Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was his eighth birthday.

Tommy woke to the faint chirping of birds outside his window, the sound breaking through the stillness of the house. A car rumbled faintly down the street, the hum fading into the distance. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, hoping, just hoping, that today might feel different.

He swung his legs out of bed, his socked feet brushing against the cold floor, and shuffled out of his room. The hallway was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against his ears and made him feel small. As he reached the stairs, he hesitated, glancing toward the closed doors of his brothers’ rooms. Neither of them stirred.

Descending the steps slowly, he felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe they were planning something. Maybe the quiet was part of a surprise. Birthdays were supposed to be special, weren’t they?

But as he reached the bottom and stepped into the kitchen, the emptiness hit him. No balloons. No decorations. No smell of pancakes or anything else that hinted at celebration. The house was just as it always was: quiet, cold, and lifeless.

On the counter, propped up against an empty cereal box, was a single note written in Techno’s neat, deliberate handwriting:

Happy birthday, Tommy. Hope you have a good day. - Techno

Tommy stared at it, his eyes scanning the words over and over, as if reading them enough times might somehow make them mean more. That was it. No cake. No presents. Not even a “Happy Birthday” said out loud. Just a note, as detached and impersonal as the sticky reminders his dad left him about lunch money or chores.

His chest ached, but before the sadness could fully settle in, something else caught his eye. Next to the note, sitting upright on the counter, was a stuffed animal, a cow, soft and brand new, its black and white fur untouched, the tag still dangling from its ear.

Tommy reached out hesitantly, lifting it with careful hands. The plush was warm where the morning sun had hit it, its button eyes staring up at him. A gift. Someone had left him a gift. Techno had left him a gift.

His fingers curled around the cow, holding it close. He wasn’t sure why, but something about it made his throat tighten, made the loneliness feel a little less sharp. “Henry,” he murmured, the name slipping out naturally. He liked it. Henry.

He hugged the cow to his chest, burying his face in its soft fur for a moment. But the warmth didn’t last. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. The house was still quiet. Still empty. No one else had remembered. No one else cared.

The ache returned, heavier than before. He took a deep breath, pushing it down, shoving the disappointment somewhere deep inside. What was the point of being upset? It wouldn’t change anything.

Clutching Henry in one hand and the note in the other, Tommy turned and made his way back up the stairs. He placed Henry carefully on his bed before pulling open his dresser, grabbing the first clothes he saw. Jeans. A hoodie. He changed quickly, avoiding the mirror.

His backpack sat slumped against the desk chair, untouched from the night before. He slung it over his shoulder, giving Henry one last glance before heading for the door.

No “Happy Birthday.” No celebration. Just another normal day.

And yet, as he stepped into the hallway, his fingers brushed against Henry’s soft fur one last time, and for a moment, just a moment, it didn’t feel quite as bad.

Tommy trudged down the sidewalk, kicking at stray pebbles as he made his way to Esempi Elementary. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, and Henry was safely tucked inside, peeking out just a little. The morning air was crisp, and though his legs moved on autopilot, his mind was still stuck on the silent house he had left behind.

As he neared the school gates, a familiar voice rang out.

“Tommy!”

Tubbo came bounding over, his backpack bouncing with each step, grinning ear to ear. “Happy birthday, dickhead!”

“Jesus Christ, finally someone fucking said it,” Tommy groaned, though there was a small, relieved smile on his face.

Ranboo and Purpled joined them, the former offering a casual, “Happy birthday, dude,” while Purpled smirked and added, “Congrats on surviving another year. Statistically speaking, you probably won’t make it to nine.”

“Oh, piss off,” Tommy laughed, shoving Purpled lightly. “At least I’ll make it longer than you, you freak.”

“Statistically speaking, I probably won’t,” Purpled deadpanned.

Tubbo snickered before throwing an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “Anyway, I had an idea! You guys should come over to my place after school. Birthday party, just us! We can eat cake and do stupid shit. It’ll be fun.”

Tommy hesitated. He wanted to go. He really did. But there was still that nagging, stupid part of him that kept hoping his family would come through. Maybe they’d remember when he got home. Maybe there’d be a cake waiting, or at least a half-hearted “Happy Birthday” from someone.

“Uh… maybe another day?” Tommy said, trying to sound casual.

Tubbo frowned slightly but nodded. “Yeah, of course! Just let me know when.”

They made their way to class, shoving and laughing as they walked. As soon as they stepped into their homeroom, they were greeted by their teacher, Mr. Grian. His dusty blonde hair was as messy as ever, and his beautiful parrot wings twitched slightly as he turned to them.

“Ah, Tommy! Happy birthday, kid!” Mr. Grian grinned.

Tommy couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, sir.”

“Another year older, another year closer to realizing school is just an elaborate prank adults play on kids,” Mr. Grian said dramatically, earning a few chuckles from the class. “Alright, everyone, take your seats before I start assigning extra homework as punishment.”

The school day passed in a blur of lessons, jokes, and the occasional threat from Tommy to throw hands with anyone who tried to steal his crayons. Before long, the bell rang, signaling the end of the day.

As Tommy walked out of the building, saying goodbye to Tubbo, Ranboo, and Purpled, he spotted a familiar figure waiting near the pickup area, Mr. Schlatt, Tubbo’s dad. The man had a sharp, amused expression as he spotted Tommy.

“Hey, kid,” Schlatt greeted, ruffling Tommy’s hair roughly. “Happy birthday.”

Tommy, for some reason, felt a little lump in his throat. He swallowed it down and nodded, hugging Schlatt briefly before stepping back. “Thanks, old man.”

Schlatt snorted. “Go home before I start charging you for standing near me.”

Tommy smirked but said nothing, turning to start the long walk home.

When he finally stepped through the front door, the house was just as he had left it. Silent. Empty.

No balloons. No cake. No one waiting for him.

Tommy sighed, shaking his head as if that would make the disappointment go away. Without another word, he made his way to his room. His room felt colder than usual as he climbed back into bed. Pulling the blanket up to his chin, he stared at the cracks in the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than the hollow feeling inside him. He told himself it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care, but the sting of tears betrayed him.

Why didn’t they care? The question echoed in his mind, relentless and unanswerable.

Minutes ticked by, dragging into what felt like hours. The sound of the birds outside had stopped. The house was dead silent again, a silence that felt heavier today than it ever had before.

That’s when he heard it. Footsteps. Quiet, deliberate, and close.

He sat up, his heart leaping at the sound. “Techno?” he called out, his voice small, hopeful.

No answer.

The footsteps grew louder, closer, until they stopped just outside his room. His door creaked open, and for a moment, he thought maybe, just maybe, someone had remembered, that someone cared enough to-

Before he could finish the thought, something rough and chemical-smelling pressed against his mouth and nose. The scent was sharp, burning his nostrils and throat. Panic surged through him as he thrashed, kicking and flailing, but the grip holding him was too strong.

“Mmph-!” he tried to scream, his voice muffled and weak.

The edges of his vision blurred, the world spinning around him. His movements grew weaker, his limbs heavy and sluggish, until finally, everything went black.