Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tommy Craft was on an all-time high.

That is to say, the levels of adrenaline currently coursing through his body.

Heavy footfalls met his ears, distinctly his own, and not matched by the sound of another pair which should’ve been resounding next to him in the undergrowth. The dead leaves from Autumn still hadn’t been cleared away, leaving dried rubble piling along the dirt path leading back up towards the dock, and has Tommy had noted, it was decidedly difficult to run for your life along, especially given the steep uphill climb it required just to reach the edge of the treeline. And Tommy had neither the stamina or the coordination skills to scramble along, legs churning and nose burning from the wind whipping his face, to achieve such a feat.

It was inevitable. Tommy stumbled. Tommy tripped.

And as the bright purple glow of artificial lights hovered overhead, cutting through the thick foliage above, Tommy’s skull made impact with the ground, pushing the air from his lungs and expelling his sight into a darkness that he knew he’d never wake up from.

-

As fate would have it, Tommy woke up.

He woke up to the sound of pounding against the wood of his bedroom door, sitting up with a fright. His fingers knotted against the bedframe of his twin-size, sweat-slicked hands slipping before he managed to pull in a breath, steadying himself against the headboard.

“Tommy, if you don’t get up right this second I swear I’m going to—”

His brother’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, followed by another series of obnoxiously loud raps against the wood, and yet another wave of dispute from downstairs as their father reprimanded him for shouting so early in the morning.

Tommy wiped the mop of sweaty blonde hair from his forehead, clumsily reaching for the analogue clock hanging by its lead at the side of the cabinet. Red lights flashed against its face, and Tommy had to squint to interpret the numbers presented on the screen. 8.35

He barely had time to boost himself out of bed before the door was swinging open, banging against the wall with the force put towards it.

“Did you fall asleep in your clothes again?”

A pillow was promptly chucked towards Wilbur’s face, smacking him dead-on and earning a look of near incredulous astonishment.

“Get the fuck out!” His voice cracked in the middle, causing his ears to burn a searing red as Wilbur’s hand clasped across his eyes, releasing an uproarious laugh at Tommy’s expense.

Smirking then, Wilbur crossed his arms and rested up against the doorframe, fixing the state of Tommy’s room a not-so discreet once-over.

“You missed breakfast, so you’re gonna have to grab something on the way to school.” Wilbur said, then supplied helpfully, “You’re gonna be late.”

“Shut up dickhead, I’m getting ready now.”

“Terrifying words from someone who just let out a girlish squeal a second ago.”

Tommy wielded his second remaining pillow, readying his arm to fling it back against Wilbur’s arrogant face. The door pulled back shut quickly just before it could land on target, and it slid down against the floor pitifully.

With the door now shut and Wilbur’s footsteps receding down the hall, Tommy sat back down against his bed, the old mattress springs squeaking with movement.

It was good and bad, he felt, that he didn’t have much time to spend considering the dream he’d just had. No time to reflect on it, but then again his mind was always pushing back against the idea of really doing that, as though the idea of confronting his trauma head-on was something Tommy wasn’t equipped to deal with.

Pfft. Closure, right? Who needs it? Not him. Tommy was a big man, and like every big man he dealt with his problems the proper way — by pretending they didn’t exist.

Like clockwork, every three days it would come back to him in sleep. An ever-present, aching reminder of how he’d abandoned his best friend and ran for his own safety, his cowardice in a constant state of war with the loyalty he’d been certain up until that point was a defining trait of his character.

Tommy sat for a moment, eyes catching briefly against the old polaroid taped up against his mirror before they pulled away, lacking the bravery.

He stood to his feet. Right, there was no time for this when he was already on a tight schedule and, if he recalled, one more tardy and he’d earn yet another afterschool detention to his name. Tommy was already acquainted well enough with the office lady to know she didn’t have neither the tolerance or the patience to deal with him this late in the year.

As Wilbur had pointed out, he’d slept in his clothes from the day before again, and there was only so many times he could get away with re-wearing them before his father had to sit him down and give him a serious talk about ‘personal hygiene.’ After rummaging through his drawers and sifting gingerly through the mountain of laundry piling up against the floor, he managed to find one decently clean shirt, a simple red and white crew neck that he was certain he hadn’t worn for at least a year or two. Whether or not it accounted for his recent growth spurt was something Tommy didn’t have enough time to consider, and he threw it on without a second thought.

Snagging his schoolbag off the floor, he crammed the textbooks scattered around it inside haphazardly before slinging it over his shoulders. As Tommy exited into the hallway, he could hear the sounds of his other brother, Techno, typing rapidly on his keyboard from his room next door.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder without knocking, asserting his dominance. Techno barely spared a look over his shoulder, his flat voice calling from behind his computer as his fingers continued their assault against the keyboard,

“You’re finally awake.”

“That sounds ominous as fuck.” Tommy snorted.

“What do you want?” Techno huffed back.

Tommy shifted in place, glancing nervously behind him as though to check the coast was clear.

“Do you have the thing?” He whispered.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific there.” Techno drawled in retort.

Scowling, Tommy stormed further into the room, trying not to feel intimidated by the sheer volume of certificates lining the walls in their sturdy frames.

“The thing I asked you to help me with. Y’know, for history?”

Techno swivelled then in his chair, a look of dry amusement crossing his face from beneath his reading glasses. He purposefully boosted the volume of his monotone voice as he replied,

“You mean the Greek history paper you asked me to write for you because you didn’t bother to read the textbook?”

Tommy barely had the willpower to resist lunging across the room towards Techno to throttle him, partly out of fear he’d be knocked flat on his ass in a second, and mostly because he really, actually needed to get the paper off Techno to avoid failing.

“Shut up. Do you have it or not?” Then, with an inflection of dishonest politeness, he clasped his hands together, “Oh great Techno, you are so wise and wisdomous. Please may I have my paper?”

His hands then outstretched to make a grabby gesture.

Unmoved by the false display of gratitude, Techno turned with an irritating slowness back in his chair, reaching for something lying atop a stack of folders. He then offered the pages towards Tommy, who snatched them up quickly and took a brief nose over them, nodding like he understood the contents of any of the neat rows of typed words.

