Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy inhaled, almost gasping for air, not that anyone—certainly not Dream—needed to know that. The flat of his boots hit the ground as he made a sharp turn. He almost hisses as the pain shoots through his knee. Almost.

“Again. Say it.”

His chest hurt. His eyes burned. He could feel the blood that was dripping from his nose. He could taste the iron. Dream’s hand tightened again around his leg, lifting it upwards. Tommy wanted to scream. He didn't. He could feel what seemed to be the very muscles in his body straining in effort and then giving up one by one with every increase of the angle.

“Say it.” Dream gave one last warning.

Tommy didn't. Dream moved his leg up more quickly than Tommy could process it. Tommy screamed this time. He could hear the sound of his bone breaking; he could almost see the way his skin began opening to let that bone escape.

Oh. He could see it. Parts of his patella were pinching outwards, and this time, he couldn't hold back the scared cry he let out. Dream didn't stop. He could feel the sharp, cold hair hitting his skin and flesh. This hurt. It hurt so bad.

“What is this type of injury called?”

“An open kneecap fracture—” Tommy heaved through the pain.

“The signs?”

Tommy was dying. He was dying. He let out another scream as Dream bent his leg back further.

“Swelling, immobility in the leg, bone protruding from the skin, deformed patella—” He could feel the way that his kneecap was somehow shifting further up. A stupid mistake; he should have just said it. With one final push, Tommy felt his leg harshly hit the stone of the floor.

“Say it.”

“I am misery.”

He shook the memory from his head and focused on running. Dream was pissed tonight. Worse than normal. The syndicate was active again, and every attempt at capture failed. Usually, that would be taken out on Tommy. Usually. Today though? Today, Tommy was lucky.

Tommy had managed to find out what happened to Ender, with evidence. He stormed into Dream's office and tried to ignore the way that Dream’s body was tense.

“Syndicate,” Tommy said, placing the file in front of Dream. He only hummed.

“And the traitor? Is he living?”

Tommy nodded.

Another hum. “Leave my office. I'd like some alone time from your constant chattering.”

“You got it, Boss man.” Tommy tried to sound like he wasn't elated. Dream just gave him permission to leave. No mask, no him following behind him, just plain old civilian living. How was he supposed to know that Dream would call him back and ask for him to get coffee on the way. What kind of prick does that?

“Are you getting cocky, Tommy?”
“No Orsilochus”

Tommy ducks his head as Dream swings from above, rolling forward, he twists around so that Dream isn't behind him, and crouches lower to the ground.

Dream flicks his hand outwards, and a trident appears in his hand.

“Better.” His mentor praised, “but not good enough”

He shook his head. Focus. Twisting again, he found the coffee shop he was looking for. In large letters, it read “Niki’s Cafe”. Tommy brushed his hair down and patted himself off before quickly tugging the door open. It was quiet; Tommy might have thought it was strange if he wasn't in such a rush. There was a girl with pink hair at the register who blinked at him once or twice before smiling warmly at him.

“Hello, welcome to Niki’s. What would you like?”

Tommy recited what Dream had said he had wanted. It was needlessly overcomplicated, and he apologized to the girl beforehand. She laughed and told him it was all right. Less than six minutes later, she called his name, and he grabbed the warm drink from the counter. He spun around and then stumbled back instantly. Thankfully (no, really thank XD), he didn't drop the coffee. A man was standing in front of him, staring at him as if he'd grown a second head.

“What? Why’re you staring at me, prick?”

“You really do need to watch your language, Tommy.” Dream scolded, trapping his wrist in his hand. It was a warning. Play your part right or else.

He let out the most childish whine he could muster, his small body stumbling back as if he were trying to pull Dream closer to him.

“But Dre! Mom says bad words all the time!”

The mother who was in front of the two cooed in sympathy. She died within the next hour. Tommy had come to learn that there were certain cases that the heroes couldn't handle ethically. Dream had assured him time and time again that it was for a good cause, that these people shouldn't be walking the streets. He asked him one time—about the mother he had killed—Dream hadn't liked it all that much but answered anyway.

“She was a villain,” Dream said softly, softer than he had been all week during the uncomfortable undercover mission, his eyes pinched in what Tommy wanted to almost call regret.

Tommy didn't ask that again.

The man in front of him sputtered confusedly, shock and amusement on his face.

“Sorry, aren't you like—” The man looked Tommy up and down, “—ten years old? You should watch your language.”

Watch your language Tommy

But Dream wasn't here right now.

“Aye?! I'm not fuckin’ ten you dickhead.”

The man only raised an eyebrow. Tommy was about to retaliate, but the girl started laughing at the two.

“Wilbur, please don't bother the customers, you're meant to be working.”

Wilbur? This prick's name was Wilbur? That's such a basic name for someone so terrible.

“Wh-!” The man—Wilbur—cried out, “Niki, this child is bullying me! Aren't I an esteemed customer and long-time friend?”

“Not a child,” Tommy clipped in. Tommy was going to say more until a buzz from his phone cut him off. Shit. He drew the device out of his pocket, eyebrows furrowing.

Dream: Where are you?

Tommy shook his head, sighing, and dropped his phone back into his pocket.

“Niki,” Tommy addressed, and said nothing to the rat of a man who was staring at him. “You are the best ever, for having to deal with this bitch right here, and surviving.”

