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It was about three weeks into their “prison vacation” as Technoblade liked to call it, that Dream started to talk about Tommy. If Sam had been listening in, he would have been surprised that Dream had been able to keep quiet about his obsession as long as he did. But Techno, who had no idea of Dream and Tommy’s twisted relationship, was surprised that Dream bothered to talk about the traitorous brat at all.
It had probably been spurred on by Techno’s talks of Theseus and how he and Tommy wouldn’t be caught dead respecting women.
Dream had laughed his wheezy, teakettle laugh and leaned back against the tear-stained obsidian wall behind them. He stared past Techno towards the curtain of lava that kept their cell uncomfortably warm, a blank look in his single poison-green eye no longer concealed by his cracked mask. Just as Techno was readying himself to grab the man before he tried swimming in the lava again, Dream spoke.
“You know, it isn’t even the real disc.”
“Heh?” Techno grunted, shifting on his ragged cloak he was using as a cushion. Where exactly was this coming from? The last thing he wanted to talk about was the discs—they caused almost as much trouble as governments did, and Cat and Mellohi didn’t even sound that good. Pigstep was far superior.
“It’s just funny,” Dream continued, ignoring him as the faint twitches of a smile leaked through his voice. “You’d think, with how obsessed Tommy is with his discs, he’d be able to tell which are the real ones.
“Dream, I’m gonna need more context than that if you expect me to laugh at your attempts at humor,” Techno said, trying to be gentle. Dream had an extremely fragile ego after all.
“I have Cat.”
Dream said it like it meant something; like he was graciously letting Techno in on one of his cherished secrets, and Techno should be oh-so-thankful for the honor. Dream was annoying—even more so than Tommy. At least Tommy was funny.
“The more obnoxious-soundin’ one in your ugly shade of green?”
“Yes—” Dream’s face wrinkled into a scowl at the jibe. “That one.”
Dream paused in thought. As his eye grew wistful, Techno hoped that Dream would get lost in his musings again for a few hours and give his anarchist roommate some much-needed peace and quiet. That didn’t happen.
“You see,” Dream began, “a while ago, to win independence for his silly little excuse of a country, Tommy, ever predictable and lacking in imagination, gave me both his discs, because he knew I wouldn’t accept anything else—other than him at least—” Dream hummed softly while Techno tried to ignore the implications of that statement. “Anyways, Cat disappeared for a time, and then both Skeppy and Tubbo claimed to have it. Of course, it didn’t matter which was the real one, because I got them both. And well—”
Dream turned abruptly, his electric green eye cutting into the piglin, intense enough that Techno’s ear twitched in irritation. Something disturbingly similar to madness danced in Dream’s eye. “Remember that little show I put on for Tommy, with the discs and the attachments vault?—And, don’t worry,” He hastily added, “it was just for fun, I wasn’t actually going to lock away Carl, we’re friends after all.”
What was this about Carl? The easygoing bubble Techno’s mind had been floating in popped. Sure, Ranboo had told him something about Tommy fighting Dream, but he’d never mentioned Carl. Dream knew Techno had almost died for that horse. This wasn’t something to joke about.
Before he could ask Dream what the hell he was talking about, Dream continued, unaware of the unease growing within his cellmate. “So, I put Tommy’s discs on two large pedestals at the front of the room, my finest trophies, you know?”
No, Technoblade did not know why someone worthy of being his rival couldn’t leave a teenager’s music discs alone.
Dream laughed again, this time with a darker, more purposeful tone. “I set out the real Mellohi, but a fake Cat. Tommy didn’t notice.” Dream leaned back with a pleased sigh, his eye closing as the words bubbled off his lips. “I can still remember those perfect words of his ‘the discs are worth more than you ever were!’ and despite that, Tommy didn’t notice!”
Techno cringed at Dream's squeaky attempt at replicating Tommy’s voice and considered changing the conversation topic to potatoes. Dream’s mocking words were starting to make the piglin feel bad for Tommy, and he didn’t want to feel bad for the thieving, traitorous racoon. So potatoes—no, wait, Carl! Imagine considering breaking out a felon that had tried to kidnap his horse—couldn’t be him.
“So, about Carl—”
“He still doesn’t know!”
“Dream—”
“I thought for sure that he would confront me about it during one of his prison visits, maybe even beg for it back—wouldn’t that be fun!—but that idiot still hasn’t noticed.”