“You know, you’re pretty similar to Theseus. This wouldn’t have been difficult for you.” Techno noted mildly, watching as Tommy’s face twisted towards disgust.

“Don’t compare me to these old fucks. I’m brand-new, baby.”

“Whatever you say. Close the door on your way out.”

And with that, Tommy turned on his heel, making sure to leave Techno’s bedroom door just slightly ajar, listening with wicked satisfaction as Techno sighed and had to stand up to close it properly with a slam.

He lumbered down the stairs, stopping by the mirror mantelpiece for a moment to try and flatten his hair, which had decided unanimously to stick up in about ten different directions. There also happened to be a smudge of dirt on the side of Tommy’s face from the day before, and he swiped it off quickly, stooping down then to throw his beat-up sneakers on and tie them in a loose knot. They were hand-me-downs from Will - and being the youngest brother hand-me-downs made up a severe portion of his wardrobe - with the soles already long edging off and the ends of the laces frayed with wear.

The wooden floorboards creaked behind them, and Tommy glanced upwards to see his father, Phil, peering down at him with a placid smile.

“You’re late for school, mate.”

Tommy glowered, “I’m going, bitch.”

Phil laughed at him, watching as he stood up and hoisted the straps of his schoolbag further up his arms. He stuck a thumb out to comb down a stray blonde curl from the back of Tommy’s hair, and Tommy reached one hand up to swat him away.

Reaching for the front door, Phil called from behind him, “I’m working late at the clinic tonight, so Will’s making dinner.”

Tommy stopped in his tracks, turning to throw a terrified look at his father, “Are you trying to threaten me?”

Phil shrugged and padded off down the hall again, and Tommy left the house with a mild sense of dread at the fiasco that would be dinner that evening. The last time had been a disaster, ending with the house being fumigated with smoke and spaghetti sauce flung over the backsplash and ceiling. Clearly, Phil hadn’t learned his lesson about who to leave in charge, and despite the fact Wilbur was the oldest, Tommy had to begrudgingly admit that Techno was the more responsible of the pair.

The Craft family home had been built on the top of an old quarry around two decades earlier, luckily leaving a predominant downhill climb leading towards the main village. This meant that Tommy, with a track record of leaving for school late higher than that of ten Guinness World Record books combined, could easily break down the path and make the late bell if he was quick enough.

Unfortunately, Tommy was starving. Ravenous, in fact. And missing out on his daily monstrous portion of weetabix, which could only mean one thing.

Big Q’s.

Big Q’s Deli was a staple of Manburg town, in Tommy’s grand opinion. It was open almost twenty-four hours out of the day and served some of the best sandwiches he’d ever had in his life. Not only that, but Tommy was such a frequent customer that he’d earned his own special - a ham and cheese melt with a full fat coke, just the way he liked it.

The bell chimed overhead as he stepped inside, greeted by the usual whoosh of the air conditioner that continued from April well into September. Rows of snacks lined the shelves next to the cluttered sandwich counter, and a wall of beverages and milk were kept cooled in the back. Tommy glided his fingers along the crinkly plastic edge of a frontier of crisp packets, hollering towards the backroom, “Big Q? You about?”

It was at that precise moment that Quackity emerged from behind the counter, piping up so suddenly that Tommy jumped like a spooked cat.

“Eyy, Tommy my man!” Quackity reached a hand across the workspace to dap him up, grinning from ear to ear, “Who let you outta your cell?”

Tommy imparted a deadpan look upon him, though couldn’t quite press down the corners of his mouth properly, “Hilarious, big man. I’ll take my usual. Oh, and I guess I should mention that I’m running super late.”

Quackity nodded, already laying down the sandwich wrapper and flipping up the plastic cover where the deli meats were chilling. Without looking up, he replied with the same easy-going beam, “Can’t be missing out on learning, man. I mean, I got a law degree, and look where I ended up. Best Deli in the whole of Greater Essempi!”

As Tommy could wholeheartedly agree with this, he gave an enthusiastic dip of his head. Just then, the sound of the bell chimed from the door again, and a girl with long, mousy hair and a look of permanent tiredness etched along her undereyes entered carrying a stack of loose papers.

Tommy’s stomach lurched as he caught sight of her, and his eyeline plummeted so fast that he nearly whiplash burnt his neck.

“I’ll just leave these here.”

He could hear the faint drone of Quackity speaking to her, but Tommy wasn’t listening. He was too busy trying to pretend he could turn invisible on command. The bell sounded once more, and Tommy could finally breathe again.

“Poor kid,” Tommy flitted his gaze upwards, catching the remorseful downward slope of Quackity’s mouth, “She still comes in once a week to leave more missing posters. Everyone in town must have enough of ‘em by now to fill a swimming pool with origami cranes.”

As Big Q rang him up by the register, Tommy wasn’t feeling so hungry anymore. He handed over the crumpled note he’d shoved into the pocket of his shorts, leaving the change and slumping off towards the door wordlessly, sandwich in tow.

“See you tomorrow, Tommy.” Quackity said, waving before ducking back below the counter.

“See you later, Quacks.” He called in reply, ensuring to keep himself diverted firmly away from the hefty stack of papers as he exited back onto the street.

This early in the day, the village was buzzing with life, with people heading to work at the local shops, as well as Tommy catching sight of a few clad in blue doctor’s scrubs, signifying their allegiance with Phil down at the clinic. Passing by the old electronic’s shop, one of the television sets (which was definitely at least ten years past its prime) was displaying the local news, the crackly static of the screen giving way to present their newscaster, one Jack Manifold, gesturing inaudibly towards the camera with that straight, severe look on his face that Tommy found he quite despised.

He stopped momentarily out of curiosity, and at least partially to forget about what had occurred in the Deli. Tommy peeled back the top of the sandwich wrapper to take a ravenous bite, chewing slowly as the horizontal crawl of the bottom text of the news screen continued to display more of that week's headlines.

Top news of the week - Another wave of power outages predicted. The cause is still yet to be determined.

