Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The spark has travelled through generation and generation of the Watson family, that’s what Phil told Tommy after everything had happened, after fires had burned and lives had been lost. It was a little too late for comfort, as Tommy stood there, watching his father cradle his dead brother, a scene he had seen years ago under the guise of a bad dream. He hadn’t understood it then, he isn’t sure if he even understood it now.

When Tommy was just seven, that’s when it started. Dreams came to him in the night, twisting and contorting his thoughts with monsters of men, ones he called his brothers, at the time. The first dream he had was of Wilbur standing in front of him with a masked man. The man was donned in green, a bright green jacket of sorts and dark, tight pants, with boots that looked like a strong material. His eyes focused on dark stone walls and the way they’re lit dimly with torches. Tommy’s father had never let him travel into the caves, but that had to be what this place was. He could tell, even though Wilbur was much older in the dream than he was in real life, that it was his brother. The jacket Wilbur wears looked worn, his fingerless gloves dirty and the grime under his nails evident. His brother’s hair was longer than it was in real life, and he had a hat, covering a good chunk of it. All of that can be bypassed, though. What Tommy really noticed is the explosives in Wilbur’s hand. He clutched them like a prized item, and Tommy couldn’t even focus on what the man in green was saying, or what Wilbur was replying with, or even what they mean when they speak to him. All he knows is that his brother wasn't the chipper eleven year old he currently knew-- he’s a tired, old soul. His eyes are deep with lack of sleep and heavy with exhaustion, his lips chapped and cracked. Tommy could smell the dirt and gunpowder on him, and when he looked to the masked, green man, he felt a deep rooted hatred in his chest, something he can’t explain.

“I can’t let you do that, Tommy.”

And then he woke up.

The dreams became more frequent after that, and Tommy began to dread the night. He is his dad’s son, wrought with anxiety and empathy for others; but he didn’t have the wisdom his father has, the answers that Phil had for everything and anything. When he was five or so, Tommy was an inquisitive little thing. He asked why the sky was blue, why grass was green, what happened when people died, how animals knew their way through the woods-- anything that his brain could think of. His dad had indulged him since his adoptive brothers wouldn’t, figuring that if his son wanted to learn, then he should learn. Tommy wasn’t exactly academically gifted, and he had a bit of trouble with tripping over his words and getting phrases messed up, but his memory was golden. He could walk through forests like he had known them his whole life, he could recount stories as if he had lived them himself, and he knew facts about his siblings and father. He knew that Wilbur didn’t like most foods and that he was a picky eater, but that he’d eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches any day of the week. He knew Technoblade loved myths and legends, and that he believed there was a series of gods watching him, blessing his way. He knew his dad had loved his mom, and that he had been his father’s special kid, the only biological one of the bunch. He knew he had his dad’s bright blond hair, but his mother’s blue eyes. He knew that his mother had liked music, even though he’d never met her. He knew a lot of things, and they were stockpiled in his brain for later, easy to access and pull out.

The problem with having a great memory was remembering things you didn’t want to. Tommy was plagued by dreams that he couldn’t explain, having at least one every week. By the third month after the start of the dreams, the memories he felt in his bones yet knew had not happened, Tommy was sleeping in bed with Phil almost every night. He would wake with a start in the night and shift out of bed in just his pajamas, holding the stuffed cow that he had named Henry tight to his chest. He would creep down their wood-floored hallway, knowing what spots creaked and what spots were safe. He would tip toe past Wilbur’s door, then Techno’s, always stopping for just a moment to acknowledge that his eldest brother’s light was always on, always visible through the crack of the door. Tommy would keep moving until he got to his dad’s room, and he’d gently and carefully twist the doorknob open and sneak inside. Phil’s bed was higher off the ground than his, so he always had to work his way up there, but as soon as he was on the mattress he pushed himself against his dad. Phil almost always woke up when he felt a lump of Tommy trying to get comfortable under the blankets, and while he wouldn’t even open his eyes, he’d speak in a sleep grogged voice.

“Bad dreams again?”

Tommy would sometimes answer yes or no, or just tell his dad to go back to sleep and that he was sorry, but he never said what the dreams entailed, what happened in them, or how they made him feel. Phil figured they were the average nightmares that kids had. Tommy wasn’t afraid of much, but his dad knew that the mind was a dark place, and dreams were how the subconscious voiced itself. He didn’t think much of his son sleeping in bed with him-- he was still little enough that it really didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Phil ever had anyone else in his bed, anyways, so he figured he’d let it slide. Tommy wasn’t incredibly fitful in his sleep unless a dream hit, but Phil awoke one night when he felt small feet kicking at his legs while he was trying to sleep. He realized that he had his arms wrapped around his youngest son, hands resting on the soft skin of his arms, and he sighed as he turned in his sleep, removing his hands. There were a few more restless seconds, but it seemed that when Phil had moved his hands and there was no skin to skin contact, Tommy relaxed and went back to breathing peacefully, slow and even. It didn’t make Phil think anything strange-- it was just a coincidence.

The Watson family had never spoken about the curse that plagued the first born son of every generation. It was a cross to bear silently, and Phil had developed his sight when he was around eight. The first dream he had, he was standing on a war torn battlefield. The smell of smoke was thick in the air, and explosions went off around him, the dust and aftermath burning his eyes. Phil, being just a child then, wasn’t sure what was going on, but he heard a voice at his feet begging, pleading for water. Without thinking about it, Phil took a bottle from his bag, one he had somehow known was there without even knowing the situation. He crouched in front of the dirty, bloodied man, and he brought the glass to his lips. Phil tilted the bottle forward to allow waterflow, and the bloodied soldier drank as if he hadn’t had water in years. When the bottle was empty, the man gave a deep sigh and stilled, his eyes glazing over. When the boy had awoken in his bed, he was shaking and he looked around his dark bedroom, understanding it was just a dream, that it wasn’t real.

It only became real later, a decade and a half later. The scene played out just like many of his dreams had, only Phil was there. He witnessed the death of the soldier, and Phil understood the gravity in that moment: how his dreams, his visions, they became a reality. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Phil just hoped no one was as unlucky as him.

Tommy was exhausted by the fourth month of the prophetic visions, falling asleep all over the house. His dad had found him curled up on the couch, or in a dark closet, or even asleep in his eldest brother’s lap while they watched TV, peaceful, but still pale with dark bags under his eyes. It wasn’t normal for a boy his age to sleep like this, but it hadn’t occurred to Phil what the cause could be. What Tommy knew, however, was that it was like unlocking the secrets of the universe.

Some dreams were good, where he was racing Wilbur through the woods as a teenager, the two of them whooping and hollering as they ran faster and faster down dirt paths and through fields. He saw visions of him and a boy dressed in a dark green shirt with a mop of dark brown hair. They would chat about everything and nothing, sharing secrets with each other and promising to be best friends forever. He had dreams of he and Technoblade walking through a snow-filled area, talking about topics that Tommy had no context of, currently. Sometimes the dreams were really nice, kind to him. He had a dream about some kind of birthday one night, and when he awoke he could almost taste the sweet frosting of the cake on his tongue and could faintly hear Technoblade’s booming laugh when Wilbur had choked on a bite of the dense treat. It was dreams like that that made a little more sense than the ones he’d originally gotten. One week he’d had a dream that he and Wilbur had been exploring the forest outside their current home, and he had tripped, spectacularly rolling down a hill with a loud shout. He was surprised when a few days later, he had an odd feeling as he walked through the woods with his brother. When he tripped and rolled down the hill, he blurted that he knew that it was going to happen. Wilbur said he was crazy, but helped his brother up off the ground anyways and brushed the leaves off his shirt and dirt off his pants.

Tommy wasn’t stupid, he began to connect the dots. When he had a dream that seemed where he was the age he was in real life, the event happened days later, sometimes even the day of the dream. He knew if he told anyone about this, especially his brothers, he’d be mocked relentlessly. Wilbur would say he was being stupid (a favorite word of the eleven year old since curses weren’t allowed in the house) and Techno would probably just laugh him off like he always did with that tired chuckle he used whenever Tommy came to him with a big issue. The boy thought about telling his dad, even, but he wasn’t sure how to really phrase it. He could say that when he dreamt something, it came true, that he had magic powers or something like that, but his dad was worried enough. He’d begun to grow a deep concern for his son’s sleep patterns, starting to work on potions to cure the dreams and nightmares that plagued his son every night. The potions tasted revolting, and Tommy wanted to refuse every single one that he had to try, but Phil wouldn’t allow it. He’d kneel in front of Tommy while the boy sat on a kitchen chair with his hands pressed firmly over his mouth in defiance.

“I’m not drinking that, dad, it tastes gross,” Tommy whined with a kick of his legs, squirming in his seat, his words muffled by his palms.

Phil had to resign on his efforts to try and cure his son’s issue, but he found himself watching his youngest child when the boy crawled into his bed and curled up. His hands didn’t rest over Tommy anymore since if they did Tommy would throw a fit and wake up in a cold sweat, panicked and shaking. One night he had been rubbing Tommy’s back to get him to sleep peacefully, and when Tommy started shaking, Philza continued, hoping he could work the nightmare out of his son’s system. Instead, Tommy woke up with a loud shout, and immediately coughed and gagged with a strangled noise, only to vomit over the side of the bed. Phil tried to ask what the hell had happened and what could’ve caused such a reaction in Tommy, but all Tommy replied with was, “I can still smell it-- smells like copper, dad.” Extremely ominous, but kids said weird shit, he’d learned that from having two before his youngest.

Even so, Phil realized his son was special in one way or another, he just didn’t know why, yet.

By the time Tommy was eight, he was an old soul in a little boy’s body. Someone who knew Phil had called Tommy “precocious,” a word the child couldn’t even pronounce on a good day. He’d asked his dad what it meant when they were eating dinner, but Technoblade chimed in before their father could get a word in.

“It means you’re wise beyond your years, special and smart, or whatever,” the half-pig said with a wave of his hand, fork still clutched in his fingers. Wilbur rolled his eyes as he poked at his steak with a mumble, one that Tommy realized was his middle brother calling the eldest a show off.

They had a strong rivalry, his two older brothers. Technoblade got a good amount of attention from Phil, and Tommy could realize, even at his young age, that Wilbur wanted some affection. He would constantly go above and beyond in activities, or at least had, until he realized that all attention was good attention. Wilbur started acting out, breaking things and making messes, having emotional outbursts. If it bothered Technoblade, he didn’t show it, too busy with his own things. The fifteen year old had found out that when he turned sixteen, he was eligible to compete in a fighting championship, and now he spent all of his time training nonstop. When he wasn’t studying how to properly fight, he was actually rehearsing the moves. Phil had set up multiple practice dummies in the backyard, and Technoblade went to town on them. Their dad had to start using better materials due to how hard the teenager went when he fought. Things would get destroyed in the process, but Tommy found himself constantly sitting on the porch, watching his older brother swing the sword he’d been given around, shoot arrows, run and jump and perform tricks. Technoblade was a natural, even Tommy could realize he’d probably turn out to be some famous fighter.