“About my horse—”
“Maybe he’ll never notice, and I’ll keep a hold of that part of him forever.”
“DREAM!”
Dream yelped, finally startled out of his thoughts, and scrambled backwards across the obsidian to the far side of the cell. His fingers smeared bloody marks against the stone, and as he pressed his shaking body against the cauldron, his white-rimmed eye locked on Techno with a look that was disturbingly similar to fear.
“I–I’m n–not going to g–give you the b–book…” Dream whimpered brokenly, flinching as Techno changed his position to get more comfortable on his cloak.
“Dream, I care more about carrot farming than your revive book,” Techno replied evenly, unsure how else to calm the unstable man down. “And even if you gave it to me, it’d be pretty much useless. Our attempt at cloning didn’t work, and I don’t need another bell.”
Dream blinked at Techno’s logic, and his eye narrowed as his awareness returned. He coughed awkwardly and scooched forward across the stone floor back to the section of the wall he liked to lean against—painted maroon with long-dried blood and smears of a rotting potato.
Techno pretend to ignore him.
“Sorry. Torture and all that. Fucks you up in the head.” Dream tapped the side of his mask, trying to appear back in control and failing miserably as Techno detected the traces of fear still laced through the man’s voice.
Techno hummed noncommittally, thinking about a certain blonde boy and the way he’d seemed as hyper and chaotic as ever after his exile, running around screaming about communism while setting Techno’s cabin on fire and stealing his gapples. At first, he’d thought the kid had just gotten sick of his crappy, little beach resort and Dream trying to babysit him. But as the days passed, a nagging feeling grew that something was off—just like how Dream was acting now.
There had been signs—flinches, breaths that shook out of Tommy’s lungs, the way his hands trembled as they trekked across the plains searching for wolves—the final control room and the utter fear in the boy’s voice as he ran from it. Techno had stupidly—callously—ignored them. He’d rationalized it. If Tommy wanted Techno to know what was going on, all he had to do was say something. Techno was willing to wait. He didn’t bother to pry—he didn’t care as much as he should have. It was easier to brush it off and blame it on Tommy being nervous in his presence.
He was someone worth being nervous around. Quackity was petrified of him, and the others kept a healthy distance whenever he summoned a weapon. He was a follower of the blood god, a champion of death matches, a monster that could go up against full netherite with iron armor and a pickaxe. He owned more withers than anyone else and wasn’t afraid to set them loose on the server. He was known for being nonchalant, arrogant, bloodthirsty, extreme, and fearless.
He’d shot Tommy’s best friend in the face with a rocket, as if that made him anything other than a coward.
It was easier to run away from things—responsibility, relationships, morals, promises, battles, grief, accountability. It was easy to scream at others for betraying him—to worry why Phil had failed to break him out at the three day mark of a stay now going on a month—it was harder to think of how he had betrayed himself.
What was his word even worth?
“You know,” Techno started casually, breaking the silence, “I promised Tommy I’d help get his discs back.”
“But wasn’t that before he betrayed you?”
“True.” Techno nodded, his pig ears bobbing on his head. Tommy had gone back on their deal first—another name on the list of those who had betrayed him. A list Dream’s name had just joined. “Dream, you know my sayin’—repaying kindness tenfold and injustice a thousand?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I was thinkin’, in exchange for your attempts at kidnappin’ my horse—”
“Techno.” Dream laughed awkwardly. “I wasn’t actually—”
“In exchange for considerin’ kidnappin’ my horse,” Techno continued, interrupting the interruption, “I want somethin’ of yours.”
“What?” Dream’s voice was hard and dull. Techno could tell he was frowning behind his mask.
“Tommy’s disc.”
“What, so you can give it back to him?” Dream snapped, staggering to his feet and looming over Techno like he was a legitimate threat, rather than an emaciated, filthy prisoner that needed to rest a hand on the wall to keep his balance.
Technoblade smirked. “No, so I can wave it in front of his traitorous face and snap it in half while he’s beggin’ me not to.” He mimed snapping a disc into smaller and smaller pieces. He’d threatened to do that very thing to Quackity when the man had taken his horse for a “walk”. There were different ways to break people—some more literal than others.