Great. Tommy had already been forced to trek down to the shed in their creepy backgarden four times this month already to start up the back-up generator, and these pricks still didn’t have a clue what was causing it? Every time the power went out, the phone lines went with it too, and that usually meant that they weren’t able to contact their father who would often get held up at work due to the black outs, and were thus forced to congregate in the living room or kitchen until he returned at what Tommy considered to be a completely indecent time of the night.

As he was stood in place squinting at the television set, the text on the bottom half of the screen moved on, displaying Police still stumped by disappearance of local teenager-

Tommy swiftly tore his gaze away, speeding off down the street before his brain could fully digest the information his eyes had taken in. It was like everything around him was trying to send subliminal reminders about the fact Tubbo was missing, about the fact that his best friend was probably lying face down in a ditch somewhere where nobody could find him.

He shook his head as though this would shake out the oncoming tide of unwanted thoughts, ignoring the fact that any onlookers probably assumed he was mentally unhinged as he raced on towards the school, head down and eyes trained intensely on the pavement that crashed below his feet.

A pretty dreadful start to his day, Tommy sighed internally as he finally reached the main building of the school. There were only a few other students milling about outside, which told him that the late bell had already sounded a few minutes ago. Another after-school detention, but hey, at least he got his sandwich. Glass half full mentality, or whatever nonsense Phil had been telling him about the other week.

And now, as he slid discreetly into the only available desk at the back of his History class, he could enjoy the crisp, refreshing taste of a full fat coke. The second Tommy pulled the metal tab, the contents of the can spewed out across the length of the desk, leaving a trail of sugary liquid that Tommy should’ve been savouring at that very moment, soothed by the prospect of actually handing in his assignment on time. Several pairs of eyes snapped towards him, and Tommy was forced to march to the front of the room to grab a handful of paper towels and try to sop up the mess.

The embarrassment of the ordeal left him distracted, more so than usual. The fact he kept forgetting to take his Adderall didn’t help much in that department either, so Tommy was left to stare blankly out the window, slanted against the desk with his long legs stretched out in front of him. When the bell finally rang, he hadn’t so much as opened his textbook, nor had he ever removed it from his bag in the first place. As a matter of fact, Tommy was pretty sure he’d left it sitting on top of his dresser drawer.

“Tommy?” A feminine voice beckoned from the front of the room. Tommy turned his body toward the sound, watching as his teacher, Ms. Nikki, called for his attention.

Tommy plastered a charming, boyish grin onto his face, “Teach! What’s the haps?”

“Can I have a word with you?” She inquired, a pleasant smile on her face.

Clearly, this was non-negotiable. He stood up, and as Tommy approached he could make out his history paper placed in front of her on the wood. The one he’d bribed Techno into writing for him the night before. Not Good. He slowed his pace up towards her desk, shoving his hands into his pockets to really drive home the nonchalance. He could tell that she remained unconvinced, even as the smile on her face didn’t stray a hair.

She gestured for him to sit down, so Tommy pulled a chair out from one of the desks, dropping himself into it in front of her unceremoniously.

“Look, If this is about the drink--”

“I think we both know it’s not, Tommy,” Nikki interrupted in a patient voice, and it was exactly that kind of effortless authority that made a chill creep up his back. She tapped Tommy’s paper with her pen, “You didn’t write this, correct?”
The way Tommy saw it, there was one of two ways this could go. One, he own up to it, maybe get a lighter sentence on his hands, earn some sympathy. Or two, he lies and receives a harsher punishment, and seeing as he wasn’t exactly on the best terms with the disciplinary officer right now, he’d have to give that one a miss.

Tommy fiddled with his hands in his lap, “No, I didn’t.”

He nearly lept with surprise when she suddenly tittered, shaking her head at nothing in particular, “I wasn’t expecting you to actually admit to it that quickly. Techno always said you were a funny kid, and I guess he was right.”

Tommy gave a slow blink, “You know Techno?”

“He didn’t tell you?” She replied dryly, and from the sounds of it this was exactly the kind of thing Techno would just conveniently forget to mention, “We went to high school together. We still get coffee sometimes, too.”

“Oh,” Tommy replied stupidly, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“What, you think your history teacher is too lame to hang out with your cool older brother?” Nikki’s smile only seemed to pick up at the corners as a look of instant regret crossed Tommy’s face, “Relax. I’m only messing with you.”

He shifted awkwardly in his chair, “... So I guess you could tell Techno wrote it for me.”

“There’s only one person I know who can write about Greek mythology with such detail and complexity,” Nikki laughed. There was a brief lapse in dialogue, before she added in a more tactful tone, “But in all seriousness, what’s been going on with you lately, Tommy? You seem to be zoning out more and more every day. As your teacher I’m beginning to get a little concerned.”

“That’s because history is dumb and boring.”

Nikki levelled him a look, and his mouth instantly clammed shut. Her voice dropped lower as she continued, “Are you certain about that?”

It was the same kind of tone he’d been coming to expect from his teachers these days. Whenever they spoke to him, their faces took on this sympathetic look, nodding in understanding and ‘mhm’-ing whenever he eventually rattled off some excuse for his distracted behaviour. I mean, one best friend goes missing and suddenly Tommy is some pathetic, stereotypical problem child lashing out against the world that rejected him?

Tommy’s leg bounced restlessly by his side, and he quelled it with a hand.

“Look, Tommy,” She sighed, leaning forward on her elbows against the desk, and Oh here we go, Tommy thought glumly, preparing himself for the inevitable I-know-things-have-been-hard-for-you-lately and simpering smile. He’d received countless of these little chats already since the incident two months ago, and now he was forced to brace for another from Techno’s friend of all people.

Nikki did offer him a smile, but the sincerity of it caused Tommy’s chest to twist uncomfortably, “It doesn’t matter to me that you didn’t write the paper. If anything, that shows me you still care enough to try and get a passing grade in my class. But you know things can’t keep carrying on like this. It’s starting to worry me, and I know Techno doesn’t say anything but I can tell from our last conversation that he’s worried too. ”

Tommy’s eyes darted towards his sneakers, scuffing them up against the classroom floor. This was almost worse than being on the other end of a scolding.