With that, he saluted her and turned on his feet. He tried not to smile when he heard a laugh spill from both of their lips. A warm feeling settled in his chest, one that was new, one that was different. It was swallowed out by the cold and the dread of the hero tower coming back into view. Dream was outside waiting for him, scowling.

“Sorry. Complex order, the barista was struggling.” Tommy lied.

Dream hummed. Tommy’s gut rolled.

“Go train with Sapnap; he needs to let off some steam.” Dream said as he turned around and opened the door.

“Another loss with the syndicate?” Tommy asked, and winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

Dream's head snapped around to him.

“Say that to him.”

Tommy walked off in silence, already feeling the phantom pains of burns burrowing underneath his skin.

 

Wilbur was…intrigued to say the least. He couldn't deny that the kid was funny—albeit a little offensive—but the way his behavior had switched with one message made him a little worried. Prime, aren't you a villain? He scolded himself. He shouldn't be worried about some kid—though he denies it—who was getting coffee. Wilbur doesn't even know him!

He pulled out his phone and texted Techno

”We are still going out tonight right>”

As soon as he sent it, he got the dry reply of “yes.” Wilbur rolled his eyes. That was somehow entirely like Techno to do.

“Thank you, Niki,” Wilbur called out when she handed him his drink. The warmth provided something like comfort for him. She gave him a gentle smile with a “See you tonight” as he walked out the door.

Still, though, that boy stuck in his mind. He needed to focus.

Tommy wanted to cry. Maybe scream. Sapnap had punched, and punched and punched. Tommy's skin burned. He thought that would be it, he could go to his room and sleep away the ache that he always has.

“Hello? The syndicate is robbing the bank; the heroes on sight need backup.”

Fuck. He pulled on his mask, ignored the way he wanted to shout when his hero suit was finally on, and tried not to flinch at the sight of Dream, George, and Sapnap on the move.

They gave him no time. They were out the door only four minutes after getting the call. Tommy wanted to cry. Oizys knows he doesn't have that right. He hasn't debuted; in all technicality, Oizys didn't exist yet. But he had no choice. He would fight. He is expendable. He is replaceable. He is unable to bleed.

The lights bleed into his eyes. Xiphos was fighting against Dream, and Aglaope was dancing around George. Sapnap was on Zephyr and failing to win. Tommy was stuck in front of Amphrite.

“Who are you?” He heard her ask, and Tommy stepped to the side before a shard of water could hit him.

“Never give the enemy an advantage. You keep everything to yourself, no matter what.”

Dream broke another finger.

“What is your name?”

Tommy stayed silent. Dream broke another.

“What is your name?”

Tommy bit back a cry, and still he said nothing.

“Good. That's very good.”

He didn't reply; he needed to find a way past her. He needed to help.

“It's a bit rude of you not to reply,” She says, and Tommy spins again.

“Not exactly in the mood for chatting with the enemy,” He bites out, and she tilts her head.

“The enemy?” She repeats, before laughing a little, “You’re completely new to us, how could we be your enemy?”

“People will kill for your power, Tommy. People will use you and destroy you all for these” Dream brushed his hands down Tommy's marginal coverts.

Tommy nodded.

“Everyone is your enemy,” Dream repeats for the thousandth time, “Everyone but me.”

Tommy nodded

He says nothing to her. He searches for the thread that lies somewhere in her heart. It's there, somewhere, that is the feeling he's looking for. Grief. He finds it, and he pulls. Amphitrite gasps and collapses forward. Aglaope seems to have noticed her, though, and gives some time of command that George can't break through.

“Amphitrite-” Aglaope says, and Tommy has to remind himself that these people are not kind. The way he says her name is as if she is something that should never be lost, something that is so precious. It makes his heart ache.

“You have done nothing to deserve care.” Dream says, “You have failed me again, and again.”

Tommy nodded.

“No one gives kindness for nothing. It's earned. It's a tool.” There's a brush against his secondary coverts, and he tries not to shudder. The touch makes his head hurt.

“No one will be as kind as I am,” He whispers, “No one will keep you safe like I do.”
Tommy wishes that weren't true. But he knew deep down that it was.

 

He is almost jealous of the way that Aglaope holds Amphitrite, the way he can hear the siren whisper into his communication device that they needed to leave. Leave? Because one team-mate was down? His mentor would never do something like that. Tommy knows that for the greater good. Why would Orsilochus stop anything to help Tommy? To help anyone? His job isn't to pity others. Orsilochus knew how the world worked.

“There is violence in this world, Oizys.” The sword was plunged into the underside of his rib. It burned. But he couldn't feel the pain, because he is not human. “You will learn how to overcome it.”

He could feel the cool of the metal being pressed further into his lungs.

“Fight it Oizys. Overcome it.”

He wants to scream, he wants to cry. He wants to lie down and be done with everything that he was made for. But he doesn't have that right. He doesn't have the right to die.

He cannot fight it. Tommy lies now on the mat, bleeding. His mentor hovers over him, cold—yet somehow still warm—and uncaring.

“What was your mistake, Oizys?” He asks.

Tommy doesn't know the answer. Oizys does.

“Because I bled,” He laments

He shakes his head above him. “No, little bird, because you believed that it mattered that you did.”

“You’re running away?” He makes the mistake of speaking aloud, and the siren’s head snaps up to look at him.

“Who are you?” Aglaope demands.

Oizys knows he shouldn't say a thing. It's not his place, it's not his right. But something in him screams at the question. I am Tommy, he almost wants to say.

