend the past two or three hours walking just for his only hope of escape literally fucking run away from him-

"Stop running away, bitch-" desperation seeped into Tommy's words as he tried to catch up to them, "please, I just- I need to get the hell off of here-!" That seemed to make the person pause, as the footsteps suddenly stopped. He breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the shelves in an attempt to regain energy, panting like a goddamn dog. He was exhausted, now that he thought about it.

"You… wanna get out..?" The voice rang out in a confused tone, and Tommy had to admit– it was oddly soothing, soft like a breeze pushing past his ears. 

"...of course I fucking do-!" He wheezed out, "What the hell even is this place? I've been walking through here for the past three hours-!" The voice, much to the boy's surprise, had the audacity to laugh at him, in this tough situation. Had Tommy been any less tired, he would've cussed them out for doing so already, but with another thrum of pain echoing in his skull, all he managed to get out was a dramatic whine.

Once again, footsteps sounded out, but this time, they walked towards him. A head of brown, curly hair peeked out from behind one of the shelves, before they exited fully. The person was fairly young, Tommy noted, probably older than him but not too drastically. They were quite tall as well– at least 6'3, with a ratty brown trench coat that was a few sizes too big for them hanging loosely off of their frame, and a pair of round glasses sitting on the bridge of their nose. 

"Oh wow, you look like shit," their melodic voice rang out in slight amusement, "ever heard of drinking water? You must have some on you, considering you're dragging that thing around," they teased, motioning at the boy's worn out backpack. Tommy clutched the strap of said bag, as if the person was going to take it away.

"First of all, fuck you-!" Tommy barked out, earning him another chuckle in response, "second… no, I don't." The last part was said in relative silence compared to the eagerness with which Tommy cussed the man out. It was true, he really didn't have any water on him. That's why he "looks like shit" in the first place, because– surprise surprise, people need water to live.

"Oh. Sorry I guess," they said, but their tone didn't portray any sign of sympathy. Whoever they were, this person was an asshole, Tommy decided. To the boy's surprise, their hands then reached into the black, leather messenger bag they carried, and felt around a bit before pulling out a bottle of… god knows what.

"Here, catch!" was all the warning they gave him, before literally fucking tossing the bottle straight at Tommy. The boy's shaky hands reached forward in reflex, just barely managing to catch it. Suppressing his urge to cuss the stranger out yet again, he paused when he realized he had no goddamn clue what the liquid inside the bottle was. It was white, yet sort of pearlescent, like milk diluted with water. If he had to guess, it would probably be some sort of soda, but then again… it doesn't seem to be carbonated. 

"Well? Are you just going to continue staring at it, or will you drink it? It's a valuable resource, you know." The stranger asked impatiently, and were Tommy any less desperate, he would've told them to fuck off right then and there. But unfortunately for him, that's simply what he was right now. Desperate. 

Nervously, Tommy unscrewed the lid of the bottle, taking a sniff first before tasting it. It smelled like almonds, to his surprise. Wasn't there a poison supposed to smell like that? Ah, whatever, the boy can barely muster any fucks to give at this point. If the poison doesn't wipe him out, the dehydration definitely will if he doesn't drink anything. Without a second thought, Tommy started chugging down the suspicious liquid, leaving a good third of the bottle gone. 

It tasted like almonds too, he noted. Despite smelling like poison, the taste was surprisingly sweet. It wasn't carbonated either, proving his observation correct. Somehow, Tommy could feel his headache quickly dissipate, and he swore he could see colors ever so slightly brighter. Well… that's certainly strange. But after running around with a splitting headache for three hours straight, nobody would catch him complaining about finally being relieved of it. Even if he had to drink suspicious liquid to do so.

"...thanks." Tommy finally replied, a bit of suspicion leaking into his voice. He stepped forward, intending to give the bottle back, but just as he did, the stranger took a step back, maintaining the distance between them. 

"You can keep it," they offered, and even though Tommy knew refusing would be polite, this was the first questionably edible thing he had for the past few hours, so god knows he won't let go of that thing if he doesn't have to. Quickly pulling the backpack off, the boy opened it and slotted the bottle away with his few belongings.

"My name's Wilbur, by the way," the no-longer-nameless stranger introduced himself, bowing dramatically, letting his trenchcoat sway slightly in a nonexistent wind. (Seriously, where did that wind come from-?)

"Don't care, didn't ask," the boy retorted, sticking out his tongue. That seemed to make the man, who Tommy could now match to the name  "Wilbur", do a double take.

"...shut up child, it's polite to introduce yourself-!" Wilbur barked, yet his comment lacked any real heat behind it.

"I'm not a child-!" If the room would've been any smaller, Tommy's voice would've definitely echoed with how loud he just yelled, "besides, why should I give out my private information to some creep who goes around offering drugs to minors-?" A playful grin tugged on the boy's lips as he saw Wilbur's face contort into an over exaggerated frown.

"Didn't you just say you weren't a kid? You can't be a non-child and a minor at the same time," the brunette crossed his arms, a spark of mischief glittering in his dark brown eyes as he looked into Tommy's. Actually, this might not be as bad as the boy though. 

"Wow, not even gonna try to deny the drug allegations?" He responded, teasingly mimicking Wilbur's dramatic posture.

"Well, I never forced you to drink it, it's not like you couldn't have asked me for water instead," this time, it was Tommy's turn to pull his face into an exaggerated frown, "and besides, it's not a drug, your statement was just so stupid I decided against gracing it with an answer." Wilbur grinned, and Tommy was absolutely fuming.

"...fuck off, yes you did-!" And just as Tommy expected, the moment he stopped speaking, Wilbur bursted into a fit of laughter. Yet what the boy didn't expect was how natural it felt for him to follow suit. Even though it was just a quiet chuckle, Tommy hasn't felt this particular kind of friendly atmosphere, hasn't experienced this kind of fun, uplifting interaction ever since… ever since his only friend disappeared.

…how long has it even been since Tommy last saw him? It's already been a year, hasn't it? Too long, that's… way too long. No, this isn't the time to think about that.

"...Tommy. That's… my name," although hesitant, the boy introduced himself. Wilbur's face lit up in another grin and Tommy found himself smiling right back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tommy," Wilbur's voice rang out melodically as he bowed down once more, the dramatic asshole, "Oh, wait-! Didn't you say you wanted out?" The young man tilted his head in confusion, and the boy watched as his curly hair bounced up and back down ever so slightly, almost in a cartoonish fashion.

"Yes, yes, I uh- thanks for the drugs and shit but the city needs me-" Tommy blurted, frantically nodding his head in confirmation. Was he really that desperate for an interaction that a single conversation was enough to set him off course? No, it's just the exhaustion from walking too much. Tommy is a big man, and big men don't get desperate. 

"M-hm. Well, you came in lucky! I do know the way out," Wilbur's grin faded to a smug little smile, as he motioned his hand to somewhere between the shelves, "just follow me, and you'll be there in no time!" Turning around as soon as he finished speaking, Wilbur began slowly walking in the direction where he pointed earlier.

"...wait! You reckon I can take some of the shit before we go?" In truth, Tommy has been eyeing the loaded shelves ever since he arrived here. There aren't any cashiers, nor cameras around, which was weird for a storage room like this, but not at all a problem for a boy like Tommy. At his question, however, the brunette turned back around, his face morphed into a serious expression. 

"Do not touch that-! Trust me, you don't want anything they have in there, just… come on." Wilbur beckoned him with a sense of urgency reflected in his melodic voice. Jeez, why so dramatic? He doesn't need to make it look like this is some highly concentrated poison to tell Tommy not to steal…

"Whatever you say, boss man." Tommy nodded, following behind Wilbur when the man sped up once more.

Silence stretched between the two as Wilbur led Tommy through the maze of shelves and displays. The boy watched the back of the man's coat, ratty and torn, flail in the nonexistent wind as he walked ahead. Now that he was a bit closer, he could notice the edges of the aforementioned coat look sort of burnt at the edges too.

It was when Wilbur led Tommy back to the yellow twisted halls that the blond started seriously doubting the other's navigation skills. He considered voicing his concern to the man, but Wilbur walked so confidently through the maze it made him look like someone who's been navigating it since he came out of the womb, so the boy chose to suspend his disbelief. 

Eventually, not even 20 minutes after they departed from the storage room, Wilbur stopped in front of a random wall. Tommy looked around, trying to locate anything worth stopping for. Surely, this can't be the exit. It's just a random hallway, identical to the ones before it! Maybe there's a hidden door or something..? Then, Wilbur turned around to face Tommy, and no longer concealed by the storage's dim lighting, he noticed that the man looked… concerningly pale. Seriously- Tommy never really found himself catching a tan either, but this had to be unhealthy, he was sure of it.

Yet before he could voice anything, Wilbur spoke.

"Here we are!" He outstretched his hands in a dramatic gesture, but all that occupied Tommy's head was confusion.

"...what do you mean? I don't see anything, big man-" Tommy asked hesitantly. Did he make a mistake in trusting Wilbur? Is this gonna be like the movies, where he gets taken into a random alley and proceeds to get absolutely murked and then mugged? Except… instead of a random alley, he gets beat up in a random crusty hallway. Great.

"You don't see the exits Tommy, that's not how it works. Don't you know that?" What. In the everloving christ. Does that mean? Tommy fought the urge to flinch when Wilbur closed the distance between them, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. Tommy opened his mouth to complain, but before he could do so, the brunette cut him off once again.

"...sorry Tommy, this isn't going to be pleasant." And before Tommy could even process what those words entail, Wilbur's hand was already pushing himself into the wall. Literally. 

Tommy was sinking. Again. Like earlier in the concrete. Except it was quicker this time, much quicker, and he could see himself becoming one with the wall. A complicated expression spanned on Wilbur's face. Tommy, determined, tried to squirm his way out of the wall, to no avail. Whatever. He already knows this feeling, so he allows the pull of unconsciousness to embrace him fully.

—×—

When Tommy woke up, he almost forgot anything was wrong in the first place. He had been in the same alley he was in before the fall, though the man that chased him was nowhere to be found. A familiar sensation of pain echoed through his body as he struggled to remember what happened. 

…!

Suddenly, flashes of yellow walls and brown, curly hair flooded his head, and soon enough, Tommy could recall each and every detail, down to the frayed edges of the mysterious young man's trench coat. 

But wait, he's… back here- does that mean the whole thing, both ending and beginning with him fading through concrete, was a hallucination? Was the pain just from the man beating him up, and the whole experience is something the boy created in his own head to distract himself? That would… make sense. But just to confirm it…

Tommy scrambles around in his backpack, desperate to get the answer he's looking for, but in a familiar session, the blonde can feel his body get drenched in a metaphorical bucket of ice water when his hand bumps into the plastic bottle. With shaky fingers, he pulls it out and examines it. It looks just like he remembers it– a clear white pearlescent liquid, the label of which reads "almond water" in a strange font.

Is that also a hallucination? Is Tommy hallucinating right now? When did it start, and when is the illusion going to end? Or was that whole thing real?

No, Tommy decided, he's not going to think about it. Fuck that. Whatever happened, happened, and he's more than happy to go on without knowing the truth behind it. Yeah.

Putting the bottle back into his bag (did you think he'd throw it away? Nu-uh. Big men don't say no to free shit), Tommy stood up and began his treck to find a good spot for sleeping. It was pretty late at night, after all. He'll just continue with his usual routine in the morning.

Chapter Text

That night, when Tommy slept, he no longer dreamt of strong hands restricting his windpipe, nor the frustrated shouts that are just a smidge too far away for him to understand clearly. Instead, he dreamt of yellow twisting hallways, of trench coats with singed edges, of storage rooms that never seemed to end. Gone were the echoes of old pains, replaced by sensations of sinking through the floor. 

Simply put, as much as he wanted to forget about the whole ordeal, he was simply unable to keep it off of his mind, for the better or for worse.

.

.   .

.   .   .

Tommy sighed, cursing his own curiosity. You see, his strong resolve not to think about any of yesterday's happenings only really lasted him until night. After all the running around of the previous day, it was quite easy for him to forget, since his exhaust made it hard for him to think about much else than finding a good spot to sleep in. But even in his slumber, all he could think about is that stupid maze he found himself inside of and that dramatic asshole with his shit-eating grin and unhealthy complexion. 

Questions, even more of them than he had yesterday, plagued Tommy's mind ever since he woke up at the crack of sunrise, and as much as he hates to admit it – he wants, no, needs answers, and he needs them as soon as possible. Not that he cares about the origin of some random yellow maze (okay, maybe a bit), all he wants is some closure, so the thing may finally leave his mind. He'll just go back to that alley, try to find the sewer that he thinks he fell through, ask a few questions and leave, no less, no more.

Well, after he gets some food, of course. Legally, this time. Tommy still has the bit of money he made yesterday, never having the opportunity to actually spend it. And he is absolutely not going to repeat the bread accident for the foreseeable future. 