“Re-write the paper for me,” She slid the stack of papers back across the desk towards him. Somehow, the direction seemed less like a demand and more like a request, one that Tommy was now feeling annoyingly open to, “Take your time and hand it in whenever you can. My door is always open if you need someone to talk to.”

He shuffled to his feet abruptly, nodding his head. Wordlessly, Tommy headed for the classroom door with a swiftness he didn’t know he possessed, thoughts spinning towards stupid understanding teachers. Stupid motivational talks.

“And Tommy?”

Tommy reluctantly spared his teacher once last look, already trying to adjust himself to the loud chatter filtering in the corridor outside.

“No more asking Techno for help, okay? And at least try to stop by the office some time today for a late slip.” Nikki said, shooting him a knowing wink.

Tommy left hastily, standing like an idiot at the edge of the flow of traffic between classes. He made to cut across into the crowd of students awkwardly, stepping on a foot or two and earning an annoyed comment flung towards him by one of the recipients. He was of the opinion that all high schools were far too overcrowded for his liking, and what exactly were the designers thinking when they decided to cram eight-hundred kids together along one small corridor?

As Tommy let himself be swept up by the tide of loud, smelly teenagers traipsing down the hall, he was forced to come to the conclusion that it was far too warm. He’d specifically worn nothing but a t-shirt and shorts today, but still his socks were sticking to the bottom of his shoes and his back was beginning to become more and more drenched with sweat underneath the singular layer of cotton and polyester blend.

Not only that, but he was becoming… distantly aware of a low buzzing in his left ear. Not the kind that came from senseless noise all around, but like he was being tailed by a particularly vicious housefly that was choosing to single him out specifically. Tommy swatted at the side off his head, his hand grasping nothing except the slightly clammy skin of his neck. This drew a few odd looks from those around them, but he was far too busy feeling bothered by the noise and the suffocating heat to take proper notice of this.

The bell rang signifying the end of the passing period, its loud shriek reverberating in his skull. Tommy’s footing fumbled, and he stumbled over a stray slip of paper lying untethered against the wood-patterned linoleum. There was an uneven rip tearing through the top of the paper, presumably where it had been severed from a push pin, and there was a large smudge of criss-cross dirt plastered right over the top of it where Tommy’s shoe had caught against it. As he came to his senses, Tommy froze in place as he eyed the image plastered on the front. A familiar set of brown tufts, that same unchanging smile accompanied by bright, curious eyes, and of course, the bold red lettering stamped just underneath—

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PERSON?

Tommy panicked. Tommy caused a jam in the flow of traffic by allowing himself to be taken hold of by, by something so… It had been two months now, so why was he still unable to—

“Keep walking, asshole!”

A person shoved him forward from behind, and Tommy found himself propelled by the movement into a sprint, dashing forward into the mess of people who protested and shoved all around. His eyes caught sight of the bathroom just up ahead, and he allowed himself to shove right back, scrawny elbows out as he squirmed and squeezed his way southbound towards the dip in the corridor. As soon as he made it there, he threw the door open to the bathroom, thanking the heavens above that it had emptied out when the bell had rang.

His heart thumped wildly against his ribcage, ducking into the nearest stall and locking the door after him. The toilet squeaked as he tucked his legs up against his chest, bag cast off against the floor.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Tommy sucked in breath after breath, but the air seemed to have dissipated from his lungs, leaving him heaving in nothing but thick clouds of smog and ash. He choked on the sensation, and it was only then that he realised his face was wet. Tommy swiped furiously at his cheeks, smothering his face into the pocket between his chest and legs.

As though things couldn’t get worse, the buzzing sound from before returned, this time with a vengeance that had Tommy’s eyes shooting open as a wave of static swarmed his vision. The housefly reappeared with a horde of others, and now he was shocked with a wave of cold sweat against the back of his neck, a chill racing down his back and pain splitting his vision in two. Tommy clutched his head in agony, a stifled cry ripping from his throat as his vision went white, then faded into darkness.

-

Tommy was nothing.

Tommy was… floating?

His eyes cracked open - his eyes? - and he was met with a sea of violet. His lips parted to pull in some oxygen, or maybe to cry out again, but it bubbled out in front of him like someone had stuck a giant straw into a cup and pushed air through it with their mouth. This should’ve bothered him, but Tommy was distantly aware of the fact he wasn’t in pain anymore. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything. His thoughts felt disconnected from his body, and he remained suspended in nothingness, a fish in a tank, a spirit without a body to inhabit.

“... test subject… looks like… conscious…”

A voice reached out through the water, and Tommy caught sight between barely open eyelids of whirring monitors and wires slithering out and tangling across one another in a nest of equipment. And then, a figure. Tommy tried to focus through the mud of his vision, marred by the liquid pushing back against his pupils.

The shadow came into focus, it’s maw opening to reveal nothing but a smile, white teeth glinting like knives in the dark.

“... last hope… do well…”

-

Tommy shot up with a gasp of oxygen bursting suddenly through his lungs, hands flying out to find purchase against the walls of the stall. His chest was heaving, and every muscle in his body burned with exertion like he’d just legged a marathon in his bare feet. He tried to get a hold of himself, but the vision, whatever it was, had felt so realistic that it was difficult to push away.

As he gradually calmed himself, Tommy’s mind was slammed with the fact that that was real. He’d had dreams before, plenty that felt realistic enough to shake him, but that hadn’t been a dream. The feeling was too life-like, the sensation of water travelling through his windpipe much too similar to that of accidentally swallowing underwater at the pool, only this time he didn’t choke on the chlorine.

Adding to that thought, Tommy was forced to consider that his vision, whatever it was, hadn’t seemed like some tucked away memory of his own. And okay, maybe he was spiralling underneath the stuffy weight of the humid bathroom, but was it possible he’d somehow managed to insert himself into another person’s consciousness? As far as Tommy was aware, he didn’t have any hidden superpowers which would grant him the ability to do that. He was just a little small town boy, trying to avoid trouble and get on with his life in the aftermath of the incident.

If he was going to be non-consensually shoved into another person’s thoughts, he’d much rather it be Tubbo of all people, so that way Tommy could know that he was still out there, and the rather grim side of his mind supplied alive or not.