“I'm the one who falls.”

His mentor is at his side suddenly, a tight hand wrapped around his biceps. He should be scared. He should be begging for mercy. But he doesn't have the right to beg. Xiphos stands behind Amphrite, who sobs hysterically, and Aglaope, who tries to calm her down.

Orsilochus seemed impressed, if only for a moment. But the burning of nails into his skin brought Oizys out of his delusion.

“Leave” Xiphos grits out, and Oizys almost wants to laugh.

“Please leave,” Tommy is begging, something he does not have the right to do but is doing anyway. It will make it hurt worse. But he doesn't know any better than this.

“Leave?” Orsilochus laughs at him, something angry lying within it. “You don't get to make orders. Not when I've done this much for you. Not when I protected you.”

Protected? Is this really protection? It has to be.

“Do you know what the villains would do if they got their hands on you?” He mocks, “They would pluck each of your feathers one by one and leave you to die. I am nicer than that. I am putting a leg out trying to help you.”

“Why should I?” His mentor asks. Tommy almost wants to do a double-take. Where was the rage? The denial? The hurt? Where was anything that he was used to?

“Two of your teammates are down.” Zephyr’s wings almost overpower his words. The body of the man who just beat Tommy to a pulp, being thrown into Dream's arms, was not covered by the signs of death Zephyr bore on his back..

“So is one of yours,” His mentor spits.

“Orsilochus,” George warns, “We can't win this fight.”

His face is somehow covered with blood. What the hell did Aglaope do? He doesn't give himself the time to answer that. His mentor draws out a sigh. No way. No way he was giving up.

“No matter the case—even if you are dying—you keep fighting. There is no retreat. No negotiating.”

His head hurt. This was confusing. His mentor didn't lie. And yet…and yet he was drawing all of them back as the villains opposite of them huddled around their downed member. He wanted to ask, he wanted to know why this was happening. Why were they just walking away? But he didn't earn the right to ask a question. The grip around his arm told him that much.

“Who the hell is that?” He thinks he hears Xiphos ask, and the question is only answered with a small “The one who falls.”

Orsilochus’s grip tightens, and he knows his mentor heard Aglaope speak. There was nothing he could do. Inevitable.

“You reap what you sow, Oizys.” Orsilochus’s voice is crueler than it has been in a while.

“I know,” Tommy says

“You earn the right to live.” Dream repeats, “and you have not earned your right.”

When he feels the knife open his lungs, all he can do is accept it. This is punishment. This is deserved. This will make him better. Make him right.

The walk back is silent. Dream seems like he's radiating anger. Tommy wants to say something, wants to ask, but he doesn't. There was no point to that. Dream was angry, and Oizys was the one he took it out on. This was how the world worked, and this was how it would always be. Tommy was a tool.

Still, even as Sapnap and George are handed over to Ponk for healing, he doesn't say anything. Dream doesn't say anything to him either. How the world will be, he reminds himself, how it always has been.

Tommy has known that since he was five. He is no child, he is no human, he has a use. He has a purpose. His purpose is to die.

Only when they are alone, mentor and protegee, does Tommy dare to speak up.

“Why did we run away?” He knows it's phrased like an attack, but Dream doesn't call him out on it.

“Because now we know their weakness,” he grins at Tommy, and his skin crawls “you.

“Me?” Tommy echos

“Don't you get it? Your power. They care too much about each other.”

“A fatal flaw,” Tommy recalls

“That's right,” Dream says, and the praise sends a zing of happiness through him. He had gotten it right. He had done good. Been good. Been perfect.

“Do you understand what this means, Oizys?” His voice is soft, almost parental. Caring. Warm. He tries not to flinch as Dream brushes his hand across his wings. Warmth. Family. Flock. He shuts that down. No. That's not his right. He is an object. He has no right to want a family. No reason either.

Tommy nods.

“You will finally get to die,” Tommy shudders and smiles.

Chapter Text

Techno was enraged. This was a new variable that they didn't account for. No account for was the wrong word. They didn't even know the variable existed. This estranged hero has no name.

“The one who falls,” Wilbur had said.

The only thing that Techno could think of was Theseus. The hero, who had been tossed off the cliff. The one who was prophesied to die. Niki remained almost hysterical, Phil—bless the avian's heart—had her under surveillance. She wouldn't stop crying. It was as if every single loss she ever faced in her life had come to the front of her mind.

They had nothing on this hero. Only the fact that Theseus had done something to Niki. Orsilochus has always been a problem. Now they had this new hero to deal with?

He needed to blow off steam. Techno quietly slipped on his shoes. He could use the training room that they had here, but that's not what he needed. He didn't need his family hovering around him. He needed to breathe. Techno walked as fast as he could, the cold air hitting his face like sharp knives.

Theseus’s power clearly had something to do with emotions because Niki had never broken down like that before. There's no other explanation but that, the real question is where the hell had he come from? Phil kept tabs on every intern—it's how they got Tubbo and Ranboo to join in the first place—he said nothing about Theseus. Techno knows his father—every possible orphan child is within his radius, which means that Phil didn't know either.

“Oh,” He spins around, hand on the knife he has hidden. It's the hero from before.

“I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to startle you,” Theseus said, taking a step back. Techno blinked. This was nothing like the hero that he had seen yesterday, the hero that had seemed so ready for violence.