—×—

One thankfully uneventful trip to the store later, Tommy finds himself standing in the same alley he had backed himself into the previous day, this time, on his own accord. He really didn't know what he expected – the naive, hopeful part of the boy somewhat thought that as soon as he arrives there, he might just be told that this all was just one big joke, perhaps a social experiment, or that maybe, he would see the sewer he fell through the previous day and confirm everything that's haunting his mind as a clear cut hallucination. 

And yet… nothing changed from yesterday. It was still the same mangy alley, complete with trash cans which are overflowing with garbage, not any different from the countless other dead end nooks and crannies of this godforsaken city. No, no, that can't possibly be all this is – there has to be an answer somewhere, something Tommy missed, just… anything-!

A feeling of desperation the likes of which he rarely experiences struck him as he fell to his knees, uncaring of the litter staining his only pair of jeans that he tried vigorously to keep clean. Frantically, the boy's hands bore themselves into the mountain of trash searching for any indication of clarity, yet as much as he dreaded to admit it, it was extremely difficult to search for something when  he doesn't even have a clear idea of what exactly he's looking for. 

"...c'mon, c'mon…!" Frustration flooded the boy's mind when he realized that no, answers won't come to him delivered on a silver platter, and the only thing he will get from rummaging through trash is dirty hands. A string of curses slipped past his lips as he stood back up, regret starting to seep into his bones. What is he even doing this for? He must look like an absolute lunatic to whomever passes around the alley. So what if he doesn't get the answers? He doesn't even care. Nu-uh.

Slowly, he began to walk off, when he noticed something in his way. A can. A dented one, no less. Is it…? No, it can't possibly… Though as much as Tommy thinks about it, the details simply match up too well to be a coincidence. The can is exactly where he remembered tripping, the dent matches with the size of his shoe… A sudden wave of rage came over the blonde. If it wasn't for this stupid fucking can , he wouldn't be here right now, borderline scraping the ground for any hint of knowledge. 

No time was wasted before he picked up the can and threw it against the wall with a shout that surely alerted everyone nearby of his existence. The rusted metal made a loud, unpleasant noise as it collided with the wall at the biggest speed Tommy was capable of generating, and yet… Instead of scattering its remaining mysterious contents all over the musty ground, it… never made it back to the floor, and Tommy watched with an accelerated breath as the can just stood there , halfway inside of the wall, suspended above the ground right where he had thrown it.

What the fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-

Resisting the urge to run the fuck away, Tommy took a deep breath. It's fine. He probably just threw it so hard he made a hole in the brick wall. Yes, that's it. The chance is low, but for a big man like himself, it is never zero. All he's going to do is pull the can out and see the hole he left behind.

With heavy steps the boy approached the can. He should not be doing this, really, he should just leave this place alone and never think about this ever again like he intended to, and yet… There was just something so alluring about that suspended can, stuck cleanly inside the wall, that Tommy simply couldn't tear his eyes away, as if he was observing a car accident play out before him.

The boy let his outstretched fingers push the can ever so slightly, forgetting to breathe as the rotting piece of aluminum disappeared into the wall in its entirety, not leaving a single mark behind.

Is this actually happening right now? Is he seeing things?

Heart racing a thousand miles per minute, he reached out a hand to brush the wall, pausing at his own lack of surprise when his hand faded into the exposed bricks. Fine. The first few times this happened it was always Tommy who got pushed in and out of the wall without permission, but this time, it's him willingly returning to the maze, knowing fully that he could've avoided this with ease.

Without giving himself any more time to think, Tommy gathered his bearings and slammed himself against the bricks with all the force an underfed teenager could muster up.

This time, it didn't take long for his vision to fade into black.

—×—

One thing Tommy noticed once his eyes opened to the familiar yellow hallway was that the transition … didn't feel as painful as it did before. Sure, he only went from a metaphorical cheese grater to an equally imaginary chopping block, but that's still something, right? That being said, he still wished that whoever decided to install such bright lighting would have legos stuck permanently to the bottom of their feet.

Rubbing the remains of unconsciousness out of his eyes, Tommy rose slowly to his feet. Well, he's here now, that's… what he wanted. But what exactly can he even do right now? He wanted to get some answers out of this place, not to get stuck here all over again… Oh! That's right! The strange guy he met yesterday would surely be able to tell him something about it, even if just a small bit. Now, where could Tommy find him…? The boy cursed himself for not memorizing the way to the shop and back yesterday. He was so fucking mesmerised by that whole interaction, he didn't even process which way Wilbur was taking him-

Whatever. The brunette seems to know this place quite well, and assuming he's still here, if Tommy just goes around and calls for Wilbur for a while, surely he would notice the boy. That, or some other employee/inhabitant of this place will find him, and he can just ask them for answers instead. Yeah, that's not a bad plan.

"...Wilbur…? Wilbur..!" The boy's shouting echoed through the hallways as he walked on and on, not any different from his first trip in this musty maze. At first, it felt embarrassing to shout for someone in a seemingly empty place, but he quickly adapted when desperation replaced his feelings of awkwardness. Slowly but surely, the nervosity started to seep into his bones like the winter's frost. He had been walking around here and shouting for what? An hour now, or maybe it was two.

What if the reason nobody replied to him was that nobody was here to reply to him in the first place? What if Wilbur was the only one here to manage the strange storage space, and he's currently outside? What if someone does hear him, and just doesn't want to reply to him? Tommy doesn't quite know which option sounded worse in his self-induced anxiety.

"Hey! Are you here, Wilbur?" He continued shouting, "or just… anyone? Please, I promise I'm not a burglar or anything..!" The boy pleaded, yet nobody came. It went on like this for another few whiles, and Tommy felt his hope of finding another person here deplete with each passing minute like sand trickling out of his hand. Maybe he should just… try to see if he can get back out the way he came..?

.  .  .!

Suddenly, a few muffled footsteps sounded out from the corridor ahead of Tommy. 

"...Wilbur…?" The boy raced forward to meet the mysterious source of the steps, turning the corner just in time to see a scrap of bright green fabric disappear into one of the doorways. Wasn't Wilbur's coat brown?

"...hey, it's just me, Tommy..! Is that you, W-" before the boy could finish the call, something slammed into him from behind, tackling him to the ground. A slender hand clamped over his mouth and Tommy… Tommy…

.   

.  .

.  .  .

He dropped it. He dropped the plate, and his dad saw him do it. Familiar strong hands pressed his arms firmly, too firmly, restricting his movement. 

"...for the sake of Christ, why can't you just stop being so fucking useless for one goddamn moment?! Do you know anything other than causing trouble?!"

"...I'm sorry…"

The father's breath reeked of alcohol as he leaned in, penetrating the son's eyes with a glare of daggers. 

"Pick it up."

The man growled as he motioned at the shards that now laid scattered on the floor, and the boy scrambled immediately to find a dustpan. Though before he could do so, the stocky hands tackled him once again, slamming his fragile body against the ground in a way that he knew would leave bruises in the morning. 

"I said pick. It. Up!"

The son scrambled to his knees, not daring to look up at his father.

"...b-but I don't have a-"

A foot collided with the boy's ribcage, kicking him against the counter. Tears pushed themselves into his eyes and he forced them to a halt for he knew crying would only make things worse. It hurt. A lot. It was hard to breathe.

"I. Don't. Care! Use your hands, goddammit! Do something useful for once in your fucking life!"

A deep shade of crimson dyed the shards as they dug into the son's softer palms, and he dared not to question the father's methods for he knew the reasoning. His father loved him, he knew. His father only wanted to make him more likable, he knew. Yet no matter how much he tried to breathe deeply, his lungs simply refused to cooperate. Words swam in and out of the boy's mind, yet his brain simply refused to process them.

A strong hand captured his jaw, forcing him to look up.

"Answer me, Tom ! Don't you fucking dare to ignore me!"

The son tried extremely hard to speak, yet his mouth refused to let out a single peep.

"Tom!"

.  

"...Tom..!"

.  .

"...Tommy-!"

.  .  .

"...Tommy, c'mon, you need to breathe-" a familiar melodic voice whispered to him in a poorly concealed alarm as the boy slowly faded out of the flashback. Breathe, that's a good idea. Yet no matter how much he tried, his lungs simply refused to do anything besides a shallow inhale, as if he was drowning, gasping for air. Brown curls and round glasses swam in his vision, and the boy found himself clutching onto the sleeve of the man's coat like a lifeline, afraid that the phantoms of unhealed memories will drag him back into the past, was he to let go.

"...c-can't-" Tommy rasped between his shallow breaths, trying his best to focus on Wilbur's advice, and failing miserably. 

"...it's okay Tommy, you're- I promise that whatever place you're thinking of, you're not there anymore. You're okay," the man repeated, and strangely, Tommy found that the mantra did help his mind clear, if only a little bit. Not there. That's right. He's not there anymore. 

"...here, just… please, try to follow my breath, okay? Breathe in for four… hold for four… release…" silence stretched between the two as Tommy focused on Wilbur's breathing exercise. It took a solid few minutes for his breathing to calm down to normal, and Tommy almost started to feel embarrassed that it took him so long, but seeing the relief reflected in Wilbur's caramel eyes told him that maybe, just maybe, the man wasn't bothered. 

"...fuck me, man-" Finally, the boy released the man's sleeve, letting a disturbed chuckle croak out of his throat, "...I'm sorry, that must've been pretty weird-" He started to apologise but Wilbur cut him off.

"...no, no, it's me who should be apologizing, I shouldn't have tackled you like that. I got scared, but you couldn't have known… I should've told you that earlier, I'm so sorry-" the brunette ran a hand through his curls, pulling on his hair as he himself took a deep breath in and out. And Tommy was… positively flabbergasted. Wilbur… actually apologized. That's the first time someone actually genuinely apologized to him in a while. The only other person who did that was- no, no, let's not go there.

"...it's okay, but… thanks, big man," he chuckled again, lighter this time, "...wait, what exactly did you forget to tell me..?" Tommy asked, his curiosity from earlier resurrecting now that he's calmer. Now that he thinks about it, this is prime time to ask his questions. 

Wilbur looked around before sighing, as he rose from his position on the ground.

"I suppose I do owe you some answers, but… let's go talk somewhere safer. C'mon, Tommy, I promise it's not far-"

—×—

A sense of familiarity flowed through Tommy's mind as he trailed after Wilbur once again. It would be a lie to say he wasn't anxious at the very least, though in his defense, saying a vaguely threatening sentence like "let's talk somewhere safer" would leave even the biggest men on edge, including Tommy. Though mixed in with the anxiety was a jittery sense of excitement. Finally, he's about to get what he came here for in the first place. Answers! And god knows he needs a lot of them.

Luckily, Wilbur really didn't lie when he promised to get there shortly. Just a couple of halls and turns later, they arrived at something which looked like a wooden door. Huh. That's the first time he saw an actual door in this place, and not just an empty door frame.

"Well, shall I go in first, or do you wanna do the honors?" Wilbur's voice snapped Tommy out of his door-centric thoughts with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. Is this some sort of trick? Will the door open to reveal a brick wall? The boy sent a suspicious glare in response to Wilbur's knowing smile. He's… definitely up to something, Tommy knows it. Though it doesn't seem like it would be anything too shocking, and besides… Wilbur doesn't look like the kind of guy who would try to pull anything genuinely harmful… at least that's what Tommy thinks.

That's all the convincing Tommy needed before making a break for the door, pushing it open to reveal… a field…? Flat plains stretched as far as he could see, only interrupted by the occasional tree or small pond. A gentle, warm breeze reminiscent of those in the summer brushed past his face as he hesitantly stepped over the threshold, leaving space for Wilbur to slip out after him. The sun hung low, casting the land in breathtaking golden and pink hues typical for an evening, despite Tommy being 99.9% sure it was midday when he entered.

Where the hell is he? Tommy turned around so that he could, at the very least, see the building he came out of, only to see there was no building. Just a doorframe in the middle of the field. Looking back into the doorframe would reveal the same yellow dingy hallways he came out of, yet no matter how hard he looked the building simply wasn't there. It wasn't an optical illusion either, the boy found as he frantically marched all around the entrance only to discover it was really just a single door.

"..Wilbur, wha- where am I? Am I hallucinating?" Panic started to grip his mind once again as he searched Wilbur's face for even a semblance of an answer. 

"Oh, we just traveled between levels. Have you never seen that before? No, you definitely have, yesterday in that storage-" a thoughtful expression appeared on the brunette's face, his eyes scanning Tommy.

"Traveled between..? What the fuck does that mean? For fucks sake Wilbur, I don't understand at all-!" Wilbur let out a small chuckle at Tommy's frustrated tone, taking a solid minute to think before finally gracing the boy with an answer. 

"The short explanation is, this place takes the rules of physics as mere suggestions. Admittedly I… had thought you knew as much already, seeing as you quite literally had to phase in and out of your reality to get here but… I'm sorry for not clearing that up with you earlier," Wilbur scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. And he was right, now that Tommy thought about it, the complete disregard for any rules of nature was obvious to him from the very start, he simply chose to ignore it for the sake of his own sanity.