But, now that he was really thinking about it…

Tommy slowly sat back down against the lid of the toilet seat, allowing his thoughts to churn. Tommy knew what he’d witnessed that night. The artificial lights shining overhead, the unsettlingly fast whizz of something skimming over the tops of the conifer trees. Tubbo’s terrified shrieks as his body was lifted from the ground, suspended in mid-air and being dragged upwards by some unnatural, paratrophic force. Snatched right out of the world, and Tommy left with nothing to do about it except try and live with the aftermath.

Had it been that, then? If what Tommy had just experienced was real, could it have been Tubbo? Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Tommy had always felt the two of them shared a bond that surpassed the natural laws of time and space, even if he’d been too stubborn to ever tell Tubbo that himself.

Could the universe be reaching out to him? And if so, what was it trying to tell him? There was only one thing Tommy could be certain of at that moment.

Yep, this was going to be a problem.

Just as Tommy was grappling with the weighty implications of this thoughts, a tentative knock sounded against the stall door, and Tommy’s eyes shot downward to catch a glimpse of mis-matched black and white sneakers standing just outside.

Whoever it was, they seemed to regret being so forward, as they quickly retreated over by the sink. Tommy steadied himself as best he could, though his hands still shook against the look as he unlatched it and nudged the door open with his elbow.

Before him, though more precisely now standing several paces away against the sink like Tommy had been the one to intrude on his privacy, stood a freakishly tall boy clad in what had to be the strangest outfit he’d ever seen. He had on a black and white checkered top, alternating black and white on either leg of his jeans, and his hair, too, was dyed black on white on either side like he’d been ripped straight from the cover of 100 and 1 Dalmations.

The boy seemed to try to speak, but then hesitated and backtracked, saying nothing.

Tommy, who was feeling far too overwhelmed right now to deal with whatever delirious amalgamation of his mind that had been placed in front of him, barked out the first thing that came to mind.

“And just who the fuck are you?”

The boy flinched, and then seemed to shrink in on himself as though that would do anything to make him smaller when he must’ve been hoarding at least six feet and a half of height.

“I’m sorry, I…” Black-and-white boy started, his words fading off into a pitiful squeak. Tommy made no move to fill the lapse in conversation, as painfully awkward as it was, forcing him to speak again, “... I heard you, uhm… crying? And I just wondered if… if everythings…?”

Tommy blanched, storming forward angrily towards him as he watched the boy shrink back in terror, covering his face with his hands. He was about shoulder height with him, but if there was one thing Tommy wasn’t, it was a pussy.

“I don’t cry. In fact, I have never cried in my life.” He seethed.

Cruella-de-ville slowly uncovered his eyes, fixing Tommy now with an expression caught somewhere between puzzlement and fear.

“... Don’t you think you would’ve cried… uhm, y’know… when you were a baby?”

The absolute balls on this guy. Just as Tommy was preparing to wind back to throw a punch, his brain suddenly supplied some extra information which would’ve been helpful approximately thirty seconds ago.

He’d seen this boy before. Several times, in fact, walking side-by-side with Tubbo between passing periods, and occasionally out the window sitting on the football field during one of Tommy’s many after-school detentions. What was his name again? Ran… something?

Tommy’s hand unclenched by his side, blinking now at him with recognition.

“You’re Ranboo.”

A look of unadulterated relief crossed the expression of the boy, now correctly identified to Tommy as Ranboo.

“Uh, yeah. I was hoping you would’ve remembered me,” And now that Tommy thought about it, it was unbelievable he’d been able to forget someone with such a shocking taste in fashion, “... I’m Tubbo’s friend. Er, one of his friends.”

Tommy suppressed a flinch at the name, drawing back a little as he cast his gaze down towards the floor tiles. Ranboo floundered for a moment between saying something and remaining quiet, and for once Tommy was glad that he actually spoke up.

“Sorry, I…” Ranboo’s words dithered off again, before he continued, “... Well, anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You seem a little…”

Ranboo tilted his head to the side, the gesture saying everything. Tommy glanced past him then to stare into the mirror, almost taken aback by how dreadful he looked. His eyes were rimmed with red, with glossy streaks now drying against the sides of his face.

Tommy wasn’t exactly sure why, but at that moment he needed to verbalise his thoughts to someone, and the unwitting victim just so happened to be Ranboo.

“Have you ever had a vision?”

Ranboo stared at him, thoroughly unequipped to handle such an abrasive deflection.

“In what way…?” He inquired slowly, American accent dragging out the syllables in a way that grated against Tommy’s nerves.

Tommy already regretted asking, releasing a heavy sigh. It’s not like he should’ve expected Ranboo to immediately understand what he was getting at.

“You mean like clairvoyance?”

Well, perhaps he’d judged a little too quickly. Tommy nodded, “Yeah. Like seeing through another person’s eyes.”

Ranboo hummed thoughtfully, considering the question, “Not exactly, but sometimes I get flashes of old memories I’d thought I had forgotten completely.”

Squinting, Tommy pretended to follow. Luckily, Ranboo took the initiative to supply further information regarding this.

“I have, like, amnesia? The doctors don’t exactly know what caused it, but I can’t really remember anything before the age of ten.”

Oh. On the converse side of things, Tommy could recall in almost photographic detail his childhood. Learning to count to ten, the smell of his mother’s floral perfume as he clung with sticky fingers to her dress. A portion of it was blacked out, though, specifically around the time his mother had died and he was first placed into the foster care system. Phil had told him this was perfectly normal for traumatic events, so he didn’t consider it with too much depth.

Tommy sighed again then, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he considered his next words.

“Look, this probably sounds absolutely fucked, right?”
Ranboo eyed him with a wariness he wasn’t quite able to eliminate.

Taking a breath, Tommy continued, “I’m pretty sure I had a vision from Tubbo’s perspective.”

The silence that followed was unbearable, enough so that Tommy barely had time to consider that this was the first time he’d been able to say his name out loud in what felt like an eternity. It rolled off his tongue so easily, muscle memory kicking in from when Tommy had screeched his name across the back of the classroom, or spitting it out between peals of laughter down at the old quarry lake.