Dream doubled over with laughter and slid down the wall. “Yes! What a perfect idea. That’ll break Tommy so badly.” He glanced over at Techno, a wild grin half-hidden by his mask. “Just wait until I’m out of prison to do it. I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”
… Three Years Later …
Tommy hovered on the edge of a crowd of people making a mess of Technoblade’s Philza’s front lawn. They were clumped together in groups; some petting the fluffy, white dogs, or rechecking their netherite armor, or glancing down at the lava pit reportedly leading to Syndicate’s meeting room and wondering if they’d be made fun of for using a fire resistance potion.
Tommy was alone. No one was bothering to speak to him or ask him why he was only wearing iron armor. He wasn’t the center of attention these days, and he was grateful for it. Tubbo and Ranboob-the-no-longer-dead—thanks to Phil’s very real and totally-not-a-refrigerator wife—would be here soon after making sure that Michael had fallen asleep for his afternoon nap. They’d provide more than enough excitement to keep him happy.
Phil had invited everyone to his arctic home—many for the first time—and to Tommy’s surprise, almost everyone had shown up, even those who usually chose to remain on the sidelines like Hanna, or Hbomb, or Eryn. Speaking of his childhood friend, he’d need to save him from Baba soon, but—not quite yet. The polar bear looked too happy with his new thermal pillow.
A few people had thought that there was going to be a very belated funeral, but instead, Phil had told them that—as Dream was finally dead and DreamXD was missing—Phil didn’t have to keep pretending to be ignorant to what an End portal was. The winged immortal had explained how inserting specific pearls could turn their meeting room table into a portal to the dimension known as the End. There they’d find a dragon that had swallowed the ancient treasures and advanced machinery of a civilization long dead. If they killed it and cut open the corpse, they’d all gain untold riches.
Everyone had perked up at that. Tommy had cynically rolled his eyes when no one had considered that it might be a trap. It wasn’t as if anyone had died from lava pits or underground chambers before. Nope. Phil was completely trustworthy. Still, Tommy wasn’t about to miss out on seeing a dragon. Maybe it was related to Ranboo.
Tommy glanced over at the empty house. Techno always had backup sets of armor lying around, and he really didn’t want to fight a world-ending dragon in iron armor. That was a bit too reckless, even for him.
No one would mind if he borrowed a set, Tommy tried to convince himself as he ducked around the stable and nearly ran into a horse’s head. The chestnut horse eagerly sniffed his hands and side-eyed him when he realized they were empty.
“Hello, Carl,” Tommy murmured as he summoned an apple from his inventory and offered it up on his flat palms. It was snatched away with only a faint tickle of the horse’s lips and Carl gleefully bobbed his head up and down as he crunched the apple to pieces.
Tommy couldn’t help but smile, and he chuckled as the other horses crowded against the fence, stretching out their necks and breathing warm air in his face while begging for treats. They had to be bribed as well before Tommy could slip past them and through the basement doors.
His smile faded into solemnness as he tried and failed to preserve the brief warmth the horses had brought. He hadn’t been here in a long time. A part of him had desperately wanted to visit as the memories faded in his mind, but an equally strong part had pushed it off again and again.
He’d forgotten about it for a while, and even after his memories started coming back, there was still Dream to escape, the Crimson to fight off, and Ranboo to find. There was always one more thing to do so he didn’t have to think.
It was too quiet in here—too empty. His eyes glanced over a sign—Thank’s for being Pro-Omelette, Puffy—and a choked feeling entered his throat. It was like he’d never left. It was like he was still here, messing around brewing potions upstairs and about to climb down to the basement to yell at Tommy for stealing his stuff.
Tommy’s lips quivered, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to calm the wobbly feeling in his chest. He was here to get armor—not fall apart. Before he could notice anything else, he forced himself up the stairs—definitely not pausing by a poster with his face on it to think about why Techno kept it up and undefaced—and climbed up to the top floor library to search Techno’s secret valuables barrel.
He had found the barrel ages ago when he was searching for a heart of the sea to “borrow” for his hotel construction. Back then, the first item he’d pulled out was a picture with a very clear warning against thieving raccoons that startled him so much that he ran off to steal from Ranboo instead. It was funny, thinking back on it.
As he passed the channel member bell, he couldn’t resist tapping his knuckles against it and wincing at the clear sound and phantom cries of ‘subscribe to Technoblade!’ that itched at the back of his mind. He reached the chests stacked along the back wall and climbed them like a ladder, perching on one and reaching back into the shadows beneath the roof to pry off the barrel’s lid.