"But what exactly do you mean by 'your reality'?" Tommy couldn't help but ask, his thirst for answers not quite sated yet.

"Well," the older man began, closing the door to the rest of the maze, "think of this as a sort of… underbelly to the regular old world you came from. It's located not just in a different geographical location, but a different plane of existence altogether, therefore the entry to it is extremely rare and usually happens without your knowledge," at this, Tommy winced, remembering his first trip to this place. Yeah. Not fun.

"...and what about the levels?" Tommy almost felt bad for bombarding the other with so many questions, but then he remembered his need for answers is greater than any shame he may feel.

"...they're sort of like sub-realities that combine to create this… place. Some are easier to enter than others, some are safe, some are deadly… you get the deal," Tommy nodded, and the man continued, "the level we just came out of is basically the entryway to… here. Every human that fades out of their reality ends up there. The downside is, it's also the only level where outsiders can't see or meet each other."

"...but what about you?" Tommy asked hesitantly. He has met both Wilbur and that strange green fabric person, though he avoided bringing up his second encounter as he himself wasn't fully sure if he really saw that.

"I… haven't seen the outside for a good couple of years. Let's just leave it at that," a shiver traveled down the boy's spine at Wilbur's sudden change to a more serious tone, "that… also ties into what I was trying to tell you earlier. You should avoid shouting when you're alone in here at any cost, regardless of what you're saying and where you're located. I'm nowhere near the only one here, and you never know who will come when you call. Please, if you ever decide to visit this place, don't do that again, okay? I promise I'll find you eventually, just… stay quiet."

"...Jesus man, that's…" Tommy chuckled nervously when Wilbur's face retained the serious expression, "fine, fine, I promise I won't do that," Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief, finally letting go of his serious demeanor. Will he actually abide by the promise? That's… debatable.

"Thank you. Seriously," the brunette replied, and Tommy nodded, "no problem, big man. Thank you too, for the answers and shit," the boy flashed a smile, and Wilbur returned one right back. In this lighting, it almost gave the illusion of Wilbur having a healthier completion. Heh. It's not that Tommy didn't wonder about Wilbur's origins as well, it was just that the man didn't seem particularly keen to bring up that topic when the boy asked him earlier, and Tommy took it as a plea not to pry.

"..hey, wanna see my caravan?" Once again, a mischievous smile appeared on Wilbur's face, and the excitement Tommy felt earlier returned tenfold.

"...no way, you have one? Of course I fucking do-" The boy shouted excitedly, and Wilbur motioned to somewhere in the distance, where Tommy could see a vague outline of a rectangle parked under a tree, right next to one of the small ponds. Sprinting closer, Tommy could notice the scene looked as if it had been ripped straight out of some hippie camp, what with the older caravan model, and the small campfire laid next to it with a few logs positioned as chairs. Resisting the urge to barge inside, the boy waited for Wilbur to catch up.

"Can I..?" Tommy's fingers reached around the doorknob impatiently as he waited for Wilbur to grant him permission to continue. 

"Yeah," the man let his lips move into a soft smile, following Tommy as he stepped through the threshold. Almost immediately, Tommy's senses were assaulted by a sizable cloud of smoke that hung in the air of the caravan's interior. Is… is something on fire? No, he can't see any flames. With a small whine of surprise Wilbur barrelled past him to a small window, opening it to release the smoke, and the blonde once again repressed the urge to laugh as Wilbur started flailing his arms around like a headless chicken, as if that would make the gray cloud evaporate any faster.

"..I'm so sorry, I forgot about this, I-" Wilbur rambled, his pale cheeks stained red from embarrassment, "I wasn't anticipating having any guests over-!" 

"It's fine man, I don't mind," the boy reassured. Looking around the small space, he quickly located the source of the smoke. What must've been at least a month's worth of cigarette buds piled on the ashtray which was lain on the table under the aforementioned window, and Tommy was sure that if he told some rich, self serving asshole that it was "contemporary art" and that it "says a lot about society" they would gobble it up like a fine dessert.

"...you smoke?" he proceeded to ask, surprise eminent in his voice. Now that he thinks about it, the idea of Wilbur being a smoker wasn't all that outlandish. With his unhealthy complexion and messy appearance, the boy could totally picture him hunched over in a dark alley with a cigarette in his hand. It's just that… Wilbur doesn't sound like a smoker. And Tommy isn't some sort of innocent, sheltered kid – he's met all sorts of people, and one thing that all the heavy smokers he talked to shared was the characteristic gravely quality of their voice, their vocal cords worn down from years of smoke inhalation.

But Wilbur's voice was nothing like that. Its gentle, melodic tune much more likely belongs to some whimsical bard than a regular ole' smoker.

"...yeah," the man admitted with a sigh, only to be cut off by yet another question of Tommy's, "...how exactly do you get cigarettes down here?" At this, Wilbur paused.

"You'd be surprised by the kind of shit one can get here," is all the blond got in reply, and yet again, he accepted it as a plea against prying. 

Sensing Wilbur's reluctance with the topic, Tommy took the ensuing silence as an opportunity to take a proper look around the caravan's interior. It was pretty much identical to what you'd expect to find in a caravan. A small kitchen area on the wall opposite the table with two chairs on either side, a couch mounted to the wall in a fashion he assumed was typical for caravans. A storage space adjacent to the couch. It was cluttered, very much so, every available table or counter space covered almost entirely in different items and trinkets. In the corner, a guitar was propped up against the wall. Huh. Maybe he wasn't completely wrong in his comparison of Wilbur's voice to a bard. But before he could ask Wilbur to tell him more about the instrument, something else captured the blonde's attention.

Opposite to the couch was what Tommy could only guess to be a workbench. Messy, just like the rest of the place, with papers piled on one end of it, and some items he couldn't quite identify piled on the other. In the middle of the table, though, was what truly earned the boy's attention. Some sort of weird metal contraption sat there in all its glory, complete with three glass vials strapped to it in a triangular formation. It looked like the brunette stole it straight from a cartoonish science lab, what with the ambiguous pink liquid that glistened and glowed with a suspicious purple hue in one of the vials.

"Are you making drugs?" Tommy asked teasingly, though curiosity was once again pulling on his mind, as he waited with bated breath for the man's reply.

"It's not drugs Tommy, it's-" he started, only to be interrupted by the boy once more.

"I can't believe you would try to show drugs to a minor," the boy went on, making a point to put on the most exaggerated, dramatically disappointed face he could muster, "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to expose this. You're getting canceled on twitter dot com," his shit eating grin only widened as a look of confusion grew on Wilbur's face.

"Shut up child, it's literally not-" Wilbur tried, yet got cut off anyway. 

"Nu-uh, fuck you! You said so last time as well. About the mysterious liquid that just so happened to make me all energized and shit. Yeah, definitely not a drug," Tommy crossed his hands, shooting Wilbur a playful accusatory glare.

"...that was almond water, it's different – and besides, even if it was drugs, what are you going to do? Call the police? I'm sure they'd be thrilled to search for a man who cooks drugs outside of reality," this time, the brunette shot right back at Tommy, a look of challenge settled on his face. That smug asshole.

"...hello, yes, officer, there's a man in the walls and he's handing out drugs to children-!" Tommy pretended to do what Wilbur said, improvising with his palm as an imaginary telephone with an exaggerated alarm in his voice. It didn't take long for both of them to erupt into laughter, realizing just how batshit insane that would've sounded to anyone who lacked context.

"Okay, fine, but really – what is it then, if not drugs?" The boy let curiosity overtake him once again.

"...it's a potion," Wilbur supplied, albeit unhelpfully. 

"Like in minecraft?" Tommy blurted without thinking, embarrassment hitting him almost immediately, harder than a speeding semi. He's sixteen. Six-fucking-teen , a big man, and he's still talking about minecraft? What if Wilbur thinks he's a loser-? No, he doesn't care. Minecraft can only be appreciated by the biggest of men, and if Wilbur can't understand that, shame on him, really.

"Mine… what? What's that?" Wilbur tilted his head with a look of confusion so genuine it just about flushes any remaining embarrassment Tommy felt right down the toilet.

"...oh, you poor, uncultured bastard…"

—×—

And so, the two talked. And yes, Tommy may or may not have spent a good hour trying to explain to this absolute fossil of a man what minecraft was. Hell, Wilbur didn't even know what a video game was. Tommy almost felt bad. But then again, that meant he got the prime opportunity to ramble about his favorite game to someone who hasn't yet grown tired of him constantly talking about it, which is an opportunity so rare it would be stupid of him to let it pass. Briefly, the boy considered simply showing the man, but then he remembered his phone is dead, and he doesn't exactly have access to a computer he could drag down here.

Would a computer or a phone even work in this place? That's a thought. Perhaps, if he ever found someplace to charge his mobile, he could test that theory. 

Unfortunately, though unsurprisingly, he didn't manage to wring any additional context about the "potion" out of Wilbur. Potions are still technically drugs, right? Maybe that's why Wilbur is so reluctant to talk about it. Every time Tommy asked about it, the brunette simply mumbled something under his breath. Eventually though, after some convincing, Wilbur promised to show him how they're made some other day. 

Though throughout their whole talk, Tommy's eyes kept wandering back to the guitar. He wanted to ask about it. Really, he did, but he also noticed that Wilbur seemed to be uncomfortable answering any questions that came a bit too close to a personal territory, and the last thing the boy wanted to do was upset him. 

"...you can ask about it, if you want," Wilbur's voice came quietly, as if he could read Tommy's mind. Though on second thought, it wouldn't be that difficult to see the blonde's fixation on the guitar, judging by the way his eyes have been glued to that same corner for the past few minutes.

"...is it yours?" Tommy didn't hesitate, following with another question, "can you play anything on it?" 

"Of course it's mine, whose else would it be?" The man chuckled, "and yes, I can play- I mean, only a few basics, but I suppose that's better than nothing-" He elaborated with a certain awkwardness in his tone, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Tommy.

"Can you play something for me? Please-?" He begged, eyeing Wilbur with expectation. To his disappointment, the man stayed silent, as if considering his answer.

"...would you look at that-!" Wilbur stretched his arm forward, casting a quick glance at his wrist as if he was checking the time on an imaginary watch. "...it's just about time for you to get going-"

"Fuck you! You said I could ask about it-!" Tommy didn't bother to conceal his frustration, glaring daggers at Wilbur, who was now heading slowly towards the door.

"...I said you could ask, not that I'd answer," the man replied, a smug grin smeared across his face. 

"...fine." Tommy muttered, crossing his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"Seriously though, you should probably get going. You've been here for a good while now, won't your parents be looking for you?" Even though Tommy knew the man had clean intentions, the question still landed heavily, squeezing his heart in its metaphorical claws. Won't they be looking for you? God, how he wished that was the case. But Tommy wasn't stupid. His dad loved him, he knew that. But he also knew that the man wouldn't waste his time looking for a disobedient child like Tommy. 

It's fine. Tommy is a big man, and big men don't need anyone to fuss over them. At the end of the day, it's always been him against the world, and he doesn't need, nor want to change anything about that. But he can't exactly tell that to Wilbur, can he? Well, he could, but he doesn't want to. There's just something about voicing his loneliness aloud, to Wilbur, no less, that makes the boy's insides twist in a way that's all too familiar to him.

"...yeah, they- you're right, they must be very worried about me-" He choked out with a nervous laugh. And for a while, Tommy got scared that Wilbur caught on to his lie when an unreadable look passed on the man's face, but when Wilbur returned right back to his usual expression without calling him out, the boy forced himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

"C'mon Tommy, let's get you out of here."

—×—

Just like yesterday, they walked, with Tommy trailing after Wilbur in the tangle of musty, yellow hallways like a lost puppy. And not at all unlike before, the boy was once again left to wonder about the man's origins, mesmerized by the clearly burnt edges of the man's trenchcoat. Isn't that inconvenient to wear? Surely, if he can get cigarettes in this place, he can get a new coat, right? Maybe it's a statement piece. Yeah, no, Tommy can totally picture Wilbur holding a brand new coat above some kind of flame, waiting for it to burn just right so that he can have another way of making himself even more mysterious. 

Yeah, he seems like the type of dramatic asshole who would do that.

Though now that he managed to get a closer look at Wilbur's apparel, he noticed a small detail on the man's coat that he hadn't noticed before. A small patch was sewn onto one of the garment's shoulders. It was a flag, or so Tommy guessed, but it didn't belong to any country he recognised. A pride flag, maybe? Probably not. If his complete lack of knowledge about all things digital was anything to go off of, Tommy guessed the man has been down here for long enough to not be acquainted with most of the modern culture. 

So, an old version of some country's flag, perhaps? That's interesting, to say the least. Tommy's first guess was it being somehow connected to England, since Wilbur does speak with a soft, but noticeable British accent, but then again, it's not like he can know for sure. The boy duly noted to himself to try and find more information on the flag once he gets out of here. 