Ranboo seemed to psyche himself up to deal with the repercussions of Tommy’s words, “... Right. You mean you… fell asleep?”

Tommy scowled at him, folding his arms across his chest in a very manly and intimidating way, perhaps to persuade Ranboo to consider his words more carefully.

“No, dickhead. I mean I think I got a look into his memories, or some shit. Literally like two seconds ago when I was in the stall.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Ranboo clearly seemed to consider whether he was currently talking to someone who had lost the plot in the most visceral way.

“I know it sounds insane, and I don’t know how, but if I can find a way to access more of his mind, then we might have a shot at finding Tubbo.”

“That’s… pretty surreal.” He replied, with that same annoying dragging as before which made it evident he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing, or at all for that matter.

Tommy had to take a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, forcing it down. He knew it sounded crazy when he’d said it, so it shouldn’t have surprised him that Ranboo was expressing some doubt, “Forget I said anything.”

He swivelled on his heel, stomping back over to the bathroom stall where his forgotten backpack was crammed against the back of the stall door. He didn’t have to put up with this right now, and he absolutely wasn’t going to. As a matter of fact, it took an incredible amount of tolerance for Tommy not to bluster out of the school right that second like a whirlwind.

Just as he was about to make his grand exit, Ranboo called out behind him, “Wait.”

It was the first time Tommy had heard Ranboo speak in a volume louder than that of a near whisper, so naturally he pivoted back. He was caught off guard by the look on Ranboo’s face now, watching the way it was tensed up in a quiet sorrow.

“I don’t know if you’re just messing with me or not, but I know who might be able to help you uncover more of these… memories, if that’s what you want.”

A feeling of unbelievable gratitude flooded Tommy’s insides, and he stayed rooted to the spot, voice breathy with surprise as he spoke, “You do?”

Ranboo’s head bobbed in confirmation, and then he started patting down the pockets of his strange black and white jeans as though searching for something. After a moment or two, he procured a small white card, offering it out towards Tommy. He took it from him, flipping it over to see that it was a business card. Specifically for one neuropsychologist.

Tommy gave him a withering look, “You gave me the business card for a shrink?”

A look of dawning horror crossed Ranboo’s face, and he immediately waved his hands in front of him to try and stop Tommy from feeling offended.

“No, it’s not what you think!” Ranboo replied hastily, “It’s my moms. She’s pretty business savvy, so she makes me carry around some of her cards in case, y’know… the opportunity arises, I guess? Anyway, that’s not important. She specialises in helping people with… with amnesia. To help them get their memories back.”

Tommy slowly found himself understanding, “People like you.”

Ranboo, satisfied now that Tommy wasn’t going to try and scrap him, hummed in agreement, “... Yeah. People like me.”

“I know your thing isn’t exactly the same as my thing, but, uhm, maybe she can help. She’s pretty chill, y’know. And with everything strange that’s been going on around here lately, well… She’ll hear you out. It's not like I'm opposed to the idea of finding Tubbo either...”

Nodding his head, Tommy felt suddenly very thankful that he’d run into Ranboo here instead of some nosy jackass.

He offered one fist up in the air, the only real way to express gratitude that he knew of, “Thanks, big man. ‘Preciate it.”

Ranboo looked haltingly at Tommy’s raised fist for a beat, before he raised his own up to bump the two together. Tommy grinned then, fixing Ranboo a two-fingered salute as he turned once more to head back out towards the hall, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He had a lead. A real, actual lead.

“Oh and, uhm, by the way?” Ranboo’s hesitant voice carried across the echo of the bathroom.

Having his exit intercepted once again, Tommy stopped in exasperation, sparing him a look over one shoulder, “Yeah?”

“... I think your shirts on back-to-front.”

-

So after scrambling to turn his shirt the other way around, and after getting his head stuck in one of the arm holes twice, Tommy was back on track to finishing this absolutely hellish day.

His chat with Ranboo had left him feeling strangely light, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in months. The confusing facts surrounding the incident had clad Tommy with a calamitous weight, and he was forever burdened with the fact that he was the only one who knew what had really happened. The truth of it, too, was even more of a misery to deal with, because Tommy was painfully aware that nobody would ever believe him if he tried to explain. And oh, had he tried to.

It had been two months already now though, and the search for Tubbo had died down significantly. His family were still hell-bent on finding him, but there was a certain resignation Tommy detected in his mom’s eyes whenever they happened to run into each other at the grocery store. She would still manage to smile weakly at Tommy though, and maybe that’s what made it hurt even more. The understanding she afforded to him, even when Tommy had spent the time since Tubbo’s disappearance vehemently avoiding his entire family. Avoiding Lana’s calls, avoiding eye contact on the street.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of sound and motion. The yellow cafeteria lights, rugby balls being thrown across the hallway, the way his lunch had turned to dirt in his mouth, the taste of it distinctly like the soil of the forest behind his house. Tommy floated like a spectator out of the school, avoiding the horde of students rushing to leave to get to practice or whatever else ordinary teenagers without missing best friends did.

His feet naturally took him further on into town, and ten odd minutes later Tommy was standing outside of Manburg Records. He nudged the door open with his foot, listening to the way it jangled shut behind him, already spotting Wilbur’s mess of brown curls from over the top of the low shelves of LP albums.

“Oi, dickhead!” He articulated in a booming voice, which managed to get Wilbur’s attention as swiftly as he expected. Looking vaguely offended, Wilbur raised his head to stare at him.

“Do you always have to be so loud, child?”

“Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh-nyeh-nyeh, nyeh?”

Wilbur groaned and stooped up to his full height, sauntering by him over towards the counter — though not before passing a rough hand through Tommy’s hair, “Yuck!”

He pressed a couple buttons on the register as Tommy stood in idlement over by the door, casting a lingering glance over a few of the glossy album covers. Receipts began pouring out of the printer, and Wilbur released a quiet sigh, “I just need to do the totals, and then we can go.”

“Pogchamp.” Tommy said.

Wilbur cast a look of fond amusement over the rim of his specs, snorting faintly, “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You’re the one wearing fake glasses.”