After a particularly strong training session, Technoblade headed towards the porch, wiping sweat from his forehead while he panted. Tommy stood quickly, a bright grin on his face as he raised his hand for a high-five. Technoblade returned the favor, and when their palms connected, it was as if time froze and reality had a new layer on it.

Tommy’s eyes adjusted to the dusk that had settled in his vision, and he found that he was in a completely different place. He stood in front of a shaking teenager, one dressed in a suit with a green tie, his eyes wide with fear. Tommy’s eyes darted down to his hands, finding a weapon in them, and noting that his skin was far more pink than he remembered, not pale like he normally saw in the mirror. A voice, low but with an ominous pitch was to his left, and a snarkier one was to his right. Tommy looked over for a split second to see an elegantly dressed man with sharp horns like that of a ram, ears that matched, too. His brows were furrowed and he had a sharp toothed grin on his face. To his right, the other man who had been speaking had a beanie on, despite his sharp outfit, and his lips were curled into a sneer as the ram, who seemed to be the leader, spoke.

“Technoblade,” Tommy heard, and he felt a strange feeling in his chest, confused as to why someone was calling him that, why he had a weapon, why this teenager was stood in front of him. Why did he know this boy’s face? It was so familiar yet so far away. People were shouting, yelling at Tommy to do something, though it wasn’t his name, it was his brother’s, said over and over again. Pleading with him, ordering him, telling him to act now. In a bright burst of light, Tommy felt the heat of an explosion in his face, and when he opened his eyes after having closed them for the blast, he was back in front of Technoblade, back on the porch, his hand still pushed into his brother’s.

Worry was evident on the older boy’s face and he took his hand away, speaking slowly.

“Tommy? Tommy, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Tommy’s ears were ringing from the rush of blood to his head, the adrenaline of the event in his veins. He realized that it was like a dream without being asleep, that his brain had connected the events and told the future to him, that the prophecy was something that involved his brother. Something absolutely awful. It was obvious, even with the way the vision had cut off that his brother had killed someone. Technoblade wouldn’t do that, would he? He couldn’t. He was Technoblade, Tommy’s big brother and one of his biggest heroes. How could Technoblade murder that boy, that teenager who had looked so afraid, so betrayed? Or the way the horned man in the suit had growled out orders, fierce and angry? What was that? Or even the shouting. One of the voices Tommy had heard had even sounded like his own.

In his panic, Tommy didn’t notice the world tilting and going dark, and when he slammed into the wood porch, one thought was on his mind:

Was it going to happen? And if so… when?

Chapter Text

“Dad! Dad! Help!”

Technoblade had his small brother in a bridal style hold, Tommy’s eyes closed with his pale skin looking even more white than normal. With how little he had been sleeping, it was no surprise he looked like a ghost. He hardly ate as much as a normal boy should, and he wasn’t as chipper as normal. It was like he had grown into an adult in just a few short months. Everyone had noticed it. Phil had mentioned to his oldest son that Tommy was in his bed every single night, curled up next to him. Techno had brushed it off, saying that Tommy was still a kid, it was natural for kids to be clingy, and Tommy was no exception. The boy loved impressing people, showing off and getting attention-- apparently it was a trait that was in all three of the sons, even though they weren’t related by blood. Technoblade knew his brother was different, though. While he didn’t get along with Wilbur as well as he should, he saw Tommy as his little brother, the one who got into trouble and constantly shouted to prove his point. It was odd to see him like this, rather than the spitfire kid who used to pull on Techno’s long, pink hair as a baby. He hadn’t liked Tommy at first, he hadn’t liked his dad being so enamored with a baby that was biologically his, one that looked like him, one that had her eyes. He had pointedly ignored Tommy for the first few months, but the kid grew on him.

He remembered Tommy saying his first word, swaddled in a onesie of sorts that Phil had made himself. Tommy had been minutely crawling across the floor while Techno watched him, Wilbur sitting on the couch they had, reading a book. Tommy had inched his way to Techno’s feet, nudging at them, and starting to scale his way onto Technoblade’s left foot. The boy had wrapped his arms around Techno’s calf and he hugged the pant-clad leg close, giggling.

“Teck-no!” Tommy shouted in that high-pitched, baby scream. Technoblade wasn’t a huge fan of children, but he felt his heart twist at his baby brother saying his name, and smiled broadly. Moving in one swift motion and picking the boy up, swinging him in his arms while still being careful. Tommy had screeched with laughter and when Technoblade pulled back a bit to study his brother’s face, he admired Tommy’s red cheeks, his blue eyes, his fine hair that was growing so much already.

He had to protect his brother, he had decided then and there. He couldn’t let Tommy turn out anything but happy.

Phil’s head snapped up as his eldest son came rushing in with his youngest. Tommy looked exhausted, even as he slept, and Phil’s heart twisted with the way his child looked so small. He had been acting so odd lately, like he had seen a scene he couldn’t explain. Phil had gotten that way after the visions had first started, but he knew that couldn’t be what Tommy was seeing. It wasn’t that, it couldn’t be that. He gently took Tommy from Technoblade’s arms and cradled him close. He could still remember the day Tommy was born, losing her and still getting him. It was bittersweet in the worst way, but Phil had known it would happen since he had danced with her, his hands brushing hers, the vision going through his brain. He hadn’t pulled away from her, he had rolled with the punches, knowing that his wife would die at his hands, that he could prevent it.

But Phil was selfish, he wanted to be loved, he wanted a partner. So he had kept quiet about the fact that she would die in childbirth, and that their son would outlive her, but carry her beautiful, blue eyes, and her loud personality. Phil was so selfish, he was so selfish, but he had never been selfish before, never in his life. As much as he had expected his wife to die, counting down the days after she had announced she was pregnant, it had pained him. Technoblade hadn’t said anything when his step-mother of sorts had died, but Wilbur had been crushed. It seemed like she had been the only one who had understood his son’s brain, his passions. She had introduced him to music, and he had sat there with a guitar specifically made for children or toddlers, trying his best to coordinate his fingers, smart, even though he was only three and a half. Phil had been happy to see someone succeed where he had failed-- getting close to Wilbur.

He couldn’t let himself love Wilbur, not after the first vision of his son, what he would become as a young man.

Phil gently set Tommy down on the couch, ordering Technoblade to get a wet washcloth as Wilbur emerged from his room, confused and still in the haze of a nap he had been rudely awoken from.

“What’s wrong with Tommy?” the eleven year old asked, rubbing at his eyes as he stepped closer. Phil glanced over his shoulder as he placed the cool washcloth over his child’s forehead. His fingers brushed the skin, but no vision came. He could never read Tommy as well as he should-- but when their skin would brush properly, he would feel an immense sadness, as if it radiated from the boy. Precocious wasn’t exactly the right word to describe Tommy-- he was more than that. He was a boy of fire and passion, and it seemed to Phil, even with his cloudy vision of not seeing Tommy’s future, that it would be his downfall.

“He fainted,” Technoblade said, his voice having an edge of fear to it, something he wasn’t used to. “I-I gave him a high five and he just froze up, and then he fell over-- I didn’t do anything, I swear I didn’t dad, I was just--”

“Shh, I know you didn’t,” Phil hushed, his eyes trained on Tommy’s features. He looked so tired, so small. Phil’s heart hurt from just the sight of one of his sons in pain.

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Wilbur prodded as he stepped closer. The boy studied his brother’s expression with concern and an underlying fear. Wilbur and Tommy were close, and Wilbur was protective of the younger. They were constantly getting into trouble, with things like Wilbur hoisting his brother up to get the tin of cookies that Phil had put on the top shelf; or when Wilbur would run through the woods with Tommy, the two of them making their own little land in the forest that ran around the whole home. Phil liked seclusion, but now he regretted it as he realized how far they were from a doctor, from any sort of medical help.

“He’ll be fine, Wil, he just needs some rest.” Phil’s fingers brushed over Tommy’s cheek, and suddenly the boy’s eyes snapped open, blue irises filled with an emotion that Phil couldn’t explain. Tommy groaned, and he tilted his head, trying to get away from his dad’s fingers, as if they were burning him. Phil removed his hand, and took a seat on the edge of the couch, trying to look over his son for bruises or cuts. He had to have slammed into that porch hard when he had fainted, and Phil was beyond worried. Tommy wasn’t weak, but he had always been a bit more fragile than his older brothers. Maybe he had inherited it from his mother, because Phil was hardy, not lithe and bony like Tommy.

“I’m fine--” Tommy croaked, weakly raising his hands and slapping away Phil’s touches like a kitten. What the hell had happened? He had just been giving Techno a high-five, a celebratory move, and then everything had turned into a nightmare. He had seen it all, what his brother would become, and when Technoblade came near to see Tommy properly, all Tommy could see was that boy’s face, how scared he had been in the prison cell of sorts that had been built around him. He could hear the ram’s voice, he could hear screaming, he could hear--

“Get away from me!” Tommy screeched when Techno got too close for comfort. Technoblade looked hurt for a split second, but his face hardened and he stepped back. Tommy almost felt bad for his older brother who he had always admired and respected, but there was something wrong with him, something wrong with this whole family. He hadn’t had any of the visions with Wilbur, but when he slept next to his dad in bed sometimes, he’d get horrible dreams. He would see people dying, he would see arguments, he would see a war that he didn’t even know about, one his father hadn’t even mentioned. His dad had a box of medals that he kept on his dresser, and Tommy had snuck in one time to look at them, small fingers tracing over the cool gold, looking at the shine of them. Back then, he had wanted to get as many medals as his dad had, maybe even more, but as soon as he had realized how they had been earned, he wasn’t sure anymore. He had seen his father’s hands as his own, the way they were tainted with soot and blood, he had seen the way people screamed in pain as the body Tommy was in had fired arrows with a horrible accuracy.

He had smelled the copper, it made his stomach churn.

His father was someone he loved, he had always been close to his dad, but the visions betrayed him and the relationship. They revealed who Phil really was, the horrors he had created in the name of justice. Tommy wasn’t sure if a war was even worth it, given the outcome, how many people were hurt. Why would someone want to start a war? Why would they want to hurt people? It was beyond Tommy.

His father’s sharp words cut through his thoughts.

“Tommy, what has gotten into you?” Tommy wasn’t sure, he didn’t know, he didn’t have the answers. “Technoblade brought you in here when you fainted on the porch, and you’re screaming at him for it!” Phil had always been closest to his eldest son, always sticking up for the piglin he had found and taken in. He had taught Technoblade to talk, to fight, to learn. He had seen the horrors his son would commit, but he knew you couldn’t change fate. You could only accept it, and hope for the best. He knew Technoblade had a good heart, he was just jagged around the edges. It was his flaw, and Phil couldn’t hold it against him. His brain was different from others.