Eventually, after what Tommy could only guess was about a half hour's worth of walking, Wilbur abruptly stopped in his tracks and turned back to Tommy.

" Welp, here we are," the man threw his arms out sarcastically, and Tommy couldn't help himself but stare at the yellowing wallpaper, absent from any door, or any other typical means of entry. Now that he thinks about it, how does Wilbur know exactly where to go? Can he sniff the exit like a dog, or something?

"...sooo, now's the time I get shoved into the wall, eh?" Tommy knew the answer, yet he asked anyway, curious at whatever answer Wilbur might decide to grace him with. 

"...sorry about that. I wasn't exactly sure how to explain it to you yesterday, and I had a feeling you'd only be more confused if I did. So I just… did the thing myself. Is it… that uncomfortable?" Wilbur asked, and Tommy barked a quick laugh. Uncomfortable. That was probably the understatement of the century.

"It's fucking terrible, but I'm not mad at you for that. I mean, you're not the one who made it that way, I assume. You just do what you need to to get me out," he reassured, fixing the man with an awkward, lopsided smile.

"Well then, see you later I suppose," Wilbur replied with farewells and his own little smile, his hand hovering over Tommy's shoulder as if waiting for permission. 

"Yup, see ya," the boy nodded, resisting the urge to flinch as the man's hand guided him to the wall in a familiar fashion. Admittedly, Tommy still has yet to get used to that sort of casual physical contact with anyone, much less Wilbur. But it's miles easier now that he's just being grabbed gently by the shoulder, as opposed to getting tackled without warning like he did earlier. 

Tommy closed his eyes just as he was about to collide with the wall, and in no time, his consciousness faded into black alongside his vision.

—×—

The boy groaned as he forced himself to sit up, relieved to see he's still situated in the alley from which he entered. Instead of the sharp, lively rays of the midday sun he expected to assault his eyes as he woke, Tommy was greeted by a gentle yellowish hue, characteristic of the golden hour. God, he knew he was there for quite a while, but has it really been that long? 

He gave himself a once-over, wincing as he noticed that the junk stains on his pants not only didn't magically disappear, but also apparently have had enough time to dry completely, leaving Tommy with two nasty brown marks right on the knees of his light blue jeans. Great, just great . And he plans to go into some building to do research looking like he climbed out of the sewer? Well, it's not like he has much of a choice. Either he does, or he doesn't, and just lets the curiosity of Wilbur's mysterious flag fester in his mind. 

Yeah, no, he's getting those answers one way or another. Maybe he can pass off the stains as a fashion choice? People do wear just about anything these days. Sure, he can go with that. 

Now, where can he find someplace to do research? In any other circumstances, he would simply confront good ole' Google about it, but now, with his phone dead, that's very much out of the question. Right now, his best bet would be a library, and luckily enough, he remembers the location of one not too far from here. If it's still open, that is. The last time he had been there was about two years ago, when he needed to borrow some old books to read for English class.

That's settled, then. Since there's still at least a bit of time left until night proper, he'll try to see whether or not that library is still in commission, and if so, find any information he can about the flag on Wilbur's coat, simple as that.

The streets were much less populated in the evening than they were in the day, and the boy couldn't decide whether he liked that or not. Usually, he'd jump at the opportunity to get away from the persistent crowds (don't get him wrong, he's an extroverted guy, but even he'd had enough sometimes), but after running around for hours in that crusty mess of a maze with the population he could count on one hand, he finds that he doesn't mind it as much as usual when people pass him by.

Not even ten minutes passed before the blonde stood in front of the library's door, letting out a breath of relief as he noticed the sign labeling it as open. The storefront wasn't grand, nestled between a row of residential buildings, and not having known about it beforehand, one could've easily missed it while passing the street. The inside, on the contrary, was quite spacious, Tommy noted as he opened the door without hesitation, his entry announced by the chime of a bell above him.

Ignoring the judgemental glare he received from the asshole at the counter, Tommy headed straight for the expanse of bookshelves. Should he have asked for help? Yes, but he's a man on a mission, and he does not need assistance from someone who stares at him as if he walked in ass naked. Fuck them, honestly. 

It took Tommy way longer than he would like to admit to find the history book section, but once he did, he wasted no time and dug his nose straight into the first book that looked like it could contain the right information. And then another book, and another, until the librarian came to tell him it's time to close. 

And here he is now, standing outside of the building, with a frankly abysmal knowledge of the history of flags that he'll probably forget by tomorrow morning, still none the smarter about the one on Wilbur's coat. To say it was frustrating would be the understatement of the century. Right now, Tommy wanted nothing more than to kick Wilbur and his stupid, mysterious origin right in the nuts. Fuck him, and his musty hallways, and his stupid smug grin. Tommy took a deep breath, and let out one of the most burdened sighs he ever released in his life. 

Whatever, he's a big man, he doesn't need any answers about the flag. In fact, he never even cared! Yeah, that's right. Besides, it's late anyway. Tommy tilted his head up, observing the yellow mist of light pollution that covered up the stars in the dark sky. It's extremely ugly, he noted to himself. He should definitely find someplace to sleep.

What happens tomorrow is tomorrow's Tommy's problem.

Chapter Text

The walls are alive, he can feel them. Why, or more importantly how he knows that is lost to him, yet the knowledge simply comes to him as if it had always been there, deep in his subconscious mind, waiting to be called back to the surface. The maze writhes – the floors creak and groan, as they are forced into a repeating rise and fall, a ragged, sickly imitation of breathing. The concrete walls bend and pulsate and he was willing to bet any of his sparse belongings that just a single tug at the obnoxiously yellow wallpaper would reveal nothing other than flesh, warm, wet, and oh-so disgustingly alive.

The maze lives, yet all he can do is push forward desperately, through the twisting hallways that warp themselves in architecturally impossible ways right before his very eyes. The faint buzz of lights overhead morphs into a subtle sound of laughter, mocking him as he stumbles forward, taunting him as he turns his head frantically from side to side, as if it were to help him find any logic in a place the very existence of which is based around the lack thereof. 

Deep in his subconscious, he can feel that there had once been a reason for his appearance here. There had to have been, even if his mind fails to supply him with the answers he needs, he still clings to the hope that there is a purpose to his relentless charge forward, that at some point, the horrors beyond his compression will cease to haunt him and that he will, at some point, reach the end of this writhing maze. 

For the mere thought of all of this being devoid of purpose, that there is no end to this, just him, alone with the yellowing wallpaper for eternity, trapped in a purgatory for the sins he never committed fills him with a fear so profound it almost feels man-made, tailored perfectly for him, and him only.

His body aches from exhaustion, and yet he surges forward, for he fears what would happen were he to stop even for a miniscule amount of time. He tries to keep up the same vigor he had at the start but he is just so tired, his legs shake with every step he takes. With a stark terror, he realizes that he's slowly reaching the end of his stamina. And still he dares not to stop. He leans against the wall heavily, all but dragging himself forward whilst the feverish warmth of the meat beneath the wallpaper seeps into him through his clothes like a pestilence.

He can't stop. He has to keep moving forward. He can't stop, he can't stop-!

His knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground harshly, like a sack of potatoes. He… failed. His breaths are labored, not only because of the severe exhaustion he feels, but also from the increasing panic in his mind. He stopped moving. What happens now? He has absolutely no clue, and that only makes him all the more terrified.

In the corner of his vision, he can see a pair of brown boots slowly approaching him. His breath hitched as it stopped within arms reach of him, and before he could even register what was happening, the thing grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his head to look up. 

The last thing he sees before his world fades to black is a tall, humanoid figure, clad in a bright green cloak, its face covered by a white porcelain mask that was decorated by a simple smiley face. Despite the mask lacking any sort of eyeholes, he could feel its gaze burning through him, appraising him like a predator stalking their prey, and he hoped with every last fiber of his being that it doesn't like playing with its food. Suddenly, its hand let go of his hair, and without the energy to catch himself, he was sent plummeting down, into a familiar darkness.

.

.   .

.   .    .

One thing Tommy never would've expected to be comforting was the cold, hard concrete beneath him as he all but jumped awake, desperately gulping down a lungful of air. That was… horrifying. He's definitely had his fair share of nightmares in his life, but this was just… well, if he had to rank the terrible dreams based on how much they tempted him never to sleep again, this one would definitely make it high up the leaderboard. 

Don't get him wrong, he's not scared of some… stupid, green cloak wearing asshole that appeared once in his dream. The guy didn't even have the balls to show his face to Tommy, hiding behind some smiley mask. Seriously? It's like an edgy teenager designed his outfit. Whatever, Tommy is a big man, and he won't let the musty hallways get to his head. He's in full control of his situation, and if he ever decides to stop visiting the maze, there's nothing anyone can do to stop him.

The boy's rapid breathing slowly calmed down to a reasonable speed while he continued to remind himself that he's safe here, he's outside. The only thing that can hurt him out here are his own foolish mistakes, as demonstrated clearly by the bread incident a few days ago. And whatever the hell is in that maze? Whatever it is that Wilbur warned him against? It can't chase him out here. As long as he's out here, it can't follow.

That being said…

He still needs to go down there again. After all, Wilbur did promise to show him more of the potions if he came again, which is something Tommy simply can't refuse. Is it a bad decision? Maybe. But he's a big man, and he can handle himself. 

The morning sun still hung low on the sky when Tommy left the alley he camped in for the night, making it known that the blonde could very well still have been sleeping, if it wasn't for the stupid nightmare waking him up. In fact, it shook him up so much, he wouldn't have fallen back asleep even if he wanted to. Which fucking sucks, yes, but it's not like he can just lay there on the hard concrete all day, mourning the loss of the sleep which was so crudely stolen from him.

Actually, it might be for the best if he spends as little time on the concrete as possible. It's starting to get colder as the days go on, noticeably so during the morning and night. It hasn't yet reached the point where Tommy would have to rely on his only jacket to keep warm, which also means it's still warm enough for the boy to ignore the problem. But along with the air, the ground is getting colder as well, and the last thing Tommy needs right now is to get sick. He should probably find something to separate him from the ground the next time he sleeps… surely, some cardboard will do the trick, and god knows there's a lot of that laying around. 

Even this early in the morning, the traffic was already at full swing, as per usual for a big city like this one. But Tommy doesn't mind, the sound of tires whirring past on the asphalt serves him as a sort of white noise as he walks, absentmindedly kicking a small pebble along with him. Usually, he would go get some food after he wakes up, but he's not very hungry right now. Even if he was, he spent quite a bit of his feeble funds on food yesterday, so he needs to be a bit more careful with what he has left. And while he could just venture to the square and try to get some more money, he has another activity already on his mind.

Without much thought, his feet carry him towards the alley that has been the crux of his misfortune for the past two days. This time, he doesn't drop down manically to dig through trash, the disgusting brown stains on his pants serving as enough of a reminder for Tommy just how bad of an idea it was yesterday. No, the boy marched straight towards the wall he phased through the last time.

In a fashion nearly mirroring yesterday, Tommy held a hand out, yet before his fingers could brush the wall, he hesitated. What is he even doing? He should not be returning to that place, not willingly . He should be happy that he's free, that he's out of the maze and that he's safe out here. And yet his insides twist uncomfortably at the mere thought of never visiting the place again. There's so much he has yet to see down there. So many questions left to answer, not only about the place itself, but about Wilbur . Tommy curses his own curiosity, which itches like bugs under his skin. He has to see more.

The blonde takes a deep breath, suppressing his racing thoughts. Fine. Fine. He's going back. 

There is no sound when his fingers push into and then right through the wall. No cool effects to indicate his travel between the maze and the outside, no grandiose, just him, slamming his body into the wall and allowing the darkness to claim him once more.

—×—

The boy woke, as was usual, splayed on the disgustingly moist carpet with a headache absolutely pounding in his head. And while it's nice that he no longer feels like someone stuffed him into a meat grinder, Tommy would still appreciate not having to deal with any kind of pain. 

Something occurred to him as he leaned on the wall to push himself up. In Tommy's nightmare, the walls were soft in a way only flesh could be, and radiated heat like a fever. However, here, the walls are firm. Cold. A sudden wave of desperation came over Tommy as he tried his best to pry the wallpaper off, and see what lies beneath. It didn't budge at first, but eventually, he managed to rip off a small patch, revealing… 

Concrete. The boy's mind flooded with relief. The walls aren't alive. They aren't, because they can't possibly be. They aren't pulsating, and neither are the floors rising and falling. Even this mess of a place has some kind of boundaries. Hah! Take that, stupid fucking nightmare! Nothing can get through Tommy's thick shell!

Filled with a newfound confidence, the boy was just about to charge forward like he usually does, until he remembered Wilbur told him something important yesterday. What exactly was it? Something about staying in one spot silently until Wilbur finds him. Briefly, Tommy considered sitting here, in complete silence, for an unspecified amount of time. Hell, Wilbur told him he'd find Tommy "eventually", but that means squat to the blonde. For all he knows, it could be hours! Yeah, that's not fucking happening. 