It was similar to how he remembered it, still packed to the brim with weapons and armor—Phil had left it as it was.
Tommy’s hand closed around the smooth case of a compass. As its cold weight settled in his hand, he could see himself curled up in a box, trembling slightly and holding the compass to his chest while Technoblade glared down at him with red-tinged eyes. He’d broken the uneasy silence with an ‘Ayyyyy, Tech-no-blade’ and flinched when Techno had jerked his hand out and demanded the compass back.
Tommy had gone there for thievery, but he’d gotten caught, and considering he’d memorized the way to Techno’s house, the compass was useless to him. He’d handed it over without fuss and even held back from trying to bargain with it. Even Dream couldn’t get him to hand over stolen goods that easily—the railway heist was a great example—but Techno deserved more respect than that.
Techno had relaxed as soon as the compass was back in his possession. He only made the barest efforts to stop him as Tommy backed out of his house with the stolen items still in hand. At the time, Tommy had patted himself on the back for his quick escape; which was more impressive than the crappy potions and items he’d managed to get—they did nothing against Dream.
It was only months later, when he and Phil were back on speaking terms, that he was told the true significance of the compass and had felt all the more grateful that Techno had asked for it back first instead of going for his head. It wasn’t easy to think rationally when someone used what you loved against you. If Dream had stolen Tubbo’s ‘Your Tommy’ compass and used it to hunt him down and try to murder him, Tommy wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to so much as touch it again. It would have shattered the feeling of safety from the twin compass around his neck. Thinking about it now, Tommy could better understand the level of paranoia Techno had faced under his unflappable nonchalance.
It was strange how his views and understanding of his old friend and enemy changed with maturity and the time to reflect on the past with a level head. He could understand the piglin better—his strengths, his weaknesses, his humanity, and his failings. Tommy Innit, someone capable of contemplation—who would have thought?
Not that he wanted to do anything more than some surface-level thinking on getting some half-decent armor and getting out, he reminded himself of as he shoved the intrusive, distracting memories away and gently placed the compass back into the barrel. He couldn’t afford to think too much. Tubbo would accuse him of being possessed by a dreamon again, or even worse—getting old.
Philosophical types had white hair and beards like Phil was sure to have when he stopped giving such crappy advice as ‘destroy your gifts from your dead friends that could potentially save your life to prove that you care more about people than material possessions’. Tommy was perfectly happy to keep giving people bad advice if it kept the white streak in his hair from growing.
Back on task, he clawed through the remaining items for any sign of diamond armor and came up empty. No luck, which was hardly unusual for him. He gazed longingly at the complete set of netherite armor, but sighed and closed the barrel’s lid. It felt almost disrespectful to take something that valuable from Technoblade. Tommy was still a thief, sure, but he wasn’t the type to take things that meant something from people. He didn’t want to be like Dream.
After glancing around the dusty, memory-warped room one final time, Tommy climbed down the stairs and made his way over to the wall of storage chests Techno had arranged in his potions room. He could vaguely remember that the piglin kept a few spare sets of diamond armor in one of the chests.
“Hello,” he greeted politely as he squeezed his way between Edward and Steve, careful to avoid the enderman’s eyes and the polar bear’s sharp teeth. As he rifled through each chest with no luck and only remnants of memories, a feeling like an elephant balanced on a tightrope grew stronger in him—heavy and wobbly and about to snap. He lifted another lid—stone, flowers, dirt, useless—and was about to move on when he noticed something wedged in a corner.
It was a Cat disc.
Tommy gently removed it from the chest, and looked it over fondly. He’d given up on disc hunting a long time ago. The day he sacrificed his Mellohi and Cat to save himself and Tubbo was the day he put the past to rest—something he should have had the guts to do ages before that. It was more important to keep his friend than the memory of their friendship. He hadn’t bothered to listen to a disc since—it hadn’t felt right. This one, though, was worn and well-used in a gentle way. He chuckled to himself quietly. He hadn’t thought Techno the type to listen to Cat—especially with how much he’d mocked Tommy’s taste in music.
Tommy flipped the disc over and froze. There was a piece of paper taped to the underside of the disc, but that wasn’t what choked the breath in his throat and stopped his heart. Written in messy ink on the bright green band in the center of the disc was the word Cat. It was Tommy’s handwriting.