Tommy shrunk back at his dad’s shouting. Phil almost never yelled at him, only doing it when Tommy was acting like a little idiot and needed to be put back into his place. The boy sniffed as tears pricked at his eyes, looking to Wilbur who stood with wide eyes, the older boy studying his brother in a new light. Why did he have to be cursed to not understand? Why had Techno done those things? If Technoblade had willingly killed what seemed like an innocent boy, who’s to say he wouldn’t kill others? Who’s to say he wouldn’t go after Wilbur, or Tommy himself. Tommy sniffed again and turned onto his side, ignoring the way his dad had immediately softened when the waterworks had been brought out. Phil’s fingers brushed against the skin of Tommy’s neck and Tommy felt an emotion he couldn’t describe. One of fear, but one of knowing.

“Tommy, hey-- hey, buddy, I’m sorry--” Phil tried.

“L-leave me alone,” Tommy croaked, pushing his face into the couch cushion and curling up as if to make himself smaller. Phil sighed and stood, glancing to Wilbur, then exiting the room. His son needed to be alone, and Technoblade had already walked off after he had been shouted at. Wilbur stayed put, but then inched closer and crawled up onto the couch, curling his body around Tommy’s in a protective manner and pushing his nose into Tommy’s mess of blond hair.

“It’s okay,” Wilbur said in a quiet voice, “I’m on your side.”

Tommy didn’t know if he could even take comfort in that.

The air was tense that night, and Tommy had retreated to his bedroom, holding Henry in his hands and gazing at the stuffed cow’s glassy, black eyes. He sighed and hugged the toy close, then looked up at a knock to the door. It opened, and revealed Wilbur, dressed in his yellow pajamas. He stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind himself, standing there for a moment. Tommy looked into his dark eyes, wishing he had an explanation for what had happened today. Instead of saying anything, Tommy was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, exhausted from the past few months. He let out a choked up sob, and Wilbur was immediately on his bed, pulling him close and shushing him, stroking his hair with careful, thin fingers. Wilbur would always understand him better than anyone, and he could trust Wilbur. Wilbur would never purposely hurt someone, he was a sensitive soul.

“Hey, it’s okay--” Wilbur tried as Tommy sobbed again, ignoring the way Tommy’s tears were wet against his neck. “You’re okay, Big T, you’re alright. Nothing’s gonna hurt you--”

If only that was true, Tommy thought, If only you knew.

Tommy started to quiet down and he sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and curling into his brother as those fingers continued to stroke through his hair again and again, smoothing down the mess of almost-curls he had inherited from his mother. Wilbur stayed put, and they laid there for awhile in silence, Tommy’s eyes empty as he tried to think of something to say.

Wilbur acted first. “What happened out there? With Technoblade?”

“I…” How did Tommy explain it? Explain what he had seen? That Technoblade was becoming a monster? “I… saw something. I saw him do something-- but it wasn’t really there-- it was like a dream, but I was awake, and when I came back-- when-- when I came back I fainted, I panicked--” He pulled back a bit to look Wilbur in the eye. “I think Technoblade’s going to become something he shouldn’t be, Wil.”

Wilbur frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I saw what he was going to do-- I’ve been having dreams about… about the future. It’s like when I have a dream, they suddenly become reality, they turn into real life. Like when I fell down that hill, I knew it was going to happen, Wilbur. I knew it, but I couldn’t prevent it. It’s like-- like there’s this set path and… and we can’t escape it.”

“Fate,” Wilbur said quietly.

“Fate, yeah. It’s fate. And Technoblade’s fate isn’t good.”

Wilbur shifted, his legs tangled with Tommy’s. He thought for a moment, then glanced away. “So…” He looked at Tommy again. “What was it that you saw?” Wilbur wasn’t close to Technoblade, blaming him for their father’s neglect, rather than Phil. He was too young to really comprehend that it was his father’s fault, that Technoblade hadn’t asked for the affection he was given. Wilbur didn’t understand what was so great about Technoblade. He was smart, and good at fighting, sure, but Wilbur was good at things, too! His step-mom had appreciated him, had told him how he was going to be something amazing when he got older. He didn’t understand why Phil didn’t love him, why he looked at him so weird sometimes. Phil didn’t even like hugging him, touching him, and Wilbur hated it. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong-- he was a kid! He had tried to think about every mistake he had made, and he didn’t think that any of them were deserving of emotional neglect. He had food and shelter always, he had everything he needed to survive, but his dad looked at him like he was a monster, like he was going to hurt people. The first time Phil had acted like Wilbur was something bad, he had yanked away from his son’s hug, with a confused five year old in front of him. “Dad?” Wilbur had tried as his father had looked at him with fear, “Dad, what’s wrong?” Phil had composed himself and put on a small smile, going to ruffle Wilbur’s hair and walk past him, no words spoken, and it had left a pit in the small boy’s stomach, confused by what had just happened. He had just been hugging his dad, and suddenly he was being left alone. What had he done? He had just wanted a hug.

Wilbur didn’t understand what was wrong with him. He liked to think he was funny, smart, charming. Other people agreed, and when they went into town, people constantly commented on Wilbur’s sharp features, his beautiful dark eyes, and how he sang as he walked. Why didn’t Phil see what they saw? Why didn’t Phil see a little boy that wanted love? What did Phil see?

“I… I was in his body--” Tommy began, “and he had a crossbow or something, and a firework or whatever, something that can explode-- and… And there was this man in a suit, he had like-- horns. Curly ones, and floppy ears. And he was saying to hurt this boy that was in a cage, to shoot him. And it was like I couldn’t control it, like I was watching a movie, not living it. And Techno… he shot him, he killed the boy, and he did it with only a little… He did it without people forcing him to! He chose to do it, he did it even though he knew it was wrong, Wil. He did it and he hurt someone for fun, he did it because he wanted to.” Tommy looked up at his brother’s faraway gaze, sniffling. “I don’t know what it means-- I see things, I see all these things. I have dreams about people dying, places setting on fire, horrible things happening. And… and I’m scared, Wil. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, I don’t want people to die, I want everyone to be happy.”

Wilbur hummed, thinking for a moment. “Maybe you should tell dad.”

Tommy shook his head quickly. “No. No way. He’ll make me drink gross medicine and take me to a doctor and they’ll say I’m crazy! I’m not crazy. I… I think I’m just tired. I think my mind’s playing tricks on me. Maybe it’ll stop soon, maybe I’m just… Maybe I just have to wait it out, yeah? If I just deal with it long enough and don’t think about it, it has to go away.”

Wilbur nodded.

“It has to go away. I’m scared, Wilbur.” Tommy’s voice was pained, cracked and emotional with fear.

“I know, Tommy.”

Tommy sniffed, wiping his damp eyes. “Promise me you won’t tell dad. Promise me.” He held out his pinky and Wilbur brought his up, locking them together.

“I promise. You’ll always have me, Tommy. I’m always going to be on your side, even when dad and Techno aren’t. Okay?”

Tommy nodded. “I’ll always be on your side, too, big man.” He cracked a smile. “We’re blood brothers, just without the blood.”

Wilbur smiled down at him, then closed his eyes, yawning a bit. “Go to sleep, Big T.”

“Sleep here tonight?” Tommy asked in a small voice.

“Mhm, sure. Just don’t piss the bed or something.”

Tommy burst into giggles, shoving Wilbur a bit, who smiled.

At the very least, Tommy knew Wilbur would never cross him or turn out like Technoblade. He had faith in Wilbur. Wilbur was one of the good guys.

As Wilbur’s fingers danced over the nape of his neck, Tommy heard a voice in his ears, the voice of a deeper Wilbur, older. The voice sounded broken in a different way than sadness, it sounded like someone who had been pushed to the brink of insanity. It sounded like a man who had lost everything, everyone. It sounded like someone who knew he was going to lose, but had to push through anyways, but had to be strong. It sounded like someone Wilbur wasn’t.

“Let’s be the bad guys.”

Tommy, in a haze of half awake, pushed the thoughts aside. They didn’t mean anything.

Wilbur was a good person, he just knew it.

Chapter Text

Things were going to get worse before they got better, Tommy knew that. Technoblade wouldn’t even look at him anymore, and Tommy wondered if his brother realized what he had done, what he was going to become in a few short years. He wondered what his brother thought about, he wondered if Technoblade had a plan for himself, if he had thought it all out. It was days before Technoblade was due to set out for the fighting championship, and Tommy had knots in his stomach as he sat at the kitchen table, poking his oatmeal with a frown on his face. He hadn’t tried to talk to his eldest brother, and they hardly even saw each other, despite the house being small. It was like Technoblade was purposely avoiding him, but at the same time, Tommy knew he was doing the same. He knew he couldn’t look Technoblade in the eye, or go near him anymore. Still, a part of him felt a longing to know what else would happen. He was young, curious, and he tried to channel his eldest brother in some odd way, trying to read him when he saw him. He wondered if Technoblade understood what he knew, if Techno was smarter than he let on. Instead of saying anything, though, he poked at his food some more.

“You know,” Phil said, “there’s not going to be any less oatmeal in the bowl if you just shove it with your spoon. You actually have to eat it.” Tommy shot him a look, and his father raised a brow in reply, so Tommy scooped a bit of oatmeal up and shoved it into his mouth, raising his brows right back at Phil, who smiled and looked to Techno.

“So, are you all packed?” he asked with pride in his eyes. His son was really becoming something to admire, with his strong figure and fighting abilities. In a different time, he would’ve been perfect for a war, but Phil pushed those thoughts out of his head, not wanting to dampen the mood with bad memories. Techno nodded in response, taking a piece of toast off the plate and ripping a bite off. He chewed for a moment, thinking, then spoke.

“I wish you all could come-- the final battle, if I make it there, is against this guy. His name is Dream, everyone knows him.” Tommy blinked at the words, not knowing who this Dream guy was, but hoping Technoblade wouldn’t kill him. He spoke in a small voice, a grumble, really, after a moment.

“It’s not a fight to the death, is it?”

Wilbur snorted from beside him, oddly quiet. “Yeah, ‘cause Technoblade is going to murder everyone in that arena. No one survives.” Tommy went cold. Had he forgotten what they had talked about? Technoblade could do that! He very well could do that, they shouldn’t encourage that behavior. What the hell was wrong with his family?

“Blood for the blood god,” Technoblade shrugged, glancing over at the framed family photo on the wall, leaning back in his chair, getting two of the legs of the wooden chair off the ground.

“Techno, four on the floor,” Phil said quickly. Technoblade sighed and sat up straight, taking another bite of toast. After a moment, he noticed Tommy’s shaken expression and quirked a smile, eager to fuck around with his brother a bit.

“Are you scared I’ll kill someone?” the older boy asked, watching Tommy shrink down in his chair, even with wide eyes. “That’s how battles work, Tommy. You should ask dad, he knows all about wars and battles.” Tommy looked even more scared, and Technoblade grinned. “Dad’s a veteran, probably an even better fighter than me-- he could take down a wither if he wanted to. He probably already has.”