On the contrary, when he was going around shouting yesterday, it only took an hour or two for Wilbur to locate Tommy. Which still, mind you, is a long fucking time, but the important part is that Tommy knows how much time it would take to meet with him that way, as opposed to not having any insurance that Wilbur will find him at all if he's just a sitting duck.

Yeah, no, he's going to yell. And hopefully, Wilbur won't tackle him this time. Not that Tommy is scared, no. He just doesn't enjoy being tossed around like laundry in a washing machine.

—×—

"Wilbur!" The boy's voice bounced off the walls, echoing around the tangle of corridors. Only about twenty minutes passed since he started walking, and his confident march into the unknown reflected that Tommy still had a lot of energy to spare. 

"Wil-bur-!" He stretched the name teasingly. It was refreshing, knowing exactly what he's doing and what's going to happen in this place. The first two times he was here were filled with confusion, desperation and questioning, but now? He's going to walk around and yell for a while, and eventually, Wilbur will find him. Easy. And yes, Wilbur will probably scold Tommy for not following his nonsensical promise, but what was he supposed to do? Sit there? No thank you.

And besides, it's not like there's anything that can go wrong in this situation. Tommy is simply too cool to be targeted by misfortune.

The boy's calls for a certain brunette reverberate through the maze, highlighting just how quiet and empty this place is. The complete lack of noise other than the constant buzz of lights overhead makes Tommy's skin crawl, even knowing there's logically nothing bad that can happen. He yells out Wilbur's name one more time, and that's when he hears it.

The lone echo of his footsteps is accompanied by another. Surely, it must belong to Wilbur. But Tommy can't help himself but think it sounds… strange. The steps come arithmetically, shuffling and dragging themselves on the carpet. Has Wilbur always walked like this? Is his leg injured or something?

"...Wilbur? It's you, isn't it?" No reply. The boy's hands anxiously grip the hem of his shirt. Something feels wrong, but it shouldn't, because nothing can go wrong. Tommy takes a hesitant step forward. 

"Wilbur..? C'mon, I know you're pissed about the promise, and I'm really sorry about that, but what else was I meant to do..?" No reply came, only the subtle shuffling of someone close to him. A shiver traveled down Tommy's spine, but it shouldn't, because nothing can go wrong, this is just Wilbur, and Tommy is fine. He stops walking in hope of finding the origin of the noise, yet the footsteps stop at the same time he does. And then, something growls. 

"...Are you- You're not fucking growling at me, a-are you? Wilbur..! I'm sorry, okay? Y-you can stop it now..!" The boy tried his best to emulate an assertive shout, but the beginnings of doubt already leaked into his tone. What if this really isn't Wilbur? What if? And he tried to correct his thoughts, but once the seed of doubt had plunged its roots deep into Tommy's mind, it felt impossible to get rid of. Suddenly, every little move he made was too loud. The sounds of his steps shot through the silence like bullets, his accelerated breath like gales, even his own heartbeat felt intrusive against the overwhelming absence of noise. The growling never stopped, despite the blonde's effort to remain as still as he could manage to be. Heavy, shuffling footsteps rounded the corner.

And that… thing , that… whatever it was, was not Wilbur. It stood a fair distance away from him, but even then, Tommy could see how it would tower over him by at least a good meter. Slowly, but surely, it inched closer to the boy with heavy, dragging steps. The thing's skin, pale and dry, clearly didn't belong over its wiry frame, loose and tight in all the wrong places like the world's shittiest bodysuit. It grabbed its skin as it walked, and much to Tommy's horror, adjusted it like an ill fitted shirt. And the thing's head, good god , the thing's head was even worse. The facial skin was draped over its skull loosely, like a sheet, not quite matching with the creature's facial structure. Its eyes were milky, absent, and as it opened its mouth to take in a wheezing breath, Tommy could count an alarming number of yellow, rotten teeth. 

Some kind of matter the boy hoped wasn't dried blood caked the creature's hands, and dribbled down its chin.

Tommy wanted to run. Desperately. But his feet refused to move, his lungs refused to intake any air and his brain refused to focus on anything that wasn't the thing in front of him. The thing that, Tommy could not stress enough, was not Wilbur.

"..Wi…l…ur.." It slurred out in what the blonde could only assume to be an attempt at copying his speech, its voice almost a growl, and Tommy screamed. This isn't his first time seeing a monster, far from it– Tommy played lots of horror games and watched lots of scary movies of varying quality throughout his life, and before all this, he would've told you without hesitation he's desensitized to all that horror can offer. Now, as he stands before a beast that is not only real, but moving so close to him that he can smell the stench of rotting flesh, Tommy understands finally that considering himself above feelings of fear was foolish , and that no amount of pixelated blood and gore plastered on a screen could make him prepared for this.

The thing, undeterred by his scream, takes another painfully slow step forward, and that's when whatever survival instinct Tommy has kicks in, unmooring his frozen limbs and yelling at him to run . And run he does. Tommy's feet drag him forward at a record breaking speed, down the twisting corridors, down the empty rooms… straying even further from his point of entry than he ever intended to, but that doesn't even register in his panic fueled mind.

The boy's breath caught in his throat when he realized the thing gave chase . And it was fast, much faster than the dragging footsteps Tommy saw it take earlier. It wasn't faster than him, thank fucking god, but the difference in speed between them was nearly negligible, so he couldn't help but praise his amazing survival instincts for giving him a headstart.

How long will that thing chase him for?

Tommy doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon, hell no, but it would be foolish to think he can outrun that thing forever. Maybe it'll just trip over a threshold and die? God, he hoped so. If this was happening in a horror game, Tommy would, without a doubt, turn around and punt the creature into next year. After all, the worst that could happen is losing the game, which wouldn't happen, because big men never lose. But this isn't a game, and he's acutely aware of that. Even if he had a weapon that could feasibly put a dent into the beast, it fills Tommy with dread to even consider that an option. This is his very real, and his only life at stake here, and he would like to keep it, thank you very much.

So Tommy runs, because that's the only thing he knows how to do.

Maybe Wilbur would come and help him? As much as Tommy hopes that will be the case, he can't exactly imagine Wilbur of all people, a lanky, deathly pale smoker, to go around culling things like this, or even consider doing so. Would Wilbur even want to help Tommy? The thought sits like a boulder in the boy's racing mind. Wilbur warned Tommy. He told the blond to stay put and wait for him, and Tommy didn't listen. And for what? Because he was bored? Wilbur made him promise not to move out of genuine concern for his well being, and Tommy broke that promise as soon as he could just because he didn't want to stay still. Wilbur has all the reasons he could have to let the boy deal with this alone.

This would never have happened if you could just do as you're fucking told.

A voice, eerily similar to that of his father rang in his mind like a bell, and Tommy let out a sob, despite himself. His dad was right, wasn't he? Tommy never was, isn't, and never will be more than a petulant child, refusing to do as he's told no matter how much he's disciplined. Except now, the punishment for his constant mistakes won't be more “discipline” from his father, it will be whatever fate he'll suffer at the hands of this beast. Wilbur is probably aware of Tommy's current state, and lets him suffer through it after realizing Tommy will never learn from his mistakes, and therefore isn't worth saving. Doesn't deserve being saved.

Because that's just who he is. Loud. Annoying. Disobedient. Selfish. Tommy .

And yet, despite being fully aware of the hopelessness of his situation, Tommy keeps on running, because that's the only thing he can do. Selfishly, even though he knows the world would be better off without a boy like him, Tommy refuses to come to terms with his fate, refuses to part with his life. So he keeps up the pace, and if a tear or two (or more, much more) slides down his cheek when the creature behind him growls, that's nobody else's business but his.

Corridors pass him by in a flurry of washed out yellow, and Tommy doesn't think for a second about stopping. His breaths come shallow, but Tommy doesn't dare to even think of stopping for a break. His feet begin to grow sore, but the thought of slowing down is immeasurably more repulsive than whatever aches he will face if he urges himself to run just a bit longer.

Suddenly, like a desert oasis, the labyrinth’s monotony gets interrupted by a small spot of dark brown wood at the end of a long hall the boy's currently running through. A door. Wilbur said before that doors lead to different levels or whatever, right? That could be his way out. He picked up the pace, sprinting desperately towards the door as if his life depended on it (it most certainly did). Tommy's hand grips the doorknob, but he hesitates. What if the door is locked? What if the creature is messing with his head, making him think there's a way out, only for his last hope to evaporate before his eyes? He looks back to see the monster is still very much charging at him. Yeah, no, he doesn't have time for hesitation right now.

It takes a bit of strength to open the door, but it opens, and that's the only thing that matters to him right now. Without any further hesitation, Tommy stumbled through the threshold, slamming the door behind him. Leaning his forehead heavily against the polished wood, Tommy takes a minute to breathe for the first time after his relentless charge forward. 

What if the thing can open doors?

Shit, shit, he didn't even consider that-! Even if it can't open a door, who's to say it's not going to just break right in? Tommy sobbed, as panic once again took over his mind. He can't let that happen, he can't, he can't let the monster in– he has to find something to block the door with–

The boy spun around rapidly, finally taking a proper look at his surroundings. Snow covered the ground around him, and the blonde suddenly became painfully aware of the moisture seeping through his far-from-waterproof shoes. Yikes. But at least he knows why the door was so difficult to open– he didn't even notice the snow when he stepped through. He stood in the middle of a small clearing, sandwiched on all sides by a forest of tall pines, covered by, you guessed it– more snow. Well, at least he has something to work with in order to block the door…

He turned around to look at the door, if only to gauge how much time he has to construct his little blockade before the beast comes knocking, but the door simply wasn't there. Tommy's eyes darted rapidly around the clearing, but the door didn't just relocate, it was gone . A humorless laugh crawled out of his throat. Of course, of course something just had to go to shit, as if this situation itself wasn't terrible enough already. He should be glad, since at least he doesn't have a monster to run from anymore, yet Tommy can't help himself but not only look at the gifted horse's mouth, but pry its stupid equine jaws open and count its teeth.

All at once, the cold wind finally blows around him, right through his thin clothes, biting into his skin and bones. Tommy cursed, quickly pulling out his jacket from its designated spot in his backpack. It was, just like his shoes, not even close to being waterproof, made to withstand the gentle chill of early autumn, not… this weather. Whatever , it'll have to do. Curling into the jacket, the boy considered what his next course of action should be. Obviously, he can't go back into the halls, since the door decided to fucking vanish, but he can't just stand here forever either.

Fine. Fine. He's going into the forest. With one last good look around, in case another door appeared (it didn't), Tommy took a deep breath to steel himself, before disappearing into the forest's thick foliage. 

—×—

Each and every one of Tommy's shaky breaths condenses into clouds of white fog as he forces his way through the shrubbery. The pines and spruces looming over him are as tall and imposing as ever, blocking most of the sky from his view with their sharp branches. Not that he's missing out on much, the boy supposes. The snow has been absolutely pissing down ever since he stepped into the forest, and Tommy can't help but feel grateful for the feeble shelter offered to him under the treetops.

Originally, he planned to come up with some plan for his proceedings while he walks, but now, as he trudges aimlessly, the only thought occupying his mind is just how fucking cold he is. Snow melted and soaked into his shoes quite some time ago, and his thin clothes are like rice paper against the grueling wind. It's so cold. Tommy didn't feel tired before, and he hasn't been walking for that long, so by all means, he shouldn't feel this drowsy. But regardless of that, the blonde is cold, and exhausted, and…

He needs to rest. For a small while, at least. Maybe, he can just… lean against a tree for a minute? Yeah. Yeah , that sounds like a good idea. With sluggish steps, Tommy approaches one of the winding trees, but just as he's about to lean his weight on it, dizziness overcomes him, his world tilts on its axis, and the boy is sent down face first into the snow. He would've cursed, if he had the energy, but the snow under him doesn't feel all that cold anymore, and it's actually quite comfortable. He could sleep like this.

Wait-!

That's not a good sign, is it? Wanting to sleep in the snow when he was borderline freezing to death a mere moment ago? Tommy dragged himself to sit up against the tree, exhausted from the effort. He should get up, seriously, but his body feels heavy, and the ground feels oh so comfortable. 

A crunching noise suddenly comes into his ears. Huh? Is there someone else here? No, surely not. Tommy must have just imagined that. 

Another noise comes around, and then a few more, and Tommy quickly sobered up from his frost induced sleepiness. What is that? Please, for fucks sake, don't be another monster. He tries to get up, only to discover he can't, his legs numb from the cold. Panic grips his mind faster than he could say his full name, as he covers his mouth with frostbitten hands. Maybe whatever's walking around won't notice him if he stays quiet? It feels like grasping at straws, but still, he desperately hopes that will be the case.

The footsteps come closer, and Tommy lets out a fearful sob, muffled poorly by his hands. Please don't let it notice him, please–

“Need any help over there?”