“No. There’s just no fucking way,” he mumbled to himself as he brought the disc closer to his face and pored over every chip and scrape marring the surface. It just—he’d been so sure that they’d both been destroyed! He’d made his peace with it! He’d lost both Mellohi and Cat, and now here was Cat—his Cat. It felt too familiar in his hands not to be. And Techno had somehow gotten it—what the fuck?
Why? How? Did he even still want Cat?—Of course he did. This was one of his first disks—one of his earliest memories on the server. And Techno had hidden it in an unlocked chest on the main floor of his house? Tommy wasn’t sure what he thought about that—his brain was still trying to rationalize how he’d convinced himself that the Cat burned up in a pit of lava was the real one. He really was pretty stupid, wasn’t he?
His thoughts whirled like a clothesline in a tornado, tangling into a violent mess of uncertainties that stuttered to a halt as his fingers still tracing over the disc brushed against the smooth paper taped to it. Rather than stew in his thoughts, he reached for the paper with a vain hope of getting some answers.
He gently peeled it off and opened it up, and the piece of paper turned into several sheets of paper covered in obnoxiously elegant—but still legible—handwriting. Considering how the first line was his name, he was about eighty percent sure it was a letter for him, and a hundred percent certain it would make fun of him.
Before his brain could catch up enough to warn him that this wasn’t the right time for reading a personal letter, he sat down on the wood floor, leaned back against the chests with his disc set beside him, and started on the first page.
Tommy,
I’m sure that this will reach you eventually. You love stealing my stuff after all.
“Oh, you can never resist mocking me, you stupid pig.”
Tommy rolled his eyes and braced himself for the sure-to-be-mocking Techno-speech the letter was written in. He wasn’t going to let himself get riled up by some words on a piece of paper.
Despite my ‘I’m a person speech’ I gave you during Doomsday, I don’t think you understand how badly you hurt me with your betrayal. I don’t trust people easily, Tommy. I’ve been backstabbed by pretty much everyone I’ve ever known. But you know this already. I told you myself.
Tommy swallowed a bitter pill of guilt and tried not to remember the speech Techno had given him that day. He had to go back to Tubbo—he had to. He might have been safe with Techno—maybe—but that was just running away. Turning back while he still could was the right choice; he just wished there had been a way to drag Techno along with him. If only he could have just ‘chosen people’ like Ranboo always tried to.
However, I am a man of my word if nothing else. I promised I’d get your discs back if you helped with some “minor terrorism”, and you did help some before your betrayal. In that spirit, I decided to get one disc back. It was easy to trick Dream into giving up the location with a little advanced technique called lying.
So that was why the disc was here—another promise that Techno was obligated to keep. Tommy wasn’t sure if he felt disappointed or comforted. He’d thought his betrayal had ended their partnership—the idea of Techno paying him back had never even crossed his mind.
Did you know that yours is a fake?
“Yeah, all of three minutes ago,” Tommy muttered. “Feel free to make fun of stupid ol’ me for misplacing a disc literal wars have been fought over.”
And apparently, he was going to kidnap my horse. If not for the favor, I’d let him rot in prison, but I’m not opposed to anyone hunting him down later and throwing him back in. Carl would be safer that way. I might have to if he goes after you again.
“Yeah, well he did go after me again, bitch, and you weren’t fucking there—Phil was. If he hadn’t been, Dream might have dragged me off and…” Tommy didn’t finish the thought. Years later, and he still couldn’t think back on Dream’s abuse without fear clogging up his mind like warm breath on glass.
I knew that he targeted you a few times in the past, but before rooming with him for a few months, I didn’t think too much of it. Hell was I wrong. That man is obsessed with you to an unhealthy and frankly creepy extent. Did you know that he used to hide in your walls and watch you sleep? I know that now. I wish I didn’t.
“What the fuck?!” Tommy hissed, shock and then acceptance washing through him. “Of course he fucking did. I even knew he was stalking me, but stupid me thought it was a joke.” Tommy laughed bitterly at his past stupidity. “And he told Techno about it…”
Tommy’s stomach flipped. That was an unpleasant breach of privacy that other people had known about. Who else had Dream talked to about him? It felt invasive—violating, like being cut out of reality and pasted on a wall for others to gawk at.
The more I write, the more I want to leave that teletubby in his massive, blackstone “house”.
“If only you fucking had,” Tommy muttered.