“I just like how they look,” Wilbur sniffed, moping as he bent over the receipts, squinting in a way which made Tommy question if he actually did need a pair of prescription glasses and not some wireframe pair from Five Below, “Go call Phil and ask what time he’ll be back. I don’t want to spend my entire evening babysitting you.”

Tommy’s face contorted into outrage, “I don’t need you to babysit me!”

“And what else do you have to do anyway? You don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Because that’s my one priority in life?” Wilbur retorted with that same shit-eating grin as always, already recovered from the insult to his fashion, “Maybe for you, little brother, finding a girlfriend must be the most important thing in the world.”

Maybe at some point or another, but not right now. Tommy had much bigger fish to fry. In fact, he needed a skillet the size of Jupiter to accommodate for all of the fish in need of frying. Tommy slouched over one of the low shelves, eyes narrowing, “I don’t need to find a girlfriend, bitch. I’ve got so many women throwing themselves at me that I don’t need to tie myself down with just one.”

Wilbur just smirked, “Go call Phil.”

It was Tommy’s turn to mope, groaning loudly, but still reaching for the phone in his pocket. He’d opted for some temporary old-school flip phone, since the screen of his last one had gotten smashed when—

Not important. Tommy shook his head violently, earning a perplexed stare from Wilbur, who was too busy stapling the receipts together to properly make some wisecracker comment.

Tommy flicked through the re-dial, then pushed it up to his ear once the trill of the call started. After a few rings, there was the sound of the receiver picking up on the other side.

“Everything all right, mate?”

“Will wants to know what time you will be home to-night,” Tommy split the last word up into two, speaking in an overly loud volume into the phone, “Because he is planning to go write sad boy songs and cry and does not want to babysit me even though I am a sixteen years old and very ma-ture.”

A wheezing laugh echoed from Phil, the connection rather poor as was becoming more usual, and Wilbur’s head snapped up from the counter, expression wide with offence.

“Tommy!”

Tommy ignored his protest, fixing him with a smug smile as he pressed on, “Will also says you are stupid and old and that you should retire soon before your bones crumble.”

Wilbur stomped around the counter, seizing the phone from Tommy’s ear. Tommy reached out to grab it, but Wilbur effortlessly placed one hand against the top of Tommy’s head to keep him from snatching it back. He could just barely make out Phil’s voice from the other side, as Wilbur emitted a few little hums of agreement.

“Alright, see you then.”

He snapped the phone shut, dropping it unceremoniously back into Tommy’s hands with an unimpressed raise of his eyebrow, “Let’s go, you little gremlin.”

Tommy gave him a black look, shoving the flip phone back into one of the pockets in his shorts. Outside, the sun was still hanging brightly in the sky, its shiny outer disc smiling happily down against the tarmac of the pavements. Tommy was no longer in the mood for sunshine. If truth be told, he’d much rather contract scurvy.

As the two of them exited the shop together, Wilbur turning briefly to lock up, Tommy found himself momentarily considering telling him about his strange dream — vision, call it what you like. It took him another five seconds to realise the cons of this outweighed the pros by a mile, so he stayed silent as the two of them began their trek back to the house.

Every morning, Tommy seemed to forget that the one disadvantage of having an easy downhill climb to school was the inevitable trudge back up the hill in the evening. By the time they reached the porch, Tommy was huffing with exertion, having to lean against one of the support beams to catch his breath, which moaned in protest under the added weight.

Wilbur, on the other hand, remained annoyingly composed. Tommy knew he just had to be sweating buckets under that yellow sweater of his, but he revealed very little as he huffed at Tommy’s struggle, “Just get inside before you collapse.”

In no position to refuse, Tommy slumped back into the house, dumping his backpack and kicking his sneakers off by the door, unmoved by Wilbur’s retaliatory outcry about his laziness.

Techno emerged then from behind the stairs like a shadow, causing Tommy to jump, heart seizing. He wouldn’t be surprised if Techno had waited there all day just for that reaction.

“Jesus Christ, man. You scared the shit out of me.” He clutched the front of his shirt.

“It’s your own fault for being so unaware of your surroundings,” Techno replied, monotone voice tinged with a subtle lilt of amusement at Tommy’s expense, “If I had been an axe-murderer you would be dead on the floor by now.”

Feeling vaguely threatened, Tommy circled around him towards the kitchen, with Wilbur already following close behind, yawning with the back of his hand pressed against his mouth. He mooched over by the fridge, yanking it open to peer inside at the contents. Evidently, Phil had not yet gone food shopping this week, as all that remained was a carton of eggs, some questionable milk, and a pack of sausages.

“How does sausage omelettes sound for tea?” Wilbur suggested, head still stuck inside the brightly lit fridge interior. Tommy had the strong urge to slam the door onto Wilbur’s neck, and then maybe do the same to himself.

Either unaware of Tommy’s internal dissent or just deciding to provoke him, Techno sounded from the hall, “Delightful.”

He soon followed in after, bright pink hair slung up into a low ponytail. He’d been working all day again, by the looks of things, Tommy noted. Techno tended to spend hours coding in his room, the curtains drawn shut, right up until dinner. The slight slouch in his nearly impeccable posture spoke of exhaustion, but Tommy wasn’t feeling particularly sympathetic towards him after the fiasco that had been that history paper.

Wilbur was already pulling the frying pan out of the cupboard, and Tommy had hopped up onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. He cradled his chin in his hands, watching with a burning sense of judgement as Wilbur cracked one of the eggs with too much force against the rim of the pan, sending yolk spilling over onto the hob. Naturally, he made no move to do anything about this, instead continuing right over the top of it with another egg.

Techno drew himself into the chair next to Tommy, and for once the two of them appeared to settle on the same wavelength as they both regarded Wilbur’s unconventional cooking methods.
“I’m pretty sure you’re s’posd to keep the egg inside the pan there, Wilbur.” Techno stated matter-of-factly, granting a sidelong glance at Tommy, who was feeling equally depressed by what this spoke of for the contents of tonight’s dinner. All things likely Tommy would go to bed hungry and annoyed.