“He’s a child, Techno, don’t put it in his head that I’m some vicious fighter,” Phil sighed as he took a bite of food. Tommy looked over to his father and narrowed his eyes. He knew what Phil had done for the purpose of war, he had seen it, and his dad was acting like some hero. He wasn’t a hero, he was a guy who killed people, so was Technoblade… or at least he would be. No wonder Phil loved Technoblade so much, he was a rougher copy of his father. Phil was probably happy as hell to have someone who hurt people just as much as he did. He was probably eager to hurt people himself, with the way he treated Wilbur like he was some kind of idiot instead of his kid. Tommy glared down at his food as he scooped up the oatmeal, only to tilt his spoon and let it fall back into the bowl with a wet splattering noise.

Wilbur nudged him, and he glanced up, brought out of his thoughts. “We should go to the clubhouse today.”

The clubhouse was really just a glorified cave. When Tommy was five, Phil had decided that his sons should have a secret little place to go to, a land that was theirs, one where they could do whatever. He had set up a cozy little cave with torches, blankets, even a door and some areas they could pretend to mine in. It had made Wilbur immensely happy to have a place he could go to, away from the house and the judgement he faced, and he had even hugged his dad, something he hadn’t done in months. Tommy had raced with Wilbur to the clubhouse the first day it was properly built, and they stayed there all day, having found iron, some coal, but disappointed not to find a single diamond. Phil had purposely built the clubhouse so that mobs were far away from it, and that the light in it would keep them out. He didn’t need Wilbur or Tommy getting shot by skeletons, or attacked by zombies. They needed their little area, and it needed to be safe. He had had enough trouble with Technoblade rushing in when he was younger to try and take on enemies with a wooden sword, and he had a feeling Tommy and Wilbur weren’t as capable as his eldest child was.

“If you do go out there, be careful. It’s been raining and mud is slick-- plus I don’t want footprints tracked into the house-- I’m looking at you, Tommy.” Phil glanced to his son as he repeated the process of picking up oatmeal just to slop it back into the bowl. His son still hadn’t really recovered from his fainting episode that had happened weeks, almost a month, prior. He looked sullen all the time, like the gears in his head were constantly turning.

“Whatever, dad,” Tommy grumbled, though there was no fire behind his words, no joke to be told. He was growing into something else, and Phil was beyond worried. Surely he wasn’t able to see the visions, the prophecies. He was a growing boy, just moody. Wilbur was the same way, always swapping between moods, going from happy, to sad, to angry. Phil wished he could try and comfort the boy, but it was too risky. He couldn’t help Wilbur, not when there was so much at stake, not when he knew his smiley little eleven year old would turn out to be… something else. Something beyond any of them.

Phil had been right, the mud was horrible. Tommy’s feet were sinking even with his strong, leather boots on. He groaned as his foot sunk into the soft earth and he had to wrench it out with a good amount of force. “I hate the mud, it’s the worst thing ever,” he sighed as Wilbur walked ahead of him. It felt like they had been walking for hours through the gross mud, but really it had been fifteen minutes, tops. Tommy pulled his jacket tighter around himself (something his dad had insisted he wear) and he looked up at the grey sky through the treetops, scowling. “I don’t get what’s so great about Technoblade going off to kill people in a battle-- that’s a little lame if you ask me!”

Wilbur glanced over his shoulder. “He’s not actually going to kill people, you know that, right?”

“Oh.”

Wilbur burst into laughter. “Did you think he was going off to slaughter people? It’s a competition, Tommy, not a war.”

“Well-- I don’t know!” Tommy huffed, stomping through the wet dirt a bit harder. “I thought that maybe he’d go crazy and just kill everyone, it wouldn’t be impossible! Maybe he’ll go crazy and kill that Dream guy. I wouldn’t be surprised, and you shouldn’t be either. You hate Technoblade.”

“I don’t hate him,” Wilbur replied, his voice dipping down into something a bit… different. Sad, but not quite. “I think he’s… weird. I don’t know. I just don’t see why dad likes him so much.”

“Dad likes all of us, he’s our dad,” Tommy replied quickly. He wasn’t expecting what Wilbur said next.

“Yeah, easy for you to say, you’re his actual kid, not some weird adoptive reject.”

Tommy froze in his steps, anger working its way up to his face, staining his cheeks with a bright red. “That’s-- that’s not true! He loves you! He loves all of us, Wil, we’re his kids. Parents love their kids!”

“Oh, is that so?” Wilbur turned on his heel, looking at Tommy with his arms crossed over his yellow sweater, a signature Wilbur look. “If he loves me sooo much, why doesn’t he hug me, or really talk to me? Why does he look at me like I’m some freak, like I’m going to hurt him? You’re naive, Tommy, he doesn’t love me, and he only likes you because you remind him of Emma.”

Tommy blinked. He hadn’t heard his mother’s name in a very, very long time. Phil was heartbroken that his wife, who he had been with for maybe three years, three and a half, had just up and died. No one explained it to him, how she had died. The most he knew is that he was born, and she was gone, and his dad had said that that happened sometimes, that sometimes the body couldn’t handle a baby, and it just stopped when the baby was born. Tommy didn’t know much about the whole situation with his mom. He’d seen pictures of her, knew a bit about her, but no one talked about her except maybe Phil. Technoblade, according to Wilbur, hadn’t liked his mother, and Wilbur had said that it was because he was pissed that someone didn’t automatically think he was amazing like Phil did. Tommy wasn’t sure if there was more to it, or if Wil was lying, but what he did know was that Technoblade had never said his mother’s name, had never told him any good things about his mother-- or anything at all, really. To Techno, his mother was just a dead woman who had resulted in Tommy.

Wilbur, meanwhile, had been impossibly attached to Emma, taking her on as a mother. Phil had said that if Tommy’s mother was somewhere, that Wilbur wouldn’t be far behind, toddling behind her and grabbing onto the skirt of her dresses, begging to be picked up. It seemed that while Phil couldn’t even bring himself to look at his son, she had always been caring. Tommy was happy that Wilbur had at least had someone who liked him the way a parent should for a little bit, but he was sad in his own regard. Everyone else had gotten to meet his mom but him, and he desperately wanted to know what she was like in person, not just in pictures.

Tommy had had a few dreams about her, but he wouldn’t consider them prophecies, just things his brain made up. He’d had a dream about his mother and his father in some kind of ballroom of sorts, but obviously made for a village, not some fancy, big town. He had his mother’s hands in his own, in the body he was inhabiting in the dream. She twirled and spun, her dirty blonde hair swirling around her shoulders as she laughed so loudly, the music around them booming. He knew what her perfume smelled like-- it was a sort of muted woodsy, but soft smell-- and he had felt her hair in the dream, feeling the soft strands under his fingers. Her dress was white with lace covering it, and when she moved, the skirt of the dress flowed and moved with it. Her eyes were the same icy blue he had himself. He had been focused on her facial features so he could remember them later when he was awake. Her nose was small, more pointy, and her lips were thin. Her hair had been decorated with what seemed like a flower crown, and while Tommy had no control over the dream, he longed to touch those flowers.

The music had boomed around them while she danced, and Tommy could hear a voice that was emanating from the chest he was possessing loud and rich. His dad’s laugh was loud, and he stepped back after a moment while she caught her breath. It was then that Tommy had realized why her dress was so flowy-- she was pregnant. She had a small bump to her stomach, probably not too far along, and Tommy reached out his hand to feel over the bump, fingers feeling the firm skin below it. The hands weren’t his, and it was just a dream, but he remembered his mom’s words very clearly.

“He’s going to be something great, isn’t he?”

Her words were so kind and simple, yet they meant everything to him. He knew who she was pregnant with-- it was him. Little Tommy. Tommy wished he could’ve stayed in the dream longer, but he was snapped awake when his dad shifted in bed, and realized that his dad’s hand had moved away from his arm, where skin had been touching skin. He went to take his sleeping father’s hand and put it back on his skin, desperate for the dream to continue, but it was over. He’d gotten the glimpse of his mother, and then she was gone. Figures.

But in the present, Tommy could only gawk in anger. “He loves me because I’m his! He loves me because I’m his kid, like dads should love their kids! So sorry that he doesn’t care about you enough, but I’m very certain that dad loves me-- and if you tried to be a friend instead of breaking things and throwing fits, maybe he’d like you, too!”

Wilbur was on him in an instant, stepping close. His gaze was extremely cold, and Tommy could almost shiver from it. “You killed mom, you know. If you had never been born, she’d still be alive. It’s your fault she’s dead. You took her from us.”

Tommy was crushed. “But-- but I didn’t mean to.”

“But you still did. And now she’s dead, and dad hates me, and he loves Techno. You took the only person who loved me and killed her-- good job.”

Tommy gave a roar of anger and suddenly shoved his brother, pushing him to the ground. He jumped on top of Wilbur in his rage and pushed a hand into his face as Wilbur tried to get his younger brother off of him. When skin touched skin, he felt a flash of light, and when he looked around, he felt… empty. Tommy looked down at his hands to try and figure out who he was in this one, but they were transparent, he could look at the ground below them. Tommy blinked and looked up as he saw the world around him-- a small plot of land, almost like an island. There was a little tent set up, a fire going, and he tried to figure out where he was, what the hell was going on. He spotted a mop of dirty, blond hair and he froze up, even as the body he was in continued to move. He practically glided across the ground, and he found himself in front of… himself.

The Tommy he was looking at was pale and gaunt, thinner than he was normally. His shirt was messy with dirt and other crap, and his eyes looked… empty. He looked sad, he looked pained. He looked like he had absolutely no one, and he looked like he had lost hope. He had deep bags under his eyes, and Tommy wanted to reach out and give this Tommy a hug. Even with the apparent feelings he felt at his future self, the body he inhabited had a deep sorrow to it, a longing for something. He wanted to wrap himself up in a hug and not feel so alone, not feel like this, but he focused on the way the boy in front of his vision was standing and looked so… old for a teenager. He looked like he’d seen the horrors of life and lived them, he looked like he was lost and could never be found. If this was him, where was dad, Techno? He was obviously inside Wilbur, but why was Wilbur so sad and see-through? Why was everything like this? What was going on?

Tommy was snapped out of his vision when Wilbur kicked him in the stomach, making him cough and fall back, with Wilbur effectively throwing him to the ground. His stomach hurt from the hard kick, the leather boots his brother was wearing sure to leave a bruise. He gazed up at his panting, angry older brother, but all he could see was that sadness and that empty feeling. Is this what happened to Wilbur? He grew up to be a husk?

“You’re so stupid!” Wilbur shouted as he kicked mud at Tommy, dirtying his coat. “You’re an idiot, and this is all your fault! I wish you had never been born, I wish Phil had never found me, and I wish Techno wasn’t such an asshole!” Tommy stared with wide eyes as his brother made a scream, one that sounded more animal than human, like a pained dog. He stormed off, stepping past Tommy and towards the path of the house, while Tommy laid on the ground.

He laid there for a second, trying to regain his breath after having it knocked out of him, and as he stared up at the grey sky, he felt a raindrop hit, then another. It was starting to rain, and Tommy forced himself to sit up, groaning and giving a little cough. He was covered in mud and he had to push himself to his feet, giving a small sniffle and wiping his eyes with his left hand, which was at least a little less muddy than his right. Everything was a whirlwind, and the faint memory of his mother’s face was blurring. He couldn’t focus on her laugh, or her smile. He could only see that tired boy in the vision, and how exhausted he looked, how he looked like he wanted to end it all.