But enough about Dream, this letter is about me and you.
I guess what I’m trying to say to the feral racoon this letter is addressed to is—
Tommy, I’m sorry.
Tommy flinched as an echo of the words cut through his mind like a knife through butter. Dream had said the exact same thing, not on that horrible, last day, but during his first prison visit, only a few hours after holding an axe to Tubbo’s throat and gleefully reciting how he was going to lock Tommy in that very cell for his own sick enjoyment. The vague apology had been unbearably ingenuine then, and now this…but Techno wasn’t like that. He didn’t manipulate people with false care like Dream did. He could be given the benefit of doubt. Techno wasn’t Dream—he wasn’t.
With this peace we’ve been having lately, I had far too much time to think about everything that’s happened, and I think I’ve figured out why you did what you did. It still hurts, but I don’t despise you for it anymore.
You’re chaotic and violent,
“Hey!” Tommy snapped, his temper flaring. The paper crinkled in his hands as his grip tightened.
but ultimately a kind-hearted person.
“Oh,” Tommy mumbled as he finished reading the sentence. His fingers loosened around the letter. Techno thought he was kind. No one else had ever called him that.
That day at the community house, when you left me, you also left behind Wilbur, and you stayed true to your ideals—protecting the ones you love and preserving your precious memories. You weren’t trying to betray me—you were trying to avoid betraying yourself. I can’t help but respect you for that.
“Oh, you fucking respect me, now do you?” Tommy snapped at the unexpected and highly ridiculous praise. No one had ever bothered to commend him for anything—Techno wasn’t allowed to do it now. “Couldn’t be bothered to tell me in person, though. Big, bad Technoblade can’t be seen respecting the ‘feral raccoon boy’, is that it?”
I can’t respect myself in the same way. Unlike you, I sacrificed my ideals in favor of survival and caving in to those bloodthirsty voices. I should have defended Tubbo that day and put my one life on the line like you have time after time. And then I had the gall to fight you when you called me out on my cowardice.
“Wow,” Tommy mumbled, rereading the words to check if he’d just wistfully imagined them. Nope. Techno actually apologized. He even insulted himself. Tommy still struggled to believe it.
Either Techno was lying—but that wouldn’t be like him, unless this was all a setup for the punchline of a joke—or taking the time to write had allowed the piglin to think through his words better. Tommy decided it was the second option—the first was too cruel. Only Dream would write an apology letter and take it all back in the last sentence. Techno wasn’t that much of a bitch.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t see it at the time, but as you know, I’m as hot-blooded as you are and logic goes out the window when somebody slights me. It’s something I’m working on. I’d like to think that with enough time, I could get used to peace.
“Same.” Time did help to put things into perspective.
If you don’t completely hate me for breaking Dream out,
“That’s debatable.”
And I manage to survive the jailbreak, I wouldn’t mind visiting your hotel some time and maybe renting out a room if you’ll let me. I could use a vacation away from the freezing cold and Phil’s whining about his molting feathers.
The hotel—that old thing. His grand plan to bring the server together and give himself orders to follow to compensate for running out of people to follow. If only it had actually worked and people had come to stay in it. Maybe it would have been fun to stick Technoblade in a room and watch him ruthlessly snark at his neighbors. Maybe…
His thoughts wobbled as a fresh wave of painful what-ifs drifted up and were quickly suppressed as he forced himself to keep reading.
I just decided that it was hypocritical of me to hold a grudge against you when you’ve tried to make amends—albeit
“Al-be-it?” Tommy muttered, rolling his eyes. “Now he’s just throwing fancy words around to sound cool.
while stealing from me—and even broke me out of prison with that little chaos goddess Drista so we could bomb the server. I’m not upset that you two sent me back afterwards.
Tommy stuffed down a feeling that was definitely not guilt. Nope. Plus, Techno needed some time to cool off, and Drista was always right. If she said the piglin needed to go back to prison—back he went.
I don’t even mind that you still have my axe. You need it more than I do, and the axe Ranboo gave me is much more meaningful to me now. Sentimental value and all that. Never give up on having attachments, kid.
“Oi?!” Tommy snapped. “That’s literally the opposite of what Phil told me. Maybe you were closer to phil-o-soph-i-cal-i-ty.”
Phil means the world to me, Nikki and Ranboo are people I’m proud to be friends with, and you’re not that bad.