The monotone voice rang out above the whirring wind, and it sounded like… a person? Relief spread through Tommy's mind. A person! His head whipped to face the sound, and the relief that he felt moments prior washed away as quickly as it came. The owner of the voice looked nothing like the basic tone it carried.

The first thing Tommy noticed was their size. They stood tall, much taller than Tommy, and perhaps even a few inches taller than Wilbur, though they didn't even come close in height to the thing he saw earlier, which Tommy was grateful for. Their attire was strange, and hardly suited for the merciless weather. In fact, Tommy couldn't wrap his head around how they looked so unaffected by the cold when all they were wearing was a thin poet shirt, a dramatic red cloak and some loose fitted, torn blue shorts over their legs. Their very much nonhuman, digitigrade legs, covered in a thick coat of dark pink fur, ending in hooves. The person (person?) cleared their throat.

“My eyes are up here, y'know.” The boy's eyes darted up to meet the stranger's crimson ones, starting daggers into him from two eye holes of the skull they wore to cover their face. He gulped, taking in their long pink hair, topped with a golden crown fit for royalty. Strange. And potentially dangerous, his mind supplied, muddled by another wave of incoming fright. They did offer to help him, but one encounter with a beast was far more than enough for one day, and he was rightfully hesitant to trust someone who looked so… inhuman . Though he could definitely use some help… No- no, it's hardly worth it, Tommy is a big man, and he can deal with this alone, without gambling his trust into whoever this stranger was.

“...n..no thanks, big man, I'm actually doing quite well-” his voice came out with a bit less assertiveness, and a bit more shake than Tommy intended. Curse you, shitty weather- 

Despite Tommy's best effort to deter them, the stranger's eyes were still very much fixed on him.

“I dunno, it kinda looks like you're freezing to death. Might just be a hunch, though,” they pressed, with a hint of dry sarcasm in their tone. Great. Tommy just can't be left alone today, can he?

“...excuse me? Just because I'm sitting on the ground doesn't mean I'm f..freezing, thank you very much..” Tommy tried to sound as intimidating as he could, not oblivious to the way his body is shaking, drawing his arms closer around himself in an attempt to conceal it. They shrugged.

“Well, suit yourself, I guess. Since you're clearly doing so well.” Oh, well now they're just mocking him. Tommy tried to feel offended, he really did, but the only thing he could feel as the stranger turned around was rising dread at the thought of being left alone. God fucking dammit, isn't them leaving exactly what he wanted? But now that Tommy thinks about it, it's extremely unlikely that anyone else will just randomly stumble upon him like they did– for all he knows, they might be the only other living being besides him in this damn forest, and god knows Tommy won't last too much longer with the way he's already shivering violently. 

“..wait, just-” Tommy yelled after them, and to his surprise, the stranger actually turned around to face him again.

“...suppose I m..might be freezing, what would you do then..?” He asked, equally hesitant and desperate. Tommy really didn't want to trust them, but he also didn't want to stay here any longer than he absolutely had to, and it seemed like his only option at the moment. The stranger shrugged.

“Bring you inside, maybe? I'm no expert, but I've heard that sitting on the snow for an extended period of time isn't all that good for your health.” Again with that dry sarcasm. Tommy almost would've gotten mad, if his mind wasn't singing praises at the idea of being inside. Right now, that sounded mighty fucking pleasant. As if noticing his sudden improvement of mood, the stranger posed him with another question.

“Can you stand?” With little hesitation, the boy moved to do so. Or he would have, if his body didn't feel so fucking heavy, his limbs numb, stuck in place. The only thing he really managed was a frustrated whine, turning his head around to face the stranger in embarrassment. 

“...n..no.” Tommy expected to be met with ridicule, but instead, without any further prompting, they stepped forward, and before he could voice any complaints, their strong hands already captured his thin frame, slinging him over their shoulder like a mere sack of potatoes. Usually, he would've been quick to cuss them out, but his mind felt too sluggish right now to feel any fright at the unexpected contact. And besides, they were warm, and their cloak was ungodly soft, which kept Tommy's mouth shut.

They walked quickly along the thick bushes, pointedly avoiding any of the taller branches that could scrape Tommy, which the boy immensely appreciated. Their movements seemed calculated, giving the impression that they know exactly what they're doing and where they're going, as if they learned to navigate the forest after spending god knows how long here.

“You haven't died up there, have you?” They asked in reply to his lack of sounds, and Tommy groaned in annoyance.

“...fuck off and l..let me sleep,” he retorted, his voice muffled by the cloak he's laid against. 

“Sorry, no can do. Don't exactly wanna bring home an icicle,” they deadpanned, giving Tommy a firm pat on the back. Tommy sighed, watching the winding trees pass by from his vantage point on their back.

“...whatever,” he muttered, knowing the idea of being turned into a human icicle couldn't have been farther from “whatever” in his mind.

“We're pretty close to my house now, actually,” they added, if only to fill the void of noise. Tommy didn't exactly have the energy to grace them with a full reply, but he made a slight hum of approval anyway, to assure them he hadn't fallen asleep.

More silence ensued as they continued to march forward, and before long, they entered a big clearing in the tall pines, circled by a sturdy wooden fence. Tommy craned his neck to look over his shoulder, and there, he spotted a small, wooden cottage sat in the middle of it. An almost comically tall chimney made of cobblestone rose from its roof, releasing white smoke into the equally white sky. It seemed… unfit for a person like the stranger, the contradiction between the cutesy cottage and their intimidating appearance almost hysterical. Tommy would've laughed, if he was less tired. Before he could take in any more of the details, they wordlessly ushered him to settle back down on their shoulder.

A few more striding steps later, and they were at the cottage, ascending the stone steps which led to its entrance. Tommy half expected to be carried all the way inside, but to his surprise, the stranger let him go once they were standing before the front door. He leaned heavily against the railing, taking a second to regain his balance.

“Take your shoes off before we go,” they finally broke the silence, and Tommy nodded, reaching for his sneakers which were still soaked from his earlier unwanted hike. How long has it been since Tommy had any good reason to take off his shoes? He didn't even think about it, not until now. The thought sent a pang of pain into his chest. The closest he came to being inside in months was Wilbur's caravan yesterday (not counting the hallways, or any of the shops he went to, but that didn't really feel like inside). It took him a frankly embarrassing amount of time to untie his shoelaces, courtesy of his numb fingers, but if the stranger noticed anything, they didn't comment on it, which he was once again grateful for.

They nodded when he was finally free of the soaked shoes, taking them with one hand before shaking off the remaining snow covering their furry legs. They didn't exactly wear shoes, something the blonde noticed quite some time ago, so they instead wiped their hooves on a small doormat, and then held the door open for Tommy.

Suffice to say, he didn't need any coercing to get inside. Tommy stepped through the threshold, and warmth slammed into him like a tidal wave. He didn't even realize how cold he was. Other than the jarring change of temperature, he immediately noticed the small, cutesy cottage was a lot bigger on the inside. The door opened to the living room, the decor of which was still very much on point with the cozy cottage style, resembling a grandmother's house with its use of old timey wood cabinets, the washed out floral motifs of the couch cushions, and the fluffy rug laid in front of the stone fireplace. It looks so… comfortable.

The cottage owner followed Tommy inside, closing the door behind them.

“You don't happen to have a change of clothes in there, do you?” They asked, motioning to his backpack. Right. Yes. It… would've been quite a good idea to pack something like that. 

“Nope,” he answered, after some hesitation, “it's fine tho, my clothes aren't that wet, the shoes got it the worst.” It wasn't a complete lie, Tommy told himself. Sure, his pants were a bit damp from sitting on the ground, but it's nothing a big man like him can't deal with. Besides, he's already gotten enough of a favor from this person, and he still isn't sure if he can trust them, so it's best he doesn't bite off more than he can chew. At his little excuse, they only shot him a look, as if to say “you're being stupid but I'm not fighting you on this” without actually saying it. Tommy shrunk into himself, honestly unsure of how to proceed.

“C'mere,” they stepped towards the fireplace, waving at Tommy to follow. The boy's shoes, which were previously held by the stranger, were now deposited onto a small wooden stool in front of the fire. Cautiously, he stepped forward, still unsure of what they wanted him to do.

“Just… sit here and warm up a bit, I'll leave those to dry as well.” That… made sense. Tommy nodded, plopping himself down on the fluffy rug without complaint. It was comfortable, very much so, and combined with the radiating heat of the fire, it took all of Tommy's self restraint not to just melt to the floor and fall asleep right there. Instead, he took off his jacket, spreading it out in front of the fireplace to let it dry.

“Thanks, uhh… big man,” the boy finally managed to verbalize his gratitude, though it felt a bit awkward, since he still had no idea what the stranger's name was. If they even had a name. They responded with a small chuckle, picking up on the lack of Tommy's knowledge about them.

“The name’s Technoblade,” he finally introduced himself, with the same deep bow that Wilbur had done. Is everyone in this place this dramatic? 

“What kind of weirdass name is that? Tech-no-blade?” The boy blurted before he could stop himself, stretching the name, as if he was tasting it on his tongue. It tasted fucking weird. To his surprise, the man let out a chuckle in response again.

“You can call me Techno, if it's such a mouthful,” he offered, and Tommy nodded in confirmation. 

“Will do, will do. I'm Tommy,” the boy introduced himself, with none of the fanfare Techno's deep bow had.

“Well, nice to meet ya, kid,” he nodded, before stepping away into a hallway, “stay here for a bit, I'll warm up some soup.”

“I'm not a- why does everyone insist on calling me a child?!” Tommy yells after the man, completely ignoring the second part of his statement. Techno’s hooves knocked against the wooden floor as he walked to what Tommy guessed was the kitchen. When he received no reply, Tommy's face scrunched into an offended scowl.

“Don't ignore me, bitch!” He yelled some more, hoping Technoblade could hear him in whatever cranny of the cottage he retreated to. 

“I'm not ignoring you, Tommy, I just don't answer stupid questions.” Techno's voice rang out, muffled a bit by the distance. The only reply he earned from the boy was a string of loud curses.

Now that the strange man was out of sight, Tommy all but collapsed on the carpet, letting the waves of heat wash over him. It was comfortable in a way he rarely gets to experience. Homely , he would say, domestic even, but those words twisted the boy's insides into uncomfortable knots he didn't know how to untie, so he forced them out of his mind as soon as they came.

The silence that settled over the cabin stayed for a while longer, only interrupted by the crackle of the fireplace and some occasional quiet clanks and thuds coming from the kitchen. He may even have dozed off, if it wasn't for Technoblade's voice, pulling the boy out of his warmth induced trance.

“Soup's done,” the man spoke, his head of pink hair poking through the doorway, “c'mon Tommy.” The blonde in question sat up and stretched lazily, before taking a moment to stare at Techno in disbelief. When the man mentioned soup, he automatically assumed there wasn't any implication of him getting some as well. Not that Tommy doesn't want the soup, the chase and the subsequent trudge through the forest made him more hungry than he'd like to admit. But Tommy doesn't just get food for free. Even when he was back home, especially when he was home, Tommy only got food after he'd done something to deserve it. It was better that way, dad told him as much.

“It's gonna get cold if you keep sitting there.” Tommy blinked, but Technoblade was still right there, in the doorway, waiting for him to follow. He hasn't done anything in particular to deserve free food, and the man has already given him so many favors, so the boy should politely decline, but… you know what? Fuck it, he's having the soup. It's not Tommy's fault that the weird guy wants to give him soup for nothing. Besides, it would be pretty rude to refuse now that it's already heated up, right?

Wordlessly, the boy stood up, trailing after Techno as he led him into the kitchen. It was much less spacious than the living room, but no less cozy, with a decent sized cooking area, and a small, square wooden table with four chairs. He sat down on the seat next to the wall, and watched as the man placed an intricately carved wooden bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of him. God, this was a losing fight, wasn't it? Tommy couldn't have refused this even if he wanted to, just the smell alone was so good-

Techno grabbed a bowl for himself as well, sitting across Tommy, and the boy didn't need any further convincing to sink a spoon into the soup too. The first thing he noticed was how hot it was, which he should've thought of earlier, what with the steam rising from its surface. But he was too hungry and impatient to let it cool down, and considering he nearly froze to death earlier, hot soup truly didn't sound all that unappealing at the moment. The thing he noticed next– the most important detail– it was fucking delicious.

Tommy's dad never cooked. If the boy behaved, dad ordered takeout, but he never made the food himself. Tommy just got used to surviving on mediocre microwave meals they had in the fridge most of the time, and he was fine . It didn't matter that the food was bland, that the microwave rarely cooked it evenly, or even that the texture was all kinds of disgusting, it was food, and that was that. 

But this was different. 

This wasn't some weeks old, half eaten microwave meal Tommy fished out from the back of the fridge, this was a genuine soup, cooked by Techno himself, and it was amazing. It felt special. Even though it was probably just some soup the man cooked up on the fly for his guest, it meant so much to Tommy, he just barely restrained himself from tearing up over a bowl of fucking soup . He was about halfway through it when Techno spoke again.