Was that his fate? To be alone and sad?

Tommy sniffed again, thinking about Wilbur’s words.

Maybe he should’ve never been born, after all.

The thought lingered in his head as he started the long walk home.

Chapter Text

The walk home was horrible. Tommy was wet from mud and it only got worse as the rain started to pick up. He trudged through it all, his mind feeling horribly empty, but full of intrusive thoughts all the same. Wilbur was just angry, he hadn’t meant it… right? They were brothers, they were best friends, it’s not like he honestly meant it. He was just angry, people said mean things when they were angry. Still, Tommy stood there with a pit in his stomach, a lump in his throat that he kept trying to swallow down again and again. It kept coming back, and he sniffed as he walked, wiping his nose on his damp coat as he glared at the ground. Part of him wanted to be mad, to throw a tantrum, scream and shout. He never got to act like a kid anymore, so he figured it was only fair that he caused some hell for what Wilbur had done. But, Tommy couldn’t bring himself to throw a fit, or even feel anything. The words Wilbur had said stung like a cut he couldn’t patch up, and he wondered if hearts could bleed from a few hurtful words. He felt like he was overreacting, but it was like Wilbur had taken a huge insecurity of his and put it on blast.

Getting into the house was a struggle in itself. He was soaked to the bone from the mud and the rain, and he had to pry off the boots he had on, the leather sticking to his socks. He tried to enter quietly, but Phil was there to greet him. His dad looked like he was going to say something, probably about how Wilbur had stormed in, but as soon as he saw his son’s face, he softened. It wasn’t like Wilbur had revealed what he said-- Phil would’ve killed him. Tommy didn’t even want to admit it either, he really didn’t. Phil walked closer to him, not reaching out for a hug just yet in case his son didn’t want one, but as soon as Phil went to speak, Tommy lunged forward and pulled his dad in a tight hug, burying his face in his dad’s shirt and letting out a sob.

“I’m s-so-orry--” Tommy sobbed against his chest, his dad wrapping his arms around his muddy, wet body, not seeming to care about the mess it would bring. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Tommy--” Phil began, pushing a hand into his son’s wet hair and trying to smooth down the ends that stuck up.

“I didn’t mean to kill her!” Tommy choked out, pulling back to look at his dad with teary eyes, his whole body shaking with his cries. “I-I didn’t mean to kill mom-- I’m sorry--”

Phil froze up without meaning to, trying to force his body to relax and failing. The sentence didn’t feel good to hear at all, and he had almost known this day would come, even without some psychic ability aiding him in the process. “Tommy,” he said, though his voice had an edge to it, a weakness, that he forced away as he cleared his throat, “Tommy, who told you you killed her?”

“Wilbur said I killed her and I didn’t mean to, dad, I didn’t-- I didn’t know--” He let out another wail and buried his face again, hugging his dad closer. “I didn’t mean to-- I didn’t mean to--” He coughed from the force of his crying and whimpered. “If I hadn’t been born she wouldn’t be dead… If I hadn’t been born, Wil would h-have a mom and you’d have her back-- I should’ve n-never been born--”

Phil had to keep the glare on his face, one that would’ve been directed at Wilbur had he been there. Tommy was already having enough trouble with constant dreams, his fainting episode, and generally acting strange, and of course Wilbur had to add to that. He tried not to let the bias he had get in the way of his parenting, but Wilbur enjoyed causing trouble, even if it meant hurting someone he loved. He was a troubled kid, and Phil knew it was because he’d been through a lot, but he wasn’t helping himself with his actions. He was just tearing a family apart with his constant arguments and fights with Technoblade, and now he was targeting Tommy. Phil clutched his youngest son closer and shushed him softly, petting through his hair some more before pulling back enough to look at him.

“Your mother wanted you more than anything in the world, Tommy. She was so happy to find out you were coming, and even if she’s not here right now, she’s still there. Inside you, and up above. You weren’t unwanted, and even if she passed, it’s not your fault.” He stroked a thumb over Tommy’s cheek, swiping up the tears there and looking into blue eyes with his own and sighing softly. “It was tragic, what happened, but that doesn’t mean I’d have it any other way. I’m very, very happy to have you as my son, even if your mother isn’t here, and I know she would feel the same.” He pushed Tommy’s mop of blond hair back and gazed at him, at his teary eyes and the pain in his features. He was too young for all of this trouble, and Phil gave a small smile, trying to not succumb to freaking the fuck out over the situation. One of his sons was sobbing in his arms, one had stormed into the house and slammed the door to his room without a word to anyone, and the other was leaving in literal days to try and fight a gathering of people for money.

He really had his work cut out for him.

“Your mother loved you, Tommy, and so do I. So does Techno, and so does Wilbur. You are so, so wanted, so don’t listen to Wilbur. He’s getting to an age where he says mean things just to say them.” He studied Tommy’s face as his son started to quiet down, listening to him sniff and try to quiet his sobs.

“Why don’t you love Wilbur like you love me and Techno?”

Tommy’s voice cut through the air, and Phil froze all over again. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was he supposed to say to that? “I love you all equally, Tommy, you’re my three joys in life.” Phil had to force his voice to not shake and he watched his son sniff again and bring a hand up and wipe his nose that was running from the force of his crying.

“Wilbur thinks you hate him.”

Phil carded his fingers through Tommy’s hair, thinking of how it mirrored his own. Tommy looked a lot like him, but also didn’t. It was shocking how many similarities there were in he and his son, but how many differences lay in those as well. He had used to spend ages trying to comb through Tommy’s hair when he was six or so, since his son refused to let it be cut. He’d have to practically force his free hand down on Tommy’s shoulder to get him to stay put in the chair as he tried to get the comb through the rat’s nest that was Tommy’s head of hair. He’d throw fits whenever it was time for a bath, or whenever any hygiene was introduced. Sometimes he’d just get done getting Tommy clean, only for the boy to run outside and play in the dirt and come back inside with a dumb smile on his face, like he knew he was in trouble. Phil could never stay mad at Tommy, either. Tommy was his baby, his youngest, and he was horrible at disciplining him, only doing it when it was absolutely necessary. It was obvious Technoblade had a personal spot in Phil’s heart, but when the man looked at his sleeping son, he would see her. Her peaceful expression, her long eyelashes, everything she had been. When he shouted to show himself off, he was reminded of Emma and how competitive she was. When Tommy expressed more emotion than Phil could possibly comprehend, he recognized that there was a good chunk of his mother inside the boy. Phil sometimes wondered if a little bit of her soul had passed onto him when she had passed, or if he was just like that. He loved Tommy as much as he could, even if it hurt to realize he’d never have the situation he wanted. Phil had known the consequences, had known what would happen, but he’d learnt long ago you can’t change fate.

“I don’t hate Wilbur,” Phil said carefully, “I just get frustrated with him sometimes. He’s… complicated, there’s a lot to him.”

Tommy sniffed again, rubbing at his eyes. “I saw him in a dream-- he looked scary. Like it wasn’t Wilbur, like it was someone else.”

Phil paused. “A dream?”

“He was-- there was a guy in a green hoodie and a weird mask with a smile on it, and Wilbur was talking to him. I can’t remember what about-- but Wil had TNT in his hands, he was gonna blow something up.”

Phil stared at him, fear in his eyes. No. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. “Do you have dreams often, Tommy? What are the nightmares you have about?”

“People dying,” Tommy croaked, “people dying, and fires, and Technoblade hurting people. When I sleep next to you sometimes, I see things in my sleep. It’s like I’m you, like I’m in a war. It always smells like copper. I don’t like that smell.”

Phil’s hands were paused in Tommy’s hair and he suddenly pulled his son close, giving a shaky sigh. “I’m so sorry, Tommy.” Tommy had gotten the curse, he had fucking inherited it, and it was all Phil’s fault. He pressed a gentle kiss to his son’s messy hair and he stood there, just hugging him, just trying to protect him from what he couldn’t. He had fucked up, he had been selfish. If he hadn’t been so fucking selfish then Tommy wouldn’t have this pain, the pain he himself had. If he hadn’t been so selfish, he wouldn’t have his son, sure, but now he had put a child into his shoes, and forced him to walk. He didn’t even notice how long he had been holding Tommy until his son started squirming.

“You can let go, dad,” Tommy said, muffled against his dad’s now damp shirt. “I’m okay, I promise.”

I’m not, Phil wanted to say, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but pulled back, blinking away tears. “How about I run you a hot bath and you can clean yourself up. You smell like dirt and sweat, and we’re going to be eating soon. Wouldn’t want you to gross everyone out with your stench.”

Tommy smiled, and nodded, stepping back and going to take off his jacket.

Phil could only watch as he did so, the guilt of the situation eating at him. His son was going to turn out just as fucked up as he was, and all he could do was let it happen, let fate control it.

Tommy didn’t feel right for days. Everything was building up inside him, and while he’d gotten a small resolution with his dad, now Wilbur was ignoring him alongside Techno. He had never felt so alone in his life, and he figured it was some self-fulfilling prophecy. He’d seen how alone he would end up and now he was alone. He had no one but his dad, and even then, after confessing his dreams, his dad seemed different. He was clingier, and more attentive, constantly checking in on Tommy, hugging him and standing there with some look in his eyes. Tommy wasn’t sure what it was, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know. Wilbur now spent his time locked up in his room, and Techno had gone off for his championship. It was only reasonable that Phil was attached to him now, since he didn’t have a relationship with Wilbur and didn’t attempt one, either. Tommy was the baby of the family, he would always be coddled in one way or another.

It rained on and off for about a week, keeping Tommy inside. He didn’t have much to do, and his dad was insistent on not going out to play in the mud, lest he wanted to catch a cold and have to drink the gross potions his dad had for minor illnesses. He spent his time reading random books he found in his room, going over his comic book collection too many times to count. God, it was boring, and he wanted to go see Wilbur, but he didn’t have the guts to actually do it. The words still hurt him, and while he wasn’t trying to hold a grudge, Tommy wanted to give his brother a piece of his mind.

On Saturday, the sun finally came out, and Tommy rushed outside as quick as he could. Phil warned him multiple times to stay away from the mud that had formed pits in the forest, but Tommy wasn’t even planning on stepping foot in the woods. He wanted to get away from that place, since all it would do was make him think about what Wilbur had said. Their clubhouse had sort of become a deadzone for him, and he didn’t want to go near it.

So, Tommy decided to go on an adventure of sorts. He shoved his leather boots on that were now clean of mud, courtesy of his dad. He got a coat on and shouted that he was going exploring, heading out the door before his dad could pull him into another hug and talk to him for twenty minutes about absolutely nothing. He didn’t understand why things were working out the way they did, but he figured his dad was high-strung about his eldest leaving, his middlest hiding away in his room, and his youngest sobbing that he shouldn’t have been born. It didn’t really matter, it was something that would be resolved with time.