“It's alright,” Techno said after a moment, “Can I ask why you’re here?”

Theseus tilted his head, something akin to confusion. Technos' hackles rose; he couldn't tell if this was some odd ploy that the hero was doing. But there's nothing he could do about it out of costume.

“You’re on a roof. Alone.” Theseus says

“You didn't seem to think anyone would be up here either?” Techno raises his eyebrow. It's not as if he wanted to be friendly with the hero, but this was a good way to get information about him.

“I come here to clear my head,” The hero answers honestly, resting his arms on the railing of the roof. Something inside of Techno almost wants to question why this hero would choose a roof, of all places, to relax. With Phil, it makes sense for how much he spends in the sky, but this hero is no avian. What about this is remotely relaxing?

“I don't think I've seen you before,” Techno says after a moment, “are you a hero? Or a vigilante?”

Theseus doesn't say anything, only looking at him a little oddly. He seems like he's debating something inside his head, like he's trying to figure out whether or not he will die by revealing this information.

“I'm the one who falls,” Theseus replied, and entirely unhelpfully.

Techno can't hold back to snort, “What are you, a Disney princess?”

The hero tilts his head again. It reminds Techno shockingly for a moment of Phil, of how the avian will turn his head—albeit at what seems like an unnatural angle—when confused. But he says nothing in response, only emotions that he can't unscramble, as it's hidden by the mask.

“I have to go,” Theseus says suddenly, and turns quickly on his heel. The hero stumbles, as if his leg didn't fit quite right. It made his gut twist in such an odd way.

His previous anger was overturned by an increasing curiosity as to who this hero is.

Tommy has so many questions, the highest being what the hell a Disney princess was? He slipped the mask off, threw on a red hoodie, and turned into Niki's store. The pink-haired barista wasn't there this time; it was a boy with a shaved head. He was chatting with the prick from yesterday in hushed but harsh tones. Tommy wanted to listen, but it would be way too obvious here.

“You have to be patient with these things, Tommy,” Dream lectured.

Tommy had failed to come back with any useful information from that undercover mission; in fact, he had barely made it a week in before slipping up and being far too obvious about the fact that he was listening. It was his own fault, truly.

“I know,” Tommy tried to appease

“If you knew then you wouldn't have made such a simple mistake.”

He relaxed into the counter, letting his palms hit the cold marble. His face showed no interest, just boredom, maybe even contempt.

“What do you mean you don't know if she's okay?” The man with the shaved head hissed.

“I'm telling you what we know, Jack!” Wilbur replied and opened his mouth to say something more, but paused at the sight of Tommy. The man with the buzzed head snapped his eyes to him, and Tommy internally wanted to flinch back. Rage was radiating off of this guy.

“Um-” Tommy began before being grabbed by his collar.

“What do you want?” Jack said, a warmth emanating from him.

“A cappuccino,” Tommy muttered, and Jack seemed to realize something and let Tommy go as if he were scalding. It wasn't exactly what his mentor had asked for, but it was the best he could do. He didn't want to risk this barista with a clear temper jumping him over an overly complex order

“Okay,” Jack replied choppily and turned on his heel.

“Two days in a row,” Wilbur said, and Tommy could hear the grin he had on his face.

“Yes, people need Coffee to work, Wilbur,” Tommy replied

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “Work? You look like you’re twelve. What are you doing working anywhere?”

“I am not twelve, you dickhead!”

”Watch your language”

Wilbur laughed, and the sound was so warm. It was nothing like he had ever heard. He was used to the cold, was used to days of biting silence and whispered begs. He expected the biting heat that came with the chill now. Used to stabbing pain, used to flames that burned so much his skin would peel off. This warmth was nothing like either of those things. It made Tommy afraid. It made him curious.

“Curiosity is what will kill you.” Dream whispered, “It will give you hope, too much hope, and then stab you in the back.”

Tommy tried not to laugh at the irony of there being a sword through his stomach.

“Do not be curious again. Stay in your cage, little bird.”

Tommy wanted to run. Tommy wanted to stay. Tommy was stuck. Wilbur was still laughing, as if nothing was wrong in the world. It made his heart ache. This laugh wasn't filled with malice. It scared him. But fear wasn't something he was allowed to feel. The bell rang from behind them, and Tommy barely caught the flash of pink hair before the man from the roof was next to Wilbur. Had he followed him? Tommy was sure he had been careful enough and hidden his route—does this man know that Tommy is Oizys? What should he do? If he knows Tommy's identity, he will have to kill this man. But the pink-haired civilian was nice. Nice in a way that—like Wilbur—didn't seem to mean hurt.

“Wilbur,” The pink-haired man huffed, but there was a hint of fondness in it that Tommy didn't understand. It was exasperation coupled with affection. Something completely foreign to him.

“Techno,” Wilbur said back, that same grin from before written onto his face again. It made something in Tommy's gut churn. Affection, was that what it was? Was that what that smile was reserved for? Why had he given that same grin to Tommy?

“Dad says you’re taking too long. We need to go.” Techno says, and he sounds annoyed, but his face, for some reason, doesn't show it. His eyes look like they're still shining with care. It makes his skin crawl. He doesn't understand it. He doesn't get this unconscious care that they seem to have for each other.

His eyes drift over to Tommy, and look him up and down as if he were giving him a once-over, like he was looking for something. But still, something in it was so gentle. Was he planning on killing him? Is that why he was being so nice?