“I forgot to ask, but… how exactly did you get here?” Tommy finally looked up from the bowl, only to see the man staring right at him. Something was different. The skull which previously covered his face was gone, laid on the table next to him. Did he take it off to eat? That would make sense. Technoblade's face was covered in scars, his expression just as monotone as his voice. Tommy didn't know it was possible for someone to look more intimidating and less intimidating at the same time, but if anyone would be able to achieve it, it would be Techno.

“...it's complicated. I was out in the maze– the uh… the ‘entrance’ one, with the terrible yellow wallpaper, and the labyrinth of hallways– you know the one, right..?” The boy felt like a lunatic, trying to describe this place. But then again, the man across the table does have hooves and red eyes, so maybe he isn't the only one.

“Yes, I know of it. Would be kinda weird if I didn't.” Right. Tommy… didn't think of that. But can you really blame him for not connecting the dots? Unlike Wilbur, he never saw Techno out there, only here. 

“...so I was there, and basically, a thing started chasing me, I found a door, got lost in a forest… and I'm here now,” Tommy shrunk the story down as much as he could, purposefully avoiding bringing up Wilbur. What if the people in this… place are territorial, or something? You never know, and Tommy would rather not find out, thank you very much. 

“I see. A lucky day, isn't it?” Techno teased with his usual dry sarcasm, earning a small puff of laughter out of Tommy. A lucky day? Yeah, right.

“Though the way you described it as a labyrinth, and the monster chasing you reminded me of a story I read some time ago. Of a hero, sent to a labyrinth to defeat the minotaur,” Techno started, and Tommy immediately perked up in recognition. 

“Oh! I know that one, it was uhh… Thanatos or something, right?” Technoblade only laughed, leaping to correct Tommy.

“Close, but not quite. It was Theseus.” Yes, that was the one. Tommy wasn't quite knowledgeable when it came to Greek mythology, but he heard this one somewhere in passing.

“Right, right. But the thing that chased me, whatever the fuck it was, didn't look like a minotaur. God knows whether it could even be killed either,” he let out a humorless laugh, suppressing the shiver sent down his spine at the memory, “now that I think of it, you look a bit like a minotaur.” The boy commented before he could think about it, suddenly very aware of how much he did not want to offend Techno, even accidentally. To his surprise, the man let out a boisterous laugh. 

“That's definitely a way to describe me, yes. Though I'm more of a piglin, according to Ranboo.” The foreign name flew right over the boy's head, in order of something much greater.

“Like in minecraft ?” Tommy spoke excitedly, desperately hoping for Techno to get the reference. 

“Oh, yeah, a friend of mine explained it to me. It definitely sounds interesting.” Oh, Techno, you have no clue what you just unleashed.

Their banter stretched on, as much as you could call Tommy excitedly rambling and Technoblade putting in his few cents where he could in between a banter. It wasn't as funny as Wilbur's lack of knowledge, but if Tommy gets any chance to rant about his favorite game, he will take it without hesitation. God, he needs to get Wilbur and Techno to play the actual game. At this point, he doesn't care if he needs to drag a whole computer down here, or if he has to personally drag them back to reality to access one, he just needs to get them to play. 

Eventually, when Tommy's bowl was empty, and his need to rant about minecraft satisfied, the piglin ( yes , Tommy is calling him that now, it fits, so fucking sue him) stood up to put the dishes away. He stood up as well, moving to stand next to the door.

“...so, what now?” He asked, looking up at Techno to find crimson eyes staring right back at him. 

“Depends on you, I guess. Your things should be dry, so I won't hold you up if you wanna go. Though you could stay a bit as well, if you want.” Tommy could stay. The words swam around in his head. He could stay. It was an offer equally intriguing and terrifying. This… the cottage, the fireplace, the soup… it was amazing. But Tommy, decidedly, wasn't. If he stayed, even for a few hours longer, Technoblade would surely realize how difficult Tommy was to live with, and the boy would much rather spare himself of the piglin’s inevitable rejection while he still can.

“...well, thanks for the offer, but I gotta go.” Lie.

“...I'm a busy man, you know?” Another lie.

“...my parents will surely be looking for me.” A cherry on top of the liar's cake. If Techno picked up on any of them, he didn't say as much. It's for the best, anyway.

“Whatever you say, Tommy. C'mon. Grab your stuff, I'll show you the way.” Tommy gulped, trailing after the piglin to the living room. He really dreaded the inevitable trek back through the forest, but if that's the only way, he'll do it.

He grabbed his sneakers, hastily put on his jacket and backpack to see Techno already at the door with his skull mask right back on. As if the man could sense his building dread, he quickly spoke to reassure the boy.

“Don't worry, you won't be going through the trees. There's a door right on the clearing, I'll show you once we're out.” As if on cue, Tommy released the breath of relief he was holding. He might be a big man, but he's also completely ill equipped for the unexpected snow, so who could blame him for being a bit hesitant about it? 

The boy followed Technoblade outside, slipping on his sneakers, which by now were not only dry, but lingered with a bit of warmth left from the fireplace. 

“See that door?” Techno asked, pointing to that same cursed wooden door that led him to this place, sitting in the middle of the clearing as if it had always been there. When Tommy nodded in confirmation, the piglin continued, “well, there's a path to it, so you don't have to worry about your shoes getting wet again. Go through the door, and then straight through the opposite wall. Got that?”

“Yup, got it, thanks Techno,” he nodded again, to which Techno let out another small huff of a laugh. 

“It's really no problem. See ya, Tommy,” the piglin gave him a goodbye that sounded much less final than the boy though it would. Tommy descended the steps, before turning around to farewell Technoblade as well.

“...see you, Techno-!” He continued down the stone path, clutching his thin jacket closer around himself when the winds stung him once more. Except this time, he knew the way to the door would be short, so his mind wasn't overcome with the worry of freezing. 

Tommy approached the doorway, hesitantly placing his hand on the knob. A loud “caw” of some kind of bird startled the boy out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see a single crow perched on the frame. Almost instinctively, he gave the bird a piece of his mind, with some hastily selected unsightly words. It cawed right back at him with the same intensity, earning a small laugh out of Tommy. He liked that bird. Shame he can't take it with him, but it's probably for the best. The boy never had a pet before, so he has no fucking clue how to care for a crow of all things.

For one final time, Tommy turned around, waving at Techno when he spotted the piglin still standing on the porch. Techno awkwardly waved back, making a massive grin manifest on Tommy's face. Right. Time to go. This time, there was no hesitation as he opened the door, relieved by the sight of the same musty corridor he came out of. Stepping through the threshold, he closed the door behind himself, careful as to not startle the crow on the other side.

So… Techno said he just needs to go through the opposite wall, right? Is this the same point he entered from? Surely not. If it was, Tommy definitely would've noticed the out-of-place brown door sitting right there, it stood out like a sore thumb. Or maybe, the door can simply change locations randomly, which would make some sense, but Tommy hoped that wasn't the case, since it would make it practically impossible to track Techno down ever again.

Is he seriously already regretting that he left? No, no he's not. Tommy is a big man, and he's fine on his own. He really is. 

Stop fucking ruminating, just exit already–! Tommy shook all the thoughts from his head before he could mull them over too much, moving to the opposite wall just as Technoblade told him. Placing one hand on it, he confirmed that it was, indeed, an exit. And just like that, as he had done before, Tommy let himself sink into the wall, hoping that wherever this was gonna spit him out won't be too far from where he entered.

—×—

Passing through is getting easier and easier each time, Tommy noted as he stretched on the concrete, feeling a fraction of the discomfort he felt the first time he traveled through.

Just as he guessed, this wasn't the same alley as the one he entered from. The sky was already dark, so it was quite hard to see his exact surroundings, but he could tell he definitely wasn't here ever before. Shit, shit–

Don't panic, don't panic, don't fucking panic-! Surely, he can't be that far, right? He just needs to get out of the alley, and take note of the street signs or something, and he'll be oriented in no time. At least he discovered a new entrance to that place, and that's something. 

Cautiously, Tommy walked out of the alley, and immediately, his initial stress was overcome by recognition. He's been here before. Many times, actually. It was the square-! He didn't even know this place had any alleys. Well if that isn't awfully convenient…

His usual sleeping spot is quite a walk away, but he did see some decently sized pieces of cardboard laying around in the backstreet where he woke up, so maybe he can just sleep there, and use the chance of being near the square to gather some funds in the morning? Sure, that sounds reasonable, he can do that. It took him some time to assemble the stray pieces of cardboard into a makeshift mat, but ultimately it paid off, separating himself from the cold concrete beneath him.

Almost immediately, his mind drifted to Technoblade's offer. Would the man have a guest room for Tommy? It doesn't matter, even if Tommy had to sleep on the rug next to the fire, it would still be leagues above this. It's still not too late to go back there… right?

No, no, stop thinking like that, just stop-! Tommy clutched his backpack tighter, curling into himself on the cardboard. Thinking like that won't do him any good. Tommy has always been on his own. He does best on his own. He's not some kind of pussy who needs a warm bed to sleep on, or another person to keep him company. He's fine.

Just go to sleep…

Chapter Text

Running. Panting. Leaning against a tree to catch his breath. Running some more. Is this really what his life has come to? The desperate crunching of his footsteps on the freshly fallen snow interrupts the tundra’s tranquil silence like lightning on a clear sky. The only thing that keeps him going now is adrenalin, coursing through his veins and warming his core. 

He takes a break, here and there, blowing hot breath on his frozen limbs in unfulfilled hope of thawing the ice that has long since bitten him down to the bone. The ends of his fingers are stained in ugly blues, reds and purples, like bruises, though he knows it's much more threatening than that. He's cold.

There's a sizeable headstart between him and the beast that chases him. Perhaps he could use this hard-earned time to start a fire? Yes, yes, that's an amazing idea. 

A hastily assembled heap of waterlogged branches now sat before him, and the dull pains of frost echoed through his body more intensely than ever before, as if in anticipation of the heat he hoped desperately for. An unopened box of matches sat heavy in his pocket, and he pulled it out instantly, not daring to questions how it got there when he knows for a fact he never carries one around. 

His hands shook as he tried to open the box. Goddammit, why is it taking so long? His fingers are too frozen to move, and he struggles to grip properly. But he's close. He needs to keep trying. This time, the box slowly slid open, but just before he could carefully take out a single match, his hand cramped up and the box fell down, scattering the precious matches all around him and soaking them in the snow. That wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't supposed to happen, that-

Panic crept up into the boy's mind as he bent down, trying and trying to pick up the fallen objects but his body didn't react to his commands. His muscles were too cold to control, frozen. He needs to get those matches, he needs to get the fire going, he… he's wasting time. 

As if on cue, a boisterous roar of the beast echoed from the forest around him. Fuck. He's too late. There can be no fire anymore, no warmth. The boy failed. He needs to run.

He needs to run, yet he stands there frozen, watching the beast emerge from the forest. He's too cold to move, frozen like a statue. 

The beast, the horrible, terrifying monster, with loose fitted skin, the hooved legs of a minotaur, it's body caked in the remains of whatever forest animal was unfortunate enough to let itself get captured, and worst of all, donning the white, smiling mask, approached him with slow, dragging steps. It knew he couldn't move.

It was an arm's reach from him now. The boy couldn't breathe. A wiry hand with loose skin and long fingernails reached for the mask’s buckle on the back of its head. He can't breathe. The sound of the mask clattering to the ground was muffled by the thick snow. He can't move. Underneath was a face truly worthy of belonging to a monster. He's so cold. The mouth hung open, revealing an ungodly amount of rotten molars. Why can't he breathe? It lunged forward, no doubt intending to bite his face off. Just move already, please-

“Caw.” Said… the beast? No, that can't be right. Monsters don't caw. The boy knows that. What made that noise? 

“Caw!” The noise came again, and the beast dissolved right before him, his mind too distracted by the sudden, intruding noise to keep up the nightmare. 

.

.   .

.   .   .

“Caw!” The bird cried again, and Tommy shot up from sleep with a wheezing gasp for air. He's not cold anymore. Well, he is a bit chilled, what with the autumn's wind blowing on his sweat-soaked back, but he's not freezing , not even close. It was just a dream. Jesus fucking Christ. And he thought yesterday's nightmare was bad. How did he even manage to dream up something so realistic? Not to mention, that stupid mask appeared again. Is that supposed to symbolise something, or what? Tommy's heard before that dreams may hold meanings, but he was never particularly inclined to believe that.

“Caw, caw!” The bird – a crow, Tommy learned, as he looked over at its small form, perched on top of a trash can – demanded his attention with a series of loud cries. He groaned, rubbing his eyes. The sun was just rising, which not only meant that the bitch of a bird woke him up early, but that the rays of light strained his vision, much to his dismay. Though remembering the nightmare the crow woke him up from, he couldn't help but feel a smidge of gratefulness as well.