Wilbur promptly stuck up a middle finger in retort, and that was that.

Twenty painful minutes later, the three of them were sitting at the table, two of them considering grabbing a handful of chips from the snack drawer for dinner and calling it a night. Tommy poked at a piece of overcooked sausage with his fork, nose wrinkling.

“If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.” Wilbur commented without looking up, having no problem shoveling the contents of his plate into his mouth at record speed, though not before adding a monstrous amount of salt that could’ve sent even the healthiest person into cardiac arrest.

Just as Tommy pushed himself away from the table to forfeit the meal, the room was plunged into a spontaneous darkness, the sound of the air conditioner powering off being the most obvious indicator that the power had gone out for the second time that week. The frequency of the black-outs only seemed to be increasing, which made Tommy feel uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite pin down. Without the hum of the unit, the kitchen fell eerily silent as everyone remained quiet for a moment.

“I think it’s a sign from the Gods that Wilbur needs to stop cooking.”

Techno’s disembodied voice rang from beside him. Tommy squinted to try and adjust his eyes to the new lack of light, reaching a hand out that smacked directly into the side of what was, assumedly, Techno’s face, who didn’t react whatsoever.

With a feeling of sheer incredulity, Tommy snapped his head towards the scrape of cutlery across the table, indicating that Wilbur was still eating despite the sudden plunge into total blackness.

“Tommy, go start up the generator.” Wilbur said nonchalantly around a mouthful of burnt omelette.

With his hand still planted against Techno’s cheek, Tommy screeched, “Why do I always have to do it?”

“Well for one, you’re the only member of this household who’s unemployed.” Techno finally reached one hand up to brush off the one clinging to the side of his face.

“I’m SIXTEEN!”

“That sounds like a skill issue, honestly.”

“O-kay, but if I go down the back and get chopped up by a real axe-murderer, Phil will be so angry.”

Tommy’s brothers didn’t say anything for a moment, before predictably Wilbur chimed in, “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Go on now. Shoo.”

Muttering a variation of creative slurs under his breath, Tommy shoved away from the table, promptly tripping on his feet before he managed to catch himself, slamming open the sliding doors that led out into the back garden with an echoed thud as it bounced in place against the doorframe. Tommy was met with an unexpected chill. He rubbed his arms, feeling exposed in just the thin lining of his t-shirt and lack of shoes.

The back-up generator was banged up in the old shed down at the bottom of the garden, which took a sharp downward incline towards the treeline just above the old quarry lake. Just one summer ago, Tommy and Tubbo had spent almost all of their time down there, treating it as their own personal, secret hangout spot. Even though the old lake was technically dangerous — pollution, hidden depths, and what have you — it had served as the ideal place to get up to their schemes without being bothered by the other local kids, who, in Tommy’s eyes, were as dumb as rocks.

Now, lacking the light provided by the late August sky, Tommy was obligated to walk cautiously through the grass which brushed up just about calf-height. He tried not to think about the possibilities of ticks or whatever else may be lying in the long strands waiting to strike and drain him dry. The darkness settled all around, and like the kitchen table just a moment ago, the sky felt strangely still as though nature had vanished from the area itself.

The feeling only intensified as Tommy stepped into the treeline, catching the outline of the shed through the trunks just below. Right now, the entire town must be experiencing the same, as Tommy couldn’t make out the usual ever-present glow of the suburbia stretched out on the opposing hillside to their house.

When he turned around to look, the sliding door was still wide open where he’d left it, and Tommy let that small relief manifest into a further bout of courage as he pressed onward. He could be glad, at least, that the sun had dried the grass out, leaving no trace of mud for Tommy’s socked feet to slip on.

As he reached the bottom of the incline, Tommy’s foot hit up against something hard. He stopped, kicked at it lightly again, and then against his better judgement crouched down to retrieve whatever had fallen into the grass. As soon as his hand brushed up against the surface of what felt like metal, he drew back in shock, dropping it in the process with a low thunk.

It had been so cold it’d burnt his fingertips. Tommy glanced down at his hand in utter perplexion, before swapping his focus back to the odd shape of the thing now lying uncovered. It looked like a piece of scrap someone had tossed down into the garden, but Tommy awkwardly found he couldn’t place exactly what felt off about it, and other than the coldness of its surface, appeared completely innocuous. He kicked it over with his foot quickly, and then his mouth fell open in disbelief.

There was a maze of intricate, little wires working just beneath the top layer, almost like Tommy had unearthed a woodlouse ecosystem under a rock. The outlines of the circuits pulsed a vibrant purple, almost in what looked like a pattern, and Tommy found he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It wasn’t like any circuit board he’d ever seen before, not in the stack of ones Techno kept in a storage box in his room.

The quest for turning the power back on was long forgotten, and as Tommy contemplated the strange ramifications of his finding, there was a gust of abrupt, intense wind, scattering the top of the trees in one direction back towards the house. Tommy instinctively looked up. There didn’t seem to be any breeze tonight, so the sudden strength of the gust had caught him off guard. What startled him even further, though, was the beam of powerful light which suddenly appeared over his head, bathing him in a lavender glow.

Tommy’s eyes tried to recede into his skull at the brightness, rooted to the spot as terror chilled right through to his very core. He was struck with the horrifying realisation that something was very, very wrong here. There was the sound of whirring up overhead, deep and unnatural in a way that seemed to reverberate in his chest.

A low-flying aeroplane? No.

It was all too familiar. It had to be—

A burst of adrenaline cut through the panic long enough for Tommy to start moving. He was closest to the shed right now, and there was no way in hell he was making for a sprint back to the house. Tommy’s stomach lurched painfully as the beam of light seemed to anticipate where he ran, an eye following prey with a mind of its own.

He ducked into the shed, slamming the door shut behind him with such force that the walls rattled. Tommy slid to the floor, back against the door, as the hue of purple light swept in through the windows, searching, stalking. Tommy should’ve been feeling that same fear, should’ve been petrified, but right now he was struck with a horrible feeling of awe.

There were aliens in Manburg. Honest to God, real-life fucking aliens.

And Tommy would be damned if he didn’t make them pay for what they did.