“Please don't tell me you’ve picked up his habit of adopting stray children,” Techno said to Wilbur

“I'm not a child, you dick-” Tommy can't help the words spilling from his mouth. And just like Wilbur had, Techno huffed out what could almost be called a laugh. It made Tommy want to throw up. This was all so unnatural, something strange and completely unknown to him. Unknowing was dangerous. What should he do? His brain was swelling with ideas on how to handle the situation, and nothing was plausible enough to work. His phone buzzed, and Tommy almost wanted to let out a curse. He’d taken too long. Jack had set down his drink with a glare, and Tommy winced at the string of texts that were starting to come in.

“Thank you,” Tommy said to Jack, before turning on his heels and almost speeding out the door. He thinks that he almost heard Wilbur give a quick “Hold on!”

Tommy doesn't stop running. There is something more terrifying than this care. It's his mentor. Tommy knows that he is too much to deal with; that is nothing but fact. His mentor was kind enough to let him stay with him, and Tommy knows that failure is nothing less than betrayal to him.

More wounds, more bruises, and he'll wake up and do it again tomorrow. Because that's just what he does. Tommy is endlessly confused, thinking back to that strange cafe. He had always been taught that people will never be nice unless they want something in return—not including his mentor, of course, he took Tommy in out of kindness—anyone saying otherwise is blind to the world. So why then were they so lenient with him? There were rules that he was taught to follow, and they didn't seem to know any of them.

It didn't make sense. In the same way that Aglaope’s worry didn't make sense. Dream had never once stopped a fight because Tommy was injured. There wasn't a reason either. Tommy bleeding didn't matter because Tommy didn't matter. But these villains treated each other with what could almost be called love. Tommy doesn't understand why it seems so right.

“Tommy,” There's a lump of brown hair that invades his vision, George, he thinks.

“George,” It's not a greeting, it's barely an acknowledgement, really. It's more like a statement. Tommy knows that his training will be bad today. George knows it too. It's not empathy as much as it is pity. But it's somewhat empathy nonetheless, and Tommy is sickeningly grateful for it.

His eyes don't show any type of worry for him, because he knows that Tommy will live. Tommy cannot die. But you can feel pain something traitorous whispers to him. He ignores it. They nod at each other, but those are the only words exchanged. Tommy tries to think of a time when George wasn't ruthlessly cruel to him, but he can't quite remember if there ever was a time to begin with.

When villains killed his parents, George offered a type of apology. In a way, Tommy thinks that's the kindest man has ever been to him. It wasn't empathy, not really. It wasn't even pity. It was more like a hollow apology for the loss that he had. But it was kind; there was nothing that he asked for in return. From the start, where he can remember, he knows that he didn't like his father and mother all that much.

Maybe that's why Tommy hadn't cried when he heard the news. It presented as a fact, the simple and plain truth of the matter. Maybe that was cruel. But it was necessary. George was the one who provided that cruelty. That care. It made Tommy grateful to him. No, the man may never have been kind to Tommy. But that is kindness in itself that he has not tried to trick Tommy into believing that he is kind.

Tommy's empathy is defined by one thing: false. He does not care for others, Dream has told him that much. The night that the villains had stormed his home, his mother had told Tommy to hide. He had. But in that same vein, he hadn't. In reality, he left whatever child his mother thought she was protecting right in front of her in favor of survival. That's when he figures that he became less than human. He doesn't really think that it's a bad thing that he's become this way; it makes him a good asset. It makes him valuable. The doors slide open, and Tommy still finds himself thinking of that warmth. Not a sickening burn.

“You’re late.”

“The barista took a while.”

The man only hummed in front of him.

“Have I been overworking you?” Dream asked, and Tommy wanted to run away. Care. Care. There was care in his words, but they felt so fake. Felt like they meant nothing. Because they didn't mean anything.

“No, sir,” Tommy replied

“Are you sure?” He stepped forward, and Tommy couldn't resist the urge to flinch away from him. His mentor's eyes darkened for a moment before relaxing into what could almost be called worry. “I must be, you look so tired.”

“I-”

“I mean, I don't see why else you’d be falling behind.” A hand came up to brush against his feathers, and Tommy tried not to cry. He felt the sharp tug of a feather being plucked out from the follicle. Another one he would lose. He couldn't even fly. Would never fly, he reminded himself. His feather was locked away, and Tommy once again mourned it for only a second, his own selfish desire to keep his feathers for himself.

“I would take more for others, but clearly you’re too tired to help. I'll tell Ponk that he needs to work on his own for a while; it's not an issue, little bird.”

“No!” Tommy’s lungs were constricting; his value was his ability to help. He needed to be able to help, or else he would be tossed out and thrown into the streets. He couldn't be the reason for another person's death. He wouldn't be the reason for another person's death.

“I can give more. They'll regrow. Take everything you need.”

Dream grinned, and Tommy's heart swelled. He knows that the blade will hurt, that the feeling of the metal pressing into his bones will make him beg and cry for them to stop. But it's okay. He's helping people.

“Amazing little bird,” Dream praised, and he pulled Tommy forward. His brain was screaming that this was dangerous, this was a trap, that he needed to leave and run. But the avian in him careened at the touch. Protector, it said.

There was a knife pressed to his back, right underneath where his wings started.

“Would you give your whole wing?” Dream whispered, and the avian in him screamed.