“Aww, thanks,” Tommy snarked, sticking his tongue out at the letter. “I’m glad I made the list of people you can stand being around, and you even put me last too. Reminds me of the will…”
Tommy’s thoughts stumbled, and his one-sided banter with the letter fell flat on its face. He just had to bring up the will—the one thing he’d thought Techno had left for him. The one thing that wibble-wobbled his feelings enough to throw him off balance and back into the suffocating whirlpool of anger and fear and longing and grie—anger, that dredged up conflicting memories of screaming across a battlefield and fluffy, white dogs licking his hands and withers razing the ground around him and blood dripping down his battered face and sitting on a bench to watch the moon rise and the prison alarm screaming in his ears and softly falling snow and a silent cabin and pushing past Phil to see the still figure resting as though he was asleep on—
Nope. Nope. Nope. He wasn’t doing this again—he wasn’t spiraling. He wasn’t going to think about it and let those painful memories drag him down. He was going to think about what Phil had given him when the man had found him curled up in the hole of what had used to be his room before Phil blew it up like a dickhead, where he was definitely not crying. Because he wasn’t sad, he was just not processing things. His emotions didn’t want to work that day or the day after—and still often didn’t—and he couldn’t blame them. Functioning properly was overrated.
Still, despite the fact that he didn’t want to talk or hear what had happened or have it explained why Dream couldn’t fix things with the revive book or accept Phil’s clumsy offer of company, he still took the will and cradled it against his chest for a few hours before he forced himself to read it.
There was only one line addressed to him.
He hadn’t thought there would be any.
‘Tell Tommy I hope he finds what he's looking for, whatever that is.’
Had Techno been talking about the disc? Was it a clue to tell him that Techno got it back? He couldn’t help but hope not. The discs were important, sure, but what he was truly looking for was so much more than just items or memories. He didn’t want to think that Techno had considered him to be that shallow.
Also, yeah—Tommy felt himself brighten slightly like a single candle lit on a chandelier—the will had been written before Techno’s prison stay, while the letter had been written after. Maybe that didn’t mean anything, but he was going to accept Techno’s words as a more open ended wish.
As for what he was truly looking for, that was still something Tommy was trying to figure out, but he now had the luxury of time. The server was currently as peaceful as it could get, Dream was gone, and he had friends by his side to help him. He was starting to heal. He just wished he could have shown Techno that.
Dream gave up his attachments and he’s completely miserable. As long as you stay his antithesis, you’ve won against the homeless teletubby. Don’t forget that.
“Antithesis, huh. Not rival, not enemy, not hero—but antithesis. Not completely sure what that means, but…” Tommy trailed off as his thoughts became jumbled. Did Techno mean that just by enduring, he won? No battles, no debates, just existing, and Dream lost?
His whole life had been one failure and mishap after another. Dream always beat him—even when he thought he won, it was just a set up. He still didn’t want to process how he’d regressed or rebounded or whatever that horrible day before the alarms filled the air and he’d thought it had all been meaningless as the world winked out.
He couldn’t stand up to Dream in the end, and after the server flickered back into existence, Dream had been there beside him and he’d…and he’d…
He’d found Tubbo again.
Their memories came back like drunken party guests that had forgotten which houses they lived in, and the pain came with them. So much pain and things that Tommy desperately wanted to shove out of his mind and back into oblivion.
Tubbo and him lived separately now, even more so after they’d found Ranboo miraculously alive in the Nether—but they were all still friends. Tommy didn’t let go of them, he didn’t leave them—not this time. According to Technoblade, he won. He WON.
Tommy felt something light and watery fill up his insides like clouds and the smell of fresh earth after it rained. Was it relief, or joy, or peace? He wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. Everything he’d done—everything he was—had meaning. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes as he tried to read the next line.
I’d apologize in person, but—
Tommy broke. The balancing act fell off the tightrope and punched a hole in his chest. Tears leaked out his eyes, long-suppressed emotions flooded him and washed away all rational thought, and his grief screamed inside of him. His body shook violently, and the letter slipped out of his hand, sheets of paper scattering across the floor. He curled in on himself, struggling to breathe and spitting the remaining thoughts out of his mouth.
“You s–stupid pig,” Tommy gasped through shaking sobs. “Why didn’t y–you figure it o–out sooner? Why didn’t you protect m-me? Why did you h–hurt me? Why did you have to g-go and leave too?”