The mud wasn’t as bad as it had been a week earlier, and Tommy figured he could head out to the field that was only a ten minute walk away. It tended to have bees around it, and Tommy was quite fond of watching the fat little things fly around and collect pollen. They were awfully cute when not angered. Wilbur used to take him to the field in the summer and they’d watch the bees flutter around. Wilbur was very good at making flower crowns, something he had learned from Phil, so he had always made one for Tommy first, then himself.

Walking through the dense grass on the way to the field was easier said than done. Tommy hadn’t had his growth spurt yet, and the grass was basically up to his waist. He walked along what little path he could see, before pausing as he got to the entry to the field, seeing a figure.

The figure was around his height with a mop of dark brown hair. He had a green shirt, and he had his head tilted up towards the sky, a bright smile on his face as he watched the bees around him float and do their job. Tommy frowned, wondering why the figure seemed so familiar, and stepped a bit closer, crouching in the tall grass as he watched the boy reach out and gently poke a bee, the fat thing buzzing but seeming completely unbothered. Every time Tommy had fucked with the bees even slightly he ended up getting a whole swarm after him, so his brows went up in a bit of shock as he watched the boy sit down in the tall grass, hearing a soft hum as he went about whatever he was doing. Tommy wondered if he should go say hi. His brain was buzzing with the idea of a new friend, someone to replace Wilbur and Techno, and he forced himself to properly stand, only to slip on the still fresh mud, yelping as he hit the ground. He groaned from where he laid on his back, hearing footsteps, grass being shifted, and suddenly the boy was standing over him.

“Hullo,” the boy said, eyes curious and friendly. Tommy blinked.

“Hi.”

“Are you going to get up?” the boy asked.

“Well, I’m quite comfortable where I am, you see.” Tommy stretched his arms over his head, putting his hands behind his head with a bright grin. “You could join me if you like.”

The boy giggled. “It’s muddy over here-- my dad’ll kill me if I ruin another pair of pants.”

“Ah, a shame. You’re probably not ready for the experience of laying down in a field anyways.”

“The experience?”

“Well, it’s much different than standing in a field, that’s for sure.”

The boy thought for a moment, then gingerly lowered himself onto the dirt, before laying himself down carefully onto his back. A few seconds passed, and he laughed again. “Doesn’t seem much different from standing.”

“Well, you have to really get into it. Relax, do what I’m doing.”

The boy put his hands behind his head and gazed up at the sky.

“Do you feel it?” Tommy asked.

“Well, I do feel the mud oozing into my clothes, if that’s what you mean.”

Tommy burst into loud laughter, the boy beside him starting to laugh, too. He glanced over to him and studied his features, before realizing who it was. It was the boy from his dreams, just younger and with softer features, baby fat still evident in his cheeks. He had a warm smile, and the boy watched him as he watched the boy.

“What’s your name?” Tommy asked.

“Tubbo,” the boy replied.

“Well, Tubbo, I think you just made a new friend. The coolest friend, actually. I’m much cooler than most friends, if I do say so myself. I’m Tommy.”

“Tommy. That’s a good name.”

“Thank you, I’ve had it my whole life.”

“That is how most names work.”

Tommy laughed again, and Tubbo followed suit. He seemed like an agreeable person, very lighthearted and less brash than Tommy, more gentle. It wasn’t even in Tommy’s realm of vision that this was the boy he had seen when he had high-fived Technoblade. It didn’t even occur to him what the future held-- he was just pleased to have a friend. Tubbo brushed a hand through his hair, and when the strands moved it revealed two little dark nubs on his head. Tommy sat up.

“What’re those?” he asked, pointing to a nub and reaching out to touch it. It was hard and a deep brown.

“Horns. They’re, um-- they’re growing in nicely, I think. My dad’s are much bigger… he says that someday I’ll have ones like his,” Tubbo said, a blush rising up to his cheeks as he reached up to touch one of his nubs that he called a horn. His dad was very proud when they first started coming in, telling him that he was becoming something of a man. Tubbo took compliments where he could get them, and was simply pleased that his dad was taking notice of him for once.

“They’re pretty cool,” Tommy said with a smile, the situation still not clicking.

“Thanks!” Tubbo chirped, red staining his cheeks.

“So d’you live out here? I don’t come to the field much anymore-- I haven’t seen you.”

Tubbo shrugged. “My dad and I just moved-- he said he wanted a fresh start. He’s, um, a politician, but he kind of does anything he wants, y’know? He does a lot of things, he’s good at a lot.” Tubbo seemed very hesitant when talking about his dad, and Tommy frowned, but nodded quickly as he pushed the look off his face. He shouldn’t be rude to his new friend and pry about his life. There was no point to it. He couldn’t scare off the only person who was in the same area he was-- he wouldn’t get another chance.

“Sooo…” Tommy said after a moment of silence. “Do you um… what do you like to do?”

“I like bees,” Tubbo blurted without thinking about it.

Tommy blinked again. “Bees aren’t really a hobby, Tubbo.”

“Well--! Well you can breed them, and get their honey! I want a whole bunch of bees someday, ones I can take care of. I like animals a lot, I think animals are nicer than people, they care more.” Tommy nodded in response to Tubbo’s words, he did have a point. Animals did truly care a lot more than people. People were judgemental and had biases. Animals got along with anyone, if they were treated right. Tommy had tried begging Phil to get a dog, but his dad had gone on and on about how if they got a dog, he would be the one taking care of it, not Tommy. Tommy thought that wasn’t true, but his dad was very insistent that they didn’t need pets. Wilbur, at the time, had chimed in that they had Techno, anyways, who was basically a pet pig. Techoblade hadn’t appreciated that.

“A whole lot of bees, huh?” Tommy hummed, thinking of the possibilities of an army of bees. “Bees can be territorial and mean sometimes, y’know.”

“Not if you’re nice to them. Most things are nice to you if you’re nice to them.”

“I s’pose.”

They laid there for awhile longer, talking about nothing really important. The conversation didn’t really matter, but Tommy was enjoying it immensely. He just liked having someone his age to talk to. He found out that Tubbo was nine, that he was from a large city, and that he didn’t like reading. He also found out that Tubbo was kind, gentle, and sweet, but he could tell that from the start. Tubbo could also ramble just as much as him, which was nice. Even though he’d talk a lot, Tubbo was great at listening, too, and he almost enabled Tommy’s jokes, the two of them laughing about dumb things. He told Tubbo a bit about himself, his brothers, his dad. It was a nice talk, and they watched the clouds pass in the sky and watched the bees idly fly around. Tubbo seemed nice, nicer than most. He wasn’t competitive or eager to impress like Techno, and he wasn’t unpredictable like Wilbur. He was his own person, and while he didn’t seem to be much of a leader, (just from guessing) he was very good at tagging onto Tommy’s conversations. Dreams of Tubbo aside, Tommy knew they’d be very, very good friends.

When the sun had crossed the sky a good amount, there was a call from across the field.

“Tubbo! Tubbo, where did you run off to?” the voice called.

Tubbo sat up quickly, “Shoot, it’s my dad.” Tommy sat up close after to get a good look at the guy, and froze when he saw him.

The ram. The ram in the suit. The ram in the suit who had been in his vision. He was standing there, with his clean and tidy hair, a button-up on with the sleeves rolled up, and dress pants. The top two buttons on the shirt were unbuttoned, but even in his casual look, Tommy realized that this wasn’t a man who would ever be his friend. It all clicked at once. The father, the ram, was the same one from the vision, and his son had been the one in the cage-- Tubbo had been the one in the cage. His father had ordered Technoblade to kill his son. Tommy couldn’t think straight, the world almost spinning. The friend he had just met, the one who was supposed to be his best friend-- he was going to be murdered. It didn’t matter if it was years away. Technoblade was going to kill his newly found friend later in life, and Tubbo’s horrible father was the one who orchestrated the kill. Tommy watched Tubbo push himself to his feet, sitting there, frozen and unable to move. The ram walked over and sighed heavily, taking in the sight of his son.

“I just bought you those pants, Tubbo,” he said in a tired voice, though there was an angry edge to it. It wasn’t like how Phil addressed Tommy when he was disappointed. Given what Tommy knew, he had a feeling that Tubbo’s dad wasn’t very nice.

“Sorry,” Tubbo mumbled as he brushed dirt off his nice pants, looking anywhere but his father’s eyes.

The man noticed Tommy then, staring at him for a moment, before it seemed he changed his demeanor like a switch flicking on. The anger in his eyes was replaced with fake cheeriness, and he smiled evenly at Tommy. Tommy didn’t trust that smile.

“And who is this?” he asked, stepping closer. Tommy was still frozen, his words stuck in his throat.

“Um, his name’s Tommy,” Tubbo provided, confused by how shocked his new friend was. He looked very scared… Tubbo didn’t think his dad was that scary, just a bit stern and mean sometimes. Maybe his dad was intimidating from his dark eyes and large horns, though. “He’s my new friend.”

“Cat got your tongue, Tommy?” the ram asked. Tommy shook his head dumbly, and the ram grinned like a wolf looking at its next meal. “Well, you can call me Schlatt. ‘Tubbo’s dad’ is a bit of a mouthful.” He turned his attention to his son. “It’s getting late, come on, Tubbo.”

“Oh, um, okay.” Tubbo nodded, and offered a hand to Tommy to help him up. Tommy took it, feeling all the more numb as skin touched skin and he felt a warm feeling creep onto his skin, Tubbo’s infectious happiness feeling like a summer day. “It was nice to meet you, Tommy. I can come back here tomorrow and see you… right, dad?”

Schlatt nodded. “Of course. Friends are a valuable asset.”

A valuable asset. Christ, what was wrong with this guy? A lot of things, apparently.

Tubbo nodded, and gave a small, but excited wave to Tommy. Tommy could only raise his hand as he glanced to Schlatt with wide eyes.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Tommy. We’ll be seeing you.” Schlatt’s voice was cool, but that edge to it was still there. It was obvious he wasn’t someone you could fuck around with.

“Nice to meet you both,” Tommy said in a small voice.

As the two walked off, the happiness Tommy had felt had been replaced back with that pit in his stomach. His new friend was the son of a manipulator who would end up getting him killed. This was… fucked up. Beyond fucked up. So messed up. Tommy pushed a hand through his hair and glanced around the field, swallowing thickly. Fate was something funny, but there had to be a way to change it, to save Tubbo from dying a horrible death. There had to be, right?

Tommy had to change fate, he just didn’t know how yet.