Tommy only nodded. He didn't cry out when the blade was pushed up. He tried not to cry as Dream made methodical work of each of his feathers. Plucking and tearing and yanking. Tommy cried at last when the blade was plunged into his skin with the familiar promise of flames to come. He would wake up in the morning, his wings restored as the flames always did, and it would happen again. He is a grounded bird. A phoenix is trapped away from the sky because it doesn't have the right to fly.

“You save so many people by doing this,” Dream brushed his fingers through his hair, “You bleed so others may live. But-”

“It doesn't matter if I bleed.” Tommy finishes, and he almost grins at the smile that Dream gives him.

He's bleeding to death slowly; he knows he is. He knows that it doesn't really matter. Dream is working on his other wing now, and Tommy can't feel the pain enough to cry anymore. Dream is speaking to him, Tommy can't hear. Tommy is dying again. He knows that the burn will come soon, that the thing that is meant to be his home and comfort will consume him with its scalding heat. He knows it doesn't matter that it hurts.

”Please hide,Tommy” His mother had said. Or maybe what she really said was “Please hide Tommy,”

He hid his childhood in his heart, the heart that had a knife run through it more times than he could count on his fingers. That knife became his new meaning. He's chasing the end of immortality. Dream promised him this. He should be calm. He knows very well the feeling of his blood being spilt on the floor. So why does he suddenly feel just a little bit afraid?

Have you perhaps grown attached? something asked in his brain, and Tommy flinched away from it. No.

Dream is still hugging him even as Tommy wants to shout at him to let go. He knows his feathers are gone by now.

“Will you kill me faster, please?” He begged, and Dream laughed.

“No.”

So they lay there, Tommy with a knife in his chest and Dream being cruel while sounding gentle.

When Tommy woke up, he was in his own cage. His feathers were back, messy and dirty, but back nonetheless. He stood and ignored the sharp burn that spread through his skin. Pain is in the mind, he reminded himself.

Chapter Text

Tommy wasn't shocked when he saw Wilbur in the shop. Niki was finally back, but she looked tired. Tommy almost wanted to ask if she was okay—but that wasn't his place. Techno—Wilbur’s friend?—was there again too. Both of them were seated as if they were on guard for Niki, in the back of his mind somewhere, Tommy thinks he felt relieved. Niki gasped when she saw him, and Tommy quickly looked behind him to see if someone had come inside to warrant such a reaction.

“Tommy!”

He blinked, and she looked horrified.

“What?! Are you okay—”

Niki was in front of him, suddenly investigating his eye. His eyes? Oh shit. He had training with Sapnap today; the recent loss was weighing on him. There was definitely swelling; he's not sure how long it's been since Sapnap decked him across the face, so he's not sure if there's a bruise. If she were to look at his body more, she'd find that there were burns along his wrists. Those would be hard to explain.

“Niki—” He began, an excuse on his tongue.

“Sit down! I have a med-kit somewhere in the back.”

His gut churned. They'd be wasting medical supplies.

“No, Niki, it's okay!” He tried again.

He heard a low whistle from where Techno and Wilbur were sitting. Techno was pinching his brow, and Wilbur was nowhere to be seen. Until the brown haired man had his hands inspecting his face. He wanted to run away, but his body was locked in place. It had been such a long time since he had felt anything without the promise of pain behind it. Wilburs' hands were rough and calloused like Dreams were, but they held a warmth and gentleness that Dream could never replicate. It was this gentleness that made him not fight whatever this was.

“This looks bad, Tommy. Who did this?” Wilbur asks, and his hands are tilting his head to get a closer look, and Tommy realizes almost every scar he has will be on display; the one from his autopsy is carefully covered, thankfully, but the one across his neck? Not so much. Wilbur’s eyes danced around the scar on his neck. He found his hand coming to cover it. Wilbur looked guilty for a second, like a child does when they're caught doing something they shouldn't.

“It's nothing, don't worry about it.”
They'd barely spoken; they were strangers, and yet—yet Wilbur looked hurt that Tommy wouldn't say who did this. What was he meant to say? ‘My boss’s coworker likes to use me as a punching bag. ’

His wrist was aching more now, and he realized he felt more lightheaded than he should have. He tries to run over how that fight went—

Sapnap is crying. Aithalos is crying. The cracks on his skin were sparking bits of ash that were falling into Tommy's contorted body. He had a knife pressed to his back—which he did not know where Sapnap had hidden that—and this silence that had never come up in these “training” sessions. His tears were like molten lava; in fact, they might actually be lava. Tommy wasn't entirely sure what to do. Dream had never taught him to be kind.

“Do you want to—talk about it?” He tried, and Sapnap snapped up, seemingly remembering where he was and who he was with. He expected the fighting to resume; instead, Subpoena yelped and dropped the knife…into his arm. Tommy hissed. The metal was hot because of Sapnaps' powers, and he didn't want the wound to cauterize while it was still inside his body. He tugged the knife out, and Sapnap made some type of gagging sound.

“I'm sorry—”

What?

“What?” Tommy repeated, This had never happened before. Not once had Sapnap ever felt the need to apologise. What was happening? This must be some type of test. Tommy wanted to run, but to run was to be a coward, and Tommy was not a coward. He took a step forward, ignoring the blood dripping from his arm and the growing numb feeling that was spreading.

“Aithalos?” He questioned, and the hero across from him flinched. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, to plead with Tommy to believe him about something, and Tommy didn't know what.