He tangled his hands into his hair and tugged until his scalp burned. The pain didn’t chase his emotions away like it was supposed to. “I just wanted a friend to stay on my side for once—I just wanted to feel safe. I cared about you, you bitch, and you were supposed to tell me you cared about me to my fucking face, not write it in a letter I got too late!”
It was just too much emotion, too much pain, and all those confusing, arguing memories that couldn’t decide anything, and it was just too much.
Tommy screamed.
He screamed while his lungs burned and his throat felt like it was splitting open and his ears screamed back at him. It felt like everything inside was trying to claw its way out of him at once, and it hurt. It was excruciating, but he couldn't stop himself from getting louder and harsher as his lungs begged for air.
His vision softened at the edges, fueling his rising panic and the frantic beating of his heart.
He still couldn’t stop.
He couldn’t—
There was a soft weight against his chest and his fingers were digging into the softness. His lungs dragged in, and gasping, hacking coughs scraped painfully at his insides as air started to flow in and out again.
He was breathing.
His panic crashed and he leaned further into the softness as weariness overtook him, wrapping his arms around the furry—Oh. He was hugging a polar bear's head. Steve’s head to be exact. If he wasn’t so exhausted, Tommy might have bothered to be terrified, but right now, if Steve wanted to comfort him, he was going to let himself be comforted.
Steve raised his head from Tommy’s lap and looked at him questioningly. It was almost as though he could hear the bear ask him if he was going to scream again.
“I just…I don’t know how to accept all of this,” he told Steve. “I just…don’t know. It’s too much.”
The polar bear just puffed rancid breath in his face and rested his head back down in Tommy’s lap.
After a few minutes of sitting there in comfortable silence while his emotions leveled out and his thoughts came back into order, Tommy scratched Steve behind his furry ears and gently pushed his head away. “I’m okay now,” he reassured Steve. He really was. It wasn’t a lie for once.
Tommy couldn’t finish the rest of the letter. Not now. His eyes were still too blurry with tears to read. He wiped his face and his tear-sticky hands on his shirt and gathered the pages of the letter carefully into his enderchest. It was too precious to lose. He placed the disk beside it, running a finger over its worn grooves before closing the lid. It wasn’t the right time for Cat’s obnoxiously cheerful tune. He’d play it later for the others after their successful dragon raid that he’d just remembered was still happening. Right now, he wanted to feel sad—to allow himself to grieve.
He could take his time on it—let the grief sink into him and slowly wash out like dye from a well-used shirt. It didn’t have to be crippling. It didn’t have to consume him. It wasn’t scary. It wasn’t something he had to force away to appear strong. It was a part of him, and it was okay. He was okay. Maybe Puffy had told him that once.
“Tommy, are you in here?”
Tommy flinched as Tubbo’s voice, accompanied by the sound a door slamming open, jostled him out of his thoughts.
“Y–yes,” he rasped out through his tortured throat.
“That’s good, because I thought I just heard someone getting murdered in here.”
“N–nope. I’m p–perfectly fine,” Tommy lied flawlessly if he did say so himself. “Just s–startled Edward a b–bit. You know e–endermen are terrified of me.”
“Suuure, big man,” Tubbo replied, doubt clear in his voice. “Anyways, If you don’t hurry up, we’re leaving you behind!”
“Coming!” Tommy yelped as he heard Tubbo slam the door shut.
Was he exhausted and mentally drained?—Absolutely. Did he need more time to process all of this?—Probably. But the dragon. Techno wouldn’t turn down the chance to see a real, live dragon, and Tommy wasn’t about to do so either.
He scrambled against the chests to pull himself to his feet and pushed off a lid in the process. A tired giggle sputtered out as his eyes took in a perfect set of diamond armor in the one chest he hadn’t checked. Figures.
Before any other memories or secret messages could distract him, he pulled out the armor and strapped each piece snugly over his clothes. He stuffed his worthless iron armor into the chest and left the room, patting Steve on the head as he passed and whispering a cheerful goodbye.
As he stepped through the doorway and glanced back, he was almost convinced he could see the piglin standing behind him, leaning on an axe with an eyebrow raised in mock annoyance.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I promise I’ll bring it back—and if I don’t, this used to be my house too, anyways.” Tommy grinned cheekily, and with that, he forced himself forward, down the front steps and across the snow to his friends and a new adventure.