Chapter Text

“So your brother is fighting against Dream? The Dream?” Tubbo’s eyes were shining and he sat in the field, palms pushed into his chin as he gazed at Tommy with something akin to adoration. Tommy didn’t understand what the big deal was, or who this Dream guy really was. Some epic fighter, according to Tubbo. Tubbo had come from a large city, one Tommy couldn’t even pronounce the name of, and he knew all the news that Tommy didn’t. Sometimes Phil would go into town and grab a newspaper, but they didn’t get much news otherwise. Their television, one that was old and worn, sometimes got channels and sometimes didn’t. Phil was trying to get it in working order to actually watch his son fight in a championship, since it was being broadcasted publicly, all across the land. Tommy hadn’t really realized how big of a deal this all was. Apparently the fights were a huge thing, and Tubbo had been looking forward to them for months, eagerly awaiting reports. It occurred to Tommy that because of everything that had been going on in his own life, he hadn’t bothered to question Technoblade about the fights, how important they were to him. He felt bad about it, but tried to push the thoughts aside as he spoke.

“Yeah, I guess he is,” Tommy replied, pushing a hand through his hair as he looked away from Tubbo and out into the expanse of the field. It was sunny, once again, and though he had been talking to Tubbo for only days, he felt an immense amount of comfort from just being near the boy. He’d had to shake the thought of what would happen in the future multiple times, trying to enjoy what time he had. If he focused on the negatives now, he would never see the glimmer of hope that laid in the friendship. Part of Tommy wanted to ruin everything, to tell Tubbo what his fate was, what his dad would do to him. The other part said to shut up and stay quiet, not ruin Tubbo’s life in the name of something that Tommy could possibly prevent. Tubbo was so happysweet. He didn’t want his friend to know the horrors of the world that he had been cursed to learn. He couldn’t do that to Tubbo. “Who is Dream anyways? What’s his deal?”

Tubbo gawked at him. “How have you not heard? He’s the biggest fighter in the country! And-- and he’s only sixteen!”

“I live in the woods, Tubbo, news doesn’t just show up at my door,” Tommy huffed, softening when his friend looked a little hurt at his tone. He offered a smile after a moment, trying to make up for it. “Tell me about him.”

“Well, um…” Tubbo thought for a moment. “He wears a green hoodie-- bright green, it’s his signature look-- and… and he has a mask! It has this smile on it, it’s kind of creepy. Someone told me that it’s because he has a messed up face, but I dunno if that’s true or not-- he’s great with a sword and…”

Tommy couldn’t focus on Tubbo’s words. Dream was the man from his first dream, there was no way he couldn’t be. Dream was going to be the one to turn his brother into a monster who wielded TNT and shouted his way around. Tommy hadn’t had too many dreams about Wilbur, but the reality was setting in: neither of his brothers were good people. Or at least, in the future they wouldn’t be. Tommy was too young to understand a morally grey issue, or how the brains of the traumatized worked. Things were black and white for him, good or bad, and he knew that Wilbur and Technoblade weren’t the good guys. They were now, sure, but something would change them in the future. Something would make them into beings of power, extreme power and anger. He couldn’t imagine Technoblade, his brother who had used to hold him when he cried, killing people. He couldn’t think of WIlbur, his brother who played guitar and laughed harder than anyone at Tommy’s jokes, as anything but someone great. The harsh truth was being revealed that no one was truly good, and he wondered if that’s how he would turn out, too: a bad guy. He thought briefly on that tired boy he had seen, gaunt and beaten down. That was going to be him, that would be him in a few short years, and he didn’t know how to prevent it.

He didn’t know how to change fate, or if it was even possible. He was just a kid-- kids didn’t do that kind of stuff. They worried about stupid, trivial things, like what to eat for dinner and if they should part with their favorite stuffed animal for a few hours so it could be washed. He was a kid, he wanted so desperately to be a kid. He wanted to forget all of this.

Tommy was snapped out of his thoughts when a hand touched his skin, warm and comforting. That same feeling of Tubbo from their first meeting had come back: that feeling of adoration and love. It now had a hint of worry to it, but Tommy felt the warmth spread through his skin, into his blood. He looked up at his friend, blinking in confusion.

“Tommy? Are you okay?” Tubbo asked softly, eyes heavy with concern.

Tommy nodded, trying to find his words, Tubbo’s warm hand still on him. “I… I’m just worried.”

“About what?”

“Do…” He had to find a way to phrase things. “Do you ever realize that someone you thought was really, really good… isn’t a good person?”

Tubbo paused, then nodded slowly. “I think about that a lot, actually.”

“With your dad?”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a moment, just staring at each other. Tommy sighed heavily and laid back in the field, Tubbo following suit. “I think my brothers aren’t as great as I thought they were, I guess. Maybe that’s just how it is when you grow up.”

“Well-- my dad says everyone shows their “true colors” at some point,” Tubbo said quietly.

“I think your dad has already shown his. No offense.”

“Um. Yeah. None taken.”

“I just--” Tommy sighed again, rubbing at his eyes in frustration. “I get these-- these feelings of what’s gonna happen in the future, and it scares me. I can almost see it in front of me, like I have to sit there and watch everyone I know turn out to be bad. I don’t want to hate either of them, but I messed stuff up-- I made them not like me because I’m… different.” It wasn’t untrue. “Wilbur’s mad because my dad doesn’t really-- I dunno-- connect with him? They’re not how they should be, my dad doesn’t really like him… and Technoblade is becoming this big fighter, and I’m scared it’s going to make him into a bad guy.”

Tubbo made a soft noise, obviously concerned. “Maybe you should talk to someone about it, actually um… confront them? Like, tell them that you don’t like what they’re doing?”

“Like they’d listen to their stupid little brother,” Tommy grumbled.

“You’re more than their stupid little brother-- you aren’t even stupid! You’re very smart-- and you make me really happy. I’m happy to be your friend, even if it’s only been a couple of days. I think you’re one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met, so don’t listen to two jerks who don’t think like you do.” Tubbo’s words were honest, genuine, and Tommy glanced over, studying him. He swallowed, thinking about how this nice boy he knew, his only friend, was going to be broken beyond repair.

“I think you’re really cool, too, Tubbo,” he said softly, trying to hide the sadness in his voice. How could someone hurt Tubbo? He was so nice. He wouldn’t hurt someone on purpose, not ever.

Tubbo smiled at him, warm and bright. Tommy offered a hesitant smile back. If he didn’t have anyone on his side, if everyone viewed him as some freak or something they should attack, he at least knew Tubbo would never do that to him. Tubbo’s fingers brushed his, and Tommy shifted, lacing their fingers together and staring up at the sky. That warm feeling washed over him again, and Tommy sighed softly, his eyes falling shut as he let the sun shine down on them.

He at least had Tubbo.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea, dad,” Tommy said, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

Since their television worked maybe ten percent of the time it was turned on, Phil had come up with a grand idea to watch the fight. Tommy had mentioned to Tubbo that they’d probably have to read the fight in the paper, figure out the results there, and his friend had offered to ask his dad if they could come over to watch it at his house. Tommy was incredibly hesitant. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Schlatt, but he was eager to watch his brother fight, as awful as the idea was. He was torn between not enabling Technoblade’s destructive behavior and watching a cool showdown between the man of his nightmares and his eldest brother. Tubbo had come back the next day, excited that his dad had agreed, and Tommy had brought the news to Phil, who was just as eager. His dad didn’t even know how bad Schlatt was, what he could do-- Tommy hadn’t told him. He hadn’t told anyone about what would happen to Tubbo, only what he saw Technoblade do, and it was eating him up. He desperately wanted to warn people that Schlatt wasn’t a good person, that he was a monster, but he didn’t know how to go about explaining it. Maybe he would’ve told Techno had he been home, but he wasn’t, and Wilbur was still sulking even a full two weeks after the fight they’d had. There was no one to turn to, and it’s not like he could go up to Tubbo and announce that his father was going to kill him. He had contemplated telling his own dad, but it seemed like a bad idea. Phil had been extremely protective of him, the situation worsening when he had gotten home from the field after meeting Schlatt with an exhausted expression full of pure dread. Tommy hadn’t even bothered with going to his dad and trying to discuss it. He had instead gone to his room, curled up in bed, and forced himself to sleep.

“Tommy, we’re supporting your brother by watching this event-- this is a big deal,” Phil spoke as he got one of his shoes on, then called out. “Wilbur, get out of bed and get dressed! We’re leaving in ten minutes, and you’re coming with!”

Wilbur appeared in the doorway in seconds, a frown on his face. “I’m out of bed, don’t worry, Phil.” He had taken to referring to his father by his first name, something that only worsened their already unstable relationship. Phil gave his son an exasperated look and went to grab his coat, looking to Tommy.

“Why are you so apprehensive about seeing your friend? You like Tubbo, don’t you?”

“Yeah, he does, he never shuts up about him,” Wilbur said with an almost smirk. Tommy scowled at him and pulled one of his boots on.

“Sorry that I actually have friends,” he said with as much vitriol as he could muster. Phil gave Tommy a look, and he shut up before he could say another word.

“No fighting. Today is a good day, it’s an exciting day,” their father warned. Wilbur rolled his eyes, biting back his tongue. Tommy liked talking about Tubbo at dinner, about all the interesting things he was learning about his friend. It wasn’t his fault that he was excited someone actually cared about his interests and indulged him with talking about stupid topics. Wilbur had used to do that, now he was a moody jerk who picked fights, and Technoblade wasn’t even around to tell Wilbur to shut up and stop being a prick.

They had to travel by horse, something Tommy was at least excited about. He never got to ride his father’s horse, and he loved that thing to death. It was a large, pretty horse, his eyes a dark brown and his body splattered with black dots over his white coat. It was the closest thing to a pet they had, and Tommy was just happy when his dad helped him up onto it, climbing up after while Wilbur walked beside them. It was through the field, across a sort of dirt path, and just outside of town before they arrived at the house.

It was an elegant house, built by workers instead of Schlatt himself, obviously. Tommy had a feeling Schlatt had never worked a day in his life unlike Tommy’s own father. Phil had built his house by hand before Technoblade had even been in the picture. It wasn’t the biggest house, or the fanciest, but it felt like home. This house seemed more like it was for show, with its large pillars on the porch, and it’s white door. It definitely seemed like the place a politician would stay in, though Tommy had never met one of those before Schlatt. He wasn’t really sure what they did, exactly, he figured it must be pretty important if the house the ram lived in was this nice, though.

Schlatt answered the door before Phil could even knock, like he’d been expecting them. The horse was loosely tied up on a lead, and Tommy took a glance back at it, wishing he could just go home and go stew in his bed. Why should he have to watch his dumb brother fight a dumb fight? The anger was still on his mind when he heard a shout of excitement and Tubbo came running out, pulling his friend into a tight hug and talking loudly about how cool it was going to be to watch this. Tommy laughed a bit and hugged back, trying to ignore that feeling in his stomach. As much as he didn’t want to see a bloodthirsty half-pig take on about ten different opponents, he was hoping Technoblade would pull through and beat them all. It wasn’t a fight to the death, he had to remind himself, it was just a normal fight.

“Are you a betting man, Watson?” Schlatt asked after he had greeted them, allowing the three into his home. Wilbur looked amazed by all the decor, the white aesthetic to it, as he toed off his shoes. Pictures hung on the walls, some of Schlatt, a few of him and Tubbo, some of scenic views. There was carpet in the house, something neither of Phil’s sons were used to, and the windows in the house were large and open, grand entryways of sorts everywhere as well. It was definitely a rich person’s house, something the Watson family was not.