The door hissed open, and Dream walked in. Tommy straightened right away. At the scene before him, Dream took pause, without even looking at him, and he let out a command.

“Leave,”

Tommy, with shaky feet, had left to the store because he didnt know where else to go.

“Tommy!” He barely caught the panicked voice of Wilbur before he passed out. He hadn't taken the time to check on his arm.

When Tommy woke up, he was still in the shop with Wilbur, Techno, and Niki. His arm was wrapped, and panic seized him the moment that clarity dawned on him. These practical strangers had possibly seen the amount of scars and assumed that he was a hero. Dream was going to kill him.

“Tommy, hey! Breathe,” Someone said to him; he thinks it was Wilbur. His hands on his shoulders were grounding, but at the same time entirely too much for Tommy. Touch had never been something gentle for him. Everyone but Dream was always seeking to harm him—and yet…and yet Wilbur made no moves for his wings bound behind his back, he made no moves to reach for a feather. It was…confusing. Dream had always been very clear with Tommy about what the world was like.

The world was cruel, it was never gentle, and it was never kind for no reason. These people had gone against every single message and lesson that Dream had drilled into his head.

“Tommy? Can you please tell us who did this?” Wilbur sounded desperate.

Tommy didn't know what to do. There's no way that he could blame all of his injuries on himself. He decided the best thing to do was to treat this like any other undercover mission.

“I—my older brother gets mad sometimes”

Wilbur's eyes darken, and Tommy, for a moment, thinks that he knows Tommy's lying, that they can see right through him. He hears Dream's voice in his head, reminding him to stay calm, to act like the perfect victim.

“It's not this bad normally!” Tommy rushes to say, “It was just bad today.”

“Do you have somewhere safe to stay?” Wilbur says, and Tommy blanks. Does he have somewhere safe to stay? No, no, no. Dream was safe. Dream was his home! Why is he doubting this now? Why is he being ungrateful for everything that the man has done for him—

Dream stares at the child who sobs mindlessly. Crisp blond hair and bright tiny wings. Dream saved that boy from his shouting father and crying mother. He picks up the boy in the same way that his father does, grabs him by the wrist, and tells him to shut up. For once, Tommy doesn't start crying harder. Dream asks him what his powers are, and Tommy says he doesn't know. Because that's always what his mother told him to say.

Dream tells him he doesn't believe him, and that if he didn't know, then no one would have come to kill his parents. Tommy tells him the truth. Dream seems happy. Something in Tommy's brain swells with pride.

No one ever really explained instincts to him. His mother was never able to get the words out, and his father never bothered. He didnt know that his brain needed flock to survive, and he didnt know that with the death of his mother and father, his brain was vulnerable to accepting anyone as flock.

Dream never takes the time to explain his instincts beyond the fact that they are annoying. Tommy doesnt blame him. The constant chirping (that he, of course, learned to shut down), the flapping of his wings, which knocked things over( the only solution was to bind his wings!), and his tail, which would wrap around things (it makes sense that it needed to be cut off after each revival, of course.)

When he is old enough, Dream says that he's ready to be more useful. Of course, the first time Dream tore his feathers out, Tommy was too weak to know that it didnt matter what happened to him as long as he could help others.

He didnt understand why they needed him to die. He didnt understand why it always had to be him. When he had asked Dream, he’d sent him to Sapnap. He realized then that asking questions was a bad idea. Sapnap was always confusing; it always seemed like he was somewhere else, like he was trapped in some kind of delusion. Tommy never voiced that, lest he was killed by him again in some violent in cruel way—one that would make his body hurt for weeks after he revived.

He dies over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and overoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverhelphelphelphelphelpmehelpmestopidontwanttodiepleaseletmediealreadydontbringmebackagainstopleavemedeadkillmekillmeKILLMEKILLME—

He finally breaks and begs Dream to kill him for real. He doesn't know how many times he's died now; he stopped keeping count. He doesnt really see the point of keeping count if he's simply going to die again. Dream tells him he can't die. That Dream can't be the one to kill him. Tommy is hopeless.

“Who?” Tommy begs, “Who can kill me. Tell me, please.”

Dream stares at him, like he's considering something. Dream is always unknown; Tommy may have memorized every sign of his mood, but even so, he never fully knows what may come next.

“Why should I tell you, Tommy? You're being selfish trying to get out of helping other people.”

“I don't care!” Tommy wails, grabbing onto Dream despite the harsh slap that knocks him away. “I can't do this anymore!”

Dream looks at him with disgust. Like he's nothing more than dirt under his shoe, and maybe he's right. Maybe Tommy is nothing without what he can give. He can't do this. He can't take this. So he begs.

“I will do anything, I will give as many feathers as you want!”

“Would you kill someone for it?”

Tommy froze.

“I—what?”

“I said, would you kill for it. You said you’d do anything, right?”

Dream grips his hair and tugs his head forward with such intensity that tears threaten to spill from his eyes. He bites back the cry he wants to let out. Would he? Would he kill for it? Would he risk his morals for the sake of death? He was meant to be a hero; he was meant to save people. And yet…and yet the longer he thought about it, the more dread he felt about the fact that he didnt really find himself being opposed to the idea. He swallowed roughly.

“I'd kill for it.” Tommy pushes out, and Dream grins. He drops Tommy and turns around.