“Ah, that's right. You woke me up, didn't you? Bitch bird,” he cursed, earning another offended caw from said bird. Now that he's looking more closely at it, it eerily resembles the one he saw at Techno's place. Is it the same one? No, no way. Birds aren't strikingly different from each other like humans are, they may have subtle differences in appearance, but at the end of the day, they all look nearly identical. 

“Well, thanks, I guess. I'd give you a treat for that, but I don't have any food on me,” the boy sighed, before an idea suddenly came to him, “except maybe…” Tommy's hand springs into action, digging in his backpack for a quick moment before pulling out the half-eaten granola bar. It was supposed to be an emergency snack, but one good look at it tells him he'd rather starve than have to eat it.

“...you want this?” He held out the snack, showing it to the bird. It cawed happily, before quickly swooping down from its position to perch on the boy's shoulder instead. Tommy yelped in surprise, but the crow was unshaken, demanding the bar in his hand with a series of loud caws right in his ear. 

“It's right here, just please, shut up already-!” He tilted his hand awkwardly to reach the bird. “You're a little bitch, you know that?” The boy mumbled to himself, watching the crumbs of granola roll down his only clean shirt as the crow absolutely devoured the snack. Well, at least he doesn't have to worry about it going moldy in his backpack… 

The crow announced it's done eating with a series of caws, that Tommy was half sure sounded somewhat thankful. He's not a bird speech expert by any means, so he could be wrong, but he also knows that if someone offered him a free snack he'd be pretty thankful too, so he chose to interpret it as such. It… actually wasn't all that bad, having a crow sit on his shoulder. It was pretty fucking metal. Not that he doesn't get lots of women already, but he can imagine that he'd be even more irresistible with a bird perched on him, looking all cool and mysterious.

But alas. The bird flew off once again, departing just as fast as it came, and Tommy watched it disappear out of the alley with mild disappointment. What a shame, really, the boy was quite looking forward to not being alone for once, as annoying as the crow was.

Tommy took ample time to stretch and gather his bearings, now that he had some privacy. He… wanted to do something in the morning, right? Oh, right, gather funds. It was quite curious how the maze conveniently spit him out right next to the square yesterday. It sort of reminded him of the nether in minecraft, and how the distance traveled there translates into distance in the overworld. He should keep in mind not to wander too far there, then, lest he get an unexpected trip to another country, or something. Yeah, no thanks. 

The boy's hand shot up to shield him from the morning sun as he exited the alley, making a point to memorize it for later. He has a very, very boring day ahead of him. Despite his lack of restraint when it comes to “borrowing” money, Tommy really doesn't enjoy doing it. It's a repetitive, tedious, boring task. But alas. A man has to make his money somehow, right?

With no further holdups, Tommy gets to work.

—×—

Borrow wallet, take money, dump wallet, borrow another wallet, take money, repeat, repeat, and repeat. Perhaps he should've felt a bit bad for turning a literal crime into a mere tedious task, but Tommy frankly couldn't have cared less. 

Besides his old friend, a can of worms Tommy was more than happy to leave unopened, no-one ever actually cared about Tommy. Not even his dad. And don't get him wrong, the boy totally understands why his dad treats him the way he does. After enduring multiple sessions of his dad explaining himself in a not-so-calm matter, Tommy has more than enough understanding for the man’s reasoning. Still. He has no reason to care about anyone, or their belongings. So he doesn't. 

Tommy interrupted the train of thought as he approached one of the many benches in the square, a perfect place to drop off a wallet he already borrowed from. Except, he couldn't really take anything from this one, it only had a credit card, and some other identification cards inside. What a waste of time. He made sure to sit on the bench before dropping it though, it needs to be as inconspicuous as possible. If he just walked to a bench and then left straight away, all it would do is make him suspicious. He waited a minute or two, before standing up again, “accidentally” dropping the wallet, and speeding off.

Or, that's what he would've done. Tommy wasn't even five meters away from the bench when a firm hand found his shoulder. Immediately, the boy tensed. Did someone catch him? Was it that man again?

“...hey- sorry, I think you lost this.” A young voice spoke from behind him, and much to Tommy's relief, it was a voice he didn't recognise. No, scratch that, that's not a good thing- who the hell is that? The boy spun around to face the stranger, puzzled to find their face covered by a pair of sunglasses and a two-toned mask, matching with their black and white split dyed hair. What a weirdo . Even their gloves were mismatched (or rather… matched with their mismatched-ness? Nah, this is getting too confusing for Tommy…), he noticed as they pulled their hand away from his shoulder, holding up the stolen wallet he carefully disposed of moments prior.

Shit, what now? He can thank them and take it, but if they hang around and see him dumping it again, or dumping any other wallets for that matter, they will surely suspect him of something, which is exactly what the boy doesn't want. Quick! Improvise!

“That's not mine,” he replied curtly, putting on the best damn confused face he could muster up. Well, he wasn't lying, per say. The stranger's hands fiddled with the cuff of their black suit's sleeve (seriously, who the fuck dresses like this?) in mute awkwardness. They seemed to be as confused as he pretended to be, meaning that the boy's improv worked. As always. 

“...no, no, I literally saw you drop it- are you sure it's not yours?” They saw him drop it? Forget the improv, there's no way Tommy can play off this one… No, wait, he can still pull it off! If Tommy acts rudely enough… they should just leave him alone, right? They do seem to be quite nervous, not exactly the type of person to pick a fight on a casual morning. 

“I said it's not mine. Can you leave me alone?” Tommy doubled down, making sure to mix in a tone of rudeness perfectly tailored to annoy people. The stranger's reaction got obscured by their mask and glasses, but the boy was sure he at least made them frown. They stiffened in pose, as if they weren't already quite tense, and Tommy heard them intake a breath, as if preparing to verbally retaliate, but before they even got the chance to do so, a second familiar figure stormed into the conversation. 

“Is that my wallet?” The boy's head whipped around, and he felt a wave of dread wash over him. He recognised her even without the flour-stained apron, after all, her shrieking voice and chestnut hairs streaked with silver was ingrained in his memory. It was the baker he tried to steal from a few days ago. He mustn't have recognised her among the crowd he stole from, because if he did, he would've stayed as far away from her as possible. Not because he's afraid of her, no way , he'd just rather not take his chances with her again. Yet, he did. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

Tommy could point out the exact moment her eyes landed on him purely by the way her expression quickly warped from mild frustration and confusion into anger and resentment. 

“ You-! You took it, didn't you?! Oh, the nerve of you, coming back for more after destroying my hard work!” Her hand gestured wildly as she accused the boy, despite the fact he wasn't even the one holding the wallet. Tommy tried to come up with some way to refute her claims, god knows he needed to do so quickly , but his mind drew a blank. Why can't he just think? 

“Young man,” she turned to the stranger, “you must've seen him do it, right?” He eyed the mismatched stranger, silently begging them not to make the situation worse. They stood there just as frozen as he was. That's right, they have no obligation to make this any easier for him, much less help him. They saw him drop the wallet, and he basically told them to fuck off. Shit, he should've just thanked them and dumped it elsewhere. Now, they're most likely going to confirm the woman's accusation with what they witnessed, and Tommy will have to argue with two people instead of one.

“Oh! No, no, he didn't- I just saw it on the ground, and… uhm, I thought it was his- glad you found it, though,” they explained with a nervous chuckle, and Tommy was as confused as he was relieved. Just a few moments ago, they were adamant about witnessing him in the act, but now they denied it easily. But… why?

They held out the wallet for her, and she didn't waste any time to snatch it from their hands and assess any potential damages. Nothing was missing, Tommy already knew that much. The wallet had no cash, and he's not looking for a credit card. Eventually, the baker came to the same conclusion, schooling her expression into a pleasant surprise. 

“Oh I… guess you're right. Well, thank you!” She smiled at the stranger, who responded with a timid “no problem”. And the boy was still way too stunned to speak. 

“See that, street rat? You should take an example from this kind stranger.” Sure, ma'am, he would've echoed back in sarcasm, but she already began storming off, and he didn't feel like yelling after her. Instead, Tommy turned his head to the stranger, watching as they sheepishly scratched the back of their neck. He knew what he wanted to tell them, he just had no idea how to start.

“Thanks, you saved my ass, big man. You… didn't have to do that, though,” Tommy broke the silence, hesitant to speak yet feeling way too grateful for the stranger's cooperation to remain silent. It was a bit frustrating, not being able to see their facial expressions. Tommy tried and failed to study them for any sort of reaction, but picked up nothing beyond the awkwardness that basically oozed out of them.

“Oh! It's uhm… really no big deal,” they chuckled, “my name's Ranboo, by the way.” Ranboo. Where did he hear that before? It sounds awfully familiar, but he'd definetly remember if he ever knew someone with a name as unique as that, right? Nah, it's probably just his brain playing some tricks on him, or something like that. After all, this situation was quite strange to begin with, who would blame him for being a bit out of it too?

“That's a weird ass name, Ran-boo,” he stretched the name teasingly in his mouth, “you should meet a guy I know, you two could make a “weird fucking name” club. Sounds like a bargain.” Tommy exclaimed, no doubt thinking about Technoblade. Tech-no-blade. Seriously, what's up with all the people he meets these days calling themselves with something more akin to a video game nick than an actual name? Thought it was pretty cool, he had to admit. Ranboo only chuckled nervously.

“Well, what's yours, then?” They replied, holding out their hand in what was probably the least smooth attempt at asking for a handshake that Tommy has ever seen. He didn't even know that a handshake could be unsmooth.

“...Tommy,” he answered plainly, meeting halfway with their outstretched hand. Ranboo’s hold was just as awkward as the rest of him, stiff as a board, but the texture of his glove was outstandingly soft, their hand pleasantly warm, much warmer than Tommy's, even through the fabric covering it. And Tommy was not spending an agonisingly long amount of time to soak in the contact, because that would be an embarrassing thing to do, and he is not touch-starved in the slightest. Really, he's not. And luckily for his dignity, the mismatched boy had no comment about any of it.

“...so, uhm. You really did steal it, didn't you?” And Tommy stiffened again, fully prepared to go all defensive, but decided against it at the end.

“And what of it? Gonna call the cops on me now, kind stranger? ” The blonde quipped, though his voice held a teasing tone, rather than the twinge of discomfort that was still leftover from the prior confrontation. The way he sarcastically twisted the woman's words was seemingly lost on Ranboo, as the other boy hurried to explain themselves. 

“No, no, it's not like that-! I'm just curious, you don't need to answer-” they stammered, and Tommy couldn't help but stifle a small laugh at their nervous tone. Under any circumstances, Tommy would've never, ever admitted to stealing, but… Ranboo deserved something in return for saving the boy's skin, and a clear-cut answer is pretty much the only thing Tommy can give him at this point.

“Calm down, I know, I'm just joking,” he reassured quickly, before continuing, “but you're not wrong. I did… steal it. I don't exactly have any other source of income.” The admission felt like a hot coal as it slid past his tongue. Give him a break, he's not used to being honest. And much less about… this stuff.

“Oh- I'm so sorry to-” Ranboo started, yet the boy cut them off before they could finish.

“-to hear that, yeah, yeah, whatever- don't patronise me, boob boy, I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much,” he did feel a bit bad for interrupting them, but he is not about to go any deeper into this topic. He answered their question, that's it, no further elaboration. The other boy can take it or leave.

“No, I mean, I wasn't trying to- wait, boob boy? Seriously? ” The mismatched boy sighed in defeat, and in turn, a mischievous smile grew on Tommy's face. Teasing this guy was like taking candy from a baby. 

“Yup,” Tommy popped the ‘p’ for comedic effect, “sorry Boobster, the jokes practically write themselves. It's not a bad thing you know, boobs are very neat.” Despite his face being concealed, Tommy could basically feel the resigned despair radiate from Ranboo’s face, and it was amazing. The mismatched boy briefly took out his phone, glancing at the time.

“... Sure, whatever… Sorry, it was… uhm. Nice talking to you, but I really gotta go. So I'll… leave you to it, I guess-” They excused themselves. 

“Yeah, no thanks, I've had enough bullshit to stop for today. You're pretty cool though, boob boy. Fucking shame I don't have a contact to give you…” Technically, Tommy did have a phone, but has been dead for the past few months, so any attempts to make it work that don't include a charger (which he doesn't have) will be a losing battle. 

“...I mean, that's no problem. I have a feeling we'll meet again anyway. See you!” What the hell was that supposed to mean? Before Tommy could ask them, they were already gone. And when he says gone, he means gone. Seriously, Tommy knows by now how to pick people out of a crowd (with at least 80% accuracy!), but he didn't see Ranboo anywhere. Did he fucking teleport away or something? Whatever.

What the boy said earlier was true, he really was done with all bullshit for today. He got a decent amount of funds today anyway, and he doesn't wanna push it. The maze sits heavily in his mind. He wants to go back. He needs to go back.

.  .  .

Tommy goes back to the maze.