“He's called the Angel of Death. They say he tricked the Goddess of Death into loving him, into making him her angel. They say he is a cruel man who will murder anyone for profit. Or revenge.”

Tommy sucked in a breath

“Do you remember Ranboo?”

Tommy's heart sank.

“There have been rumours that after he defected, they joined the SBI. The Angel is very protective of those under his wing, Tommy. Do you understand what I'm asking you to do?”

“You…You want me to kill Ranboo?”

Dream smiles, Tommy wishes he could say he hated the feeling of pride that it gave him.

“I'm saying that if you do, the Angel will kill you. He will save you.”

“I don't know.” He finally answers. The worst part is that he really didn't know. Wilbur doesn't look upset with him. In some odd way, he looks like he understands exactly what Tommy meant.

“Can I have your phone?” Wilbur asks, and Tommy, confused, hands it to him. He taps violently on something and hands it back to him. Tommy finds three new numbers in his contacts.

“Wilbur,” “Techno,” and “Phil”

He doesnt know who Phil is.

“He's our dad,” Wilbur explains after a moment, and Tommy nods. “If you ever need help call us. We will come and get you and keep you safe.”

Tommy's heart ached, and he nodded.

“Seriously, kid,” Techno spoke, “We'll be there.”

He didnt know what to do. This wasn't normal. This wasn't how the world worked, and yet—and yet they were being so kind to him. Tommy stood, slowly brushing the dust off his clothing.

“Thank you,” Tommy said quietly. He was shocked at the fact that he really meant it, despite everything that he had been told. He was thanking someone. “I have to go—I'm late for work.”

Wilbur nodded his head, but there was a look of anxiety left on his face. Tommy didnt understand why his gut twisted in guilt for lying to the three who seemed to care.

When he got back to the base, Dream was furious with him, but wouldn't hurt him more than Sapnap did. He sent him out on patrol officially. Unofficially, it was punishment since he would be out all night.

Oziys ignored the burn in his arms that had spread again. He could do this. Everything was going to be okay.

“Hey mate.”

Oziys flipped around, and he felt his heart drop. The Angel. Zephyr. He nodded his head in greeting.

“Are you aware that you've willingly engaged with a hero?”

Zephyr let out a hum; there was something underneath it that Oziys couldn't decipher. Anger? Hate? He couldn't tell…he couldn't tell for all of two seconds before he was being slammed into a wall.

“Stop fighting!” George had said, tugging back his wings so that they would lie closer together than they should have been.

“It hurts!” He sobbed, trying his best to run. Sapnap’s too-warm hands were pushing him back.

“Ozyis” Dream had said, “This is for your own good. Stop fighting it.”

Tommy heaved, tears running down his face as he felt the bindings wrap around his wings and press them flat to his back. It didnt matter if he was damaged, as long as the feathers remained intact.

He couldn't help it; he let out a call of distress. The Angel, being an avian, made it that much easier to give in to the instincts he thought Dream had thoroughly beaten out of him. Only when Zephyr let go in horror did he realize the mistake he had made. He made a distress call. A distress call only baby birds could make. Even through the veil, Oziys could see how shocked the Angel was. He released Tommy, staggering back.

 

“You—”

Tommy couldn't breathe. He gave away information. He let the enemy know something about him, even a minor mistake like that, and now the angel knew he was some form of Avian. He would kidnap him, he would steal Tommy away, and use him like Dream said they would. He needed to run, and he needed to run fast. Without another thought, he bolted upwards and dashed through the winding alleyways. He heard the angel call after him

“Theseus!”

Theseus? Tommy thinks while he runs,

“Stop running! Please let me talk to you!”

Zephyr sounds desperate. For a second, Tommy almost doesn't believe that this will be the man to kill him. But then he recalls the anger with which he shoved Oziys into the wall, and knew that Dream had not lied. This would be the man to kill Tommy. He could feel the ache in his back, his wings, which begged to be used. He ignored it.

He took a sharp turn down a corner and felt a sense of relief at the fact that he couldn't see the Angel. Until he felt himself get hit with the flatside of an axe. A feeling which he was very familiar with already. Tommy didn't make a sound, although he's convinced that his jaw might have been knocked out of place. Xiphos stands towering over him, anger clearly sensed. Tommy was drowning in the emotion, and it blocked out any chance that he had to look for anything else.

He heard the flap of wings, and dread filled his stomach again. He hadn't lost Zephyr. He'd gotten caught, actually, and this was possibly the worst night of his entire life, because he knew that whatever these villains did would be a thousand times more merciful than Dream.

Then something even worse happened. Aglaope stepped into view.

Tommy thinks that if he could still cry, he would. Aglaope was the same height as Xiphos, and he realized why, despite Aglaope not being the best fighter, he was such a major threat. He kneeled down in front of Tommy, and the traitorous part of him wanted to run away and hide. Dream had done it once; maybe it was okay if he did it too? Just once? No, no, he knew that wasn't right.

“Hello, Theseus,” Aglaope said after Zephyr had landed behind them.
“Aglaope.” He replied, dont ever let them see how afraid you are

Aglaope tilted his head as if signaling something to the others. Xiphos raised his arm as if he was going to punch Tommy before Zephyr stopped him.

“No. He-”

“You are worth no one's pity.”

“Don't pity me,” he found himself snapping. He was losing control, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

“It's not pity!” Zephyr sounded offended, “It's because you made a noise only chicks could make!”

“What?” Xiphos and Aglaope said in sync.