“Oh, for the right price I am,” Phil replied easily as he took off his shoes at the door, half listening to Tommy and Tubbo chatter excitedly, then glancing to Wilbur who couldn’t help but run his fingers along a large tapestry on the walls. He hoped that thing wasn’t too expensive, and that Wilbur wouldn’t get any dirt on it. To be fair, he had ordered both his children to take a bath before they came over, something Tommy had complained about the entire time leading up to it. Hopefully things would go well.

“Is your son a talented warrior?” Schaltt asked as he walked over to a bar of sorts, getting two glasses before Phil could say no.

“The best I’ve seen,” Phil replied honestly as he watched Schlatt’s hands linger over bottles of expensive liquor. He himself didn’t drink in front of his kids, something he wasn’t too keen on doing, but it was a celebration, they might as well get into the spirit.

“You taught him yourself?” the half-ram asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes, and he picked it up far quicker than I expected.”

“I have a good bet on that Dream kid, but I’m assuming your money is on your son, right?” Schlatt took a bottle of aged whiskey off the shelf in front of him, pouring a liberal amount into the two glasses.

“What kind of father would I be if I didn’t support my son?” Phil asked, chuckling a bit. “He’s great at what he does.”

“Dream fights with an axe, and he’s very, very good with a bow. Kid’s got accuracy, something I haven’t seen in a long time-- not since fighting was common in this country.”

Tommy glanced up from where he sat on the soft carpet with Tubbo, starting to listen in.

“Oh, I know, the wars were terrible-- I fought in them, earned a few shiny bits of metal that I have in a box,” Phil spoke as the whiskey was handed to him, glancing down to the two ice cubes that floated in the dark liquid. “I don’t think they’re really worth it.”

“No war is,” Schlatt responded, “that old president was a sham-- should’ve had better control over his people. Rebellions need to be squashed before they can start-- you can’t put a fire out once it’s in the house.”

Phil nodded, taking a sip of the drink in his hand and forcing himself not to grimace at the taste. God this shit was strong, did Schlatt drink this often? He had a young son, Phil didn’t see how he could go around drinking all day. He looked to Wilbur who was plopped down on the carpet, running his fingers over the plush of it again and again. It looked like a sort of fur, rather than some fake fabric. Most places of politicians (Tommy had mentioned that’s what this man did for a living) had the most expensive furs and items. Phil wasn’t exactly a minimalist, but he didn’t have a ton of things in his home-- not when he had three sons constantly running around, able to break anything with enough force. Not to mention how Wilbur had been acting lately. Phil had been to many rich houses when he was awarded for his efforts in the war, for how hard he had worked. The medals didn’t mean anything, not anymore, not after what he had seen. He had felt empty as he earned them, a stoic expression on his face as they had been pinned to his nice suit. They didn’t mean anything aside from destruction.

Schlatt hummed as he took a long drink of the whiskey, and stepped towards the couch, flicking on the TV with a controller he had grabbed from somewhere. It was much nicer than the one at their own home, mounted to the wall, and Tommy almost wanted to get up and touch the smooth screen, feel the static on his fingers. He glanced to Wilbur, whose eyes were trained on the screen as the picture blipped into focus. The announcement was loud and proud, and Tubbo grinned brightly, nudging Tommy.

“That’s Mr. Beast, the guy talking? He set up this whoooole thing, he made it so basically anyone could join, that’s why your brother can even join this. Isn’t that cool? It’s equality, it’s crazy-- you never see that kind of stuff.”

“Tubbo, be quiet,” Schlatt spoke quickly, shutting up his son, though the grin didn’t leave the boy’s face. All of them were excited, and Tommy had realized that the pit in his stomach had lightened for the first time in weeks.

“Holy shit,” Wilbur said softly.

Holy shit was right. Technoblade was the main focus of the screen, having taken down fight after fight. It was like he didn’t get tired. The half-pig had beaten opponent after opponent, and while everyone was cheering, Tommy was sitting in shock. It was kind of like awe, but the fact that Technoblade was this capable of hurting people, knowing what he was going to do in the future… it sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. He felt a horrible feeling in his chest knowing these moves would be used on many-- including Tubbo. He glanced to his friend sitting next to him. Tubbo’s eyes were glued to the television, his small body leaning far forward, as if he could imagine he was there. Tommy looked to Wilbur, who had wide eyes, but a bright grin on his face as he watched their older brother fight. Phil was practically vibrating in his seat behind them, cheering every few minutes, or gasping when there was a slight falter in Technoblade’s steps. Schlatt, next to him, lazily sat, sipping his whiskey with a smirk on his face.

“Another win for the competitor Technoblade! I’ve never seen anything like this!” the TV boomed as the camera zoomed in on a grinning Technoblade, his eyes blown with something that Tommy had never seen before. Was it bloodlust?

“That’s right you’ve never seen anything like this before!” Phil said loudly behind Tommy, taking another sip of his drink, “My boy’s the best you’ve ever seen.”

“I have to admit, Phil, you raised a champion,” Schlatt said with a soft chuckle.

Phil laughed loudly. “Damn right I did!” He’d had a bit too much to drink, but how could he not? This was amazing.

Tommy looked back to the screen, watching a new figure come out on the camera. A boy donned in green, tight leggings on, and leather boots and a leather chestplate. Only minimal armor was allowed in these fights, but Technoblade wasn’t wearing anything. He was in his simple, flowing shirt, his dark brown pants, with his hoof-like feet on the dirt ground of the arena. Tommy studied the boy who had just emerged. It was the man from his dream, he noted it immediately. Dream was wearing his signature mask, and the camera zoomed on him as people cheered in the sidelines of the actual game, excited to see the professional that this boy was. Dream was a champion, but Technoblade was a god. Tommy’s eyes scanned Dream’s lithe figure as the video on the screen panned over him, then flashed back to Technoblade. He had a bright grin on his face, his tusk like teeth bared in the process. Tommy swallowed and leaned forward a bit, trying to absorb all the information he could just from the video alone.

“We’ve come to the final battle-- Technoblade against Dream himself. These two are evenly matched, but Technoblade has proven himself strong. It’s amazing that someone unknown will become famous overnight, even if he doesn’t win--”

“Oh, he’s going to win,” Phil interjected.

“--the two will face off in a three round battle, and it seems the crowd has a favorite.”

Tommy listened to the crowd on the screen, hearing the chant over and over again.

TECH-NO-BLADE, TECH-NO-BLADE, TECH-NO-BLADE!

Tommy swallowed, hands nervously messing with his jeans, fingers running over the fabric again and again.

Technoblade stepped forward, getting up to the line where he was supposed to stand as Dream followed. If Dream had any fear on his face, it was blocked by his mask. Techno, on the other hand, looked prepared to fight. He looked ready to win, and he had that look in his eyes, that bloodlust. The eldest brother drew his sword with ease, looking to the blade before grinning at Dream once more. Dream shook his shoulders, as if hyping himself up for the duel. The buzzer to start the fight went off, and it had begun.

Technoblade jumped back as Dream swung almost immediately. He ran back, then to the side as Dream chased him with his axe, a diamond one. Meanwhile, Technoblade stood with his own diamond sword. Dream may have been agile, but Technoblade was fast. Dream ran at him to swing, and Technoblade ducked, swiping his foot out under Dream, hitting one leg and making the boy stumble a bit. He jumped back quickly as Dream caught himself before the green-hooded boy straightened, going to run, then jump. Dream brought his axe down at Technoblade with strength, and it grazed Technoblade’s shoulder as he moved, tearing his shirt and drawing blood. Technoblade paused, only for a second, then brought his sword to the side of Dream’s chestplate, diamond hitting leather. The swing was hard enough to knock Dream to the ground, but he jumped up just as easily. Technoblade moved as he jumped, angling his sword right to connect with Dream’s mask, the porcelain chipping in the process as the mask slid up. With the quality of the camera, it was easy to see that the boy’s voice was scarred, even though only his mouth was shown. He had a spiderweb of cracks over his lips, and he quickly moved, shoving his mask back down and going right back at Technoblade.

As he moved, Technoblade spun and kicked his hoofed leg hard into Dream’s chest, sending the boy onto his back. As soon as he had succeeded in his attack, Technoblade brought the tip of his sword to his opponents throat, a triumphant smirk on his face. He had won round one.

“A point to Technoblade! If he wins this next round, it’s all over, folks!” the cheery announcer proclaimed into his microphone. The crowd cheered, and they weren’t the only ones.

Phil was shouting, whooping and hollering as he clapped. “That’s my boy!”

“Your brother’s amazing, Tommy!” Tubbo said next to his friend, excitedly shaking his friend a bit. “Look at him! No one has beaten Dream that fast!”

Tommy dumbly nodded, too shocked for words, while Wilbur cheered beside him. It was odd to see his older brother so excited for his other brother, so proud of him. They usually fought nonstop, but Wilbur was sitting there like they had never been enemies, like they were thick as thieves. Tommy felt a swell of pride at the idea of Techno winning, but his anxiety was getting to him. Dream was supposed to be amazing, but he was getting his ass kicked by Technoblade. What would happen when Technoblade’s fights had consequences? When they led to deaths?

The second round wasn’t as smooth. Dream and Technoblade had both gone to get a drink and patch up minor injuries. It seemed that Dream realized this wasn’t going to go as easily as he planned, that he had to try harder. As soon as the buzzer sounded, he lunged forward, bringing his axe to Technoblade’s arm. Techno reared back in pain, stepping as the axe was pulled back, then brought for another swing. With Technoblade’s free hand, he grabbed the handle of the axe, just below the blade, stalling it as he brought his sword into the same spot that he had the previous round, obviously going for a spot that was already weak. As he did, though, Dream moved and slammed his head into Technoblade’s face, his hard mask hitting the soft skin of Techno’s face and the bone underneath. Technoblade stumbled back, trying to regain himself, and Dream moved when he had time, bringing the axe hard into Technoblade’s already wounded shoulder. If Technoblade wanted to play dirty, Dream could do the same. Technoblade gasped, though the camera didn’t pick up the noise. He tried to grab the handle again, but Dream grabbed him by his long hair, wrenching his hand as he shifted the blade that was dug into Technoblade’s shoulder, throwing him to the ground as he yanked the axe out and aimed the diamond edge at Technoblade’s throat, who looked up in shock.

“That’s a dirty move!” Phil shouted. “How do they allow that?! How is that allowed?!”

“It’s an anything goes fight, Watson, you know that,” Schlatt chuckled as he sipped his drink again, grinning brightly.

Tommy watched as they reset the round and Technoblade had some kind of potion to heal himself. How he could stand the taste of those things, Tommy didn’t know, but it worked. His skin was healed when he stepped back out to the ring, the rip in his shirt still stained with blood, determination on his face. He looked like he was out for blood, Tommy figured he probably was.

“It’s evenly matched, folks! Whoever wins the next round will be our champion!”

“C’mon, Techno…” Wilbur said softly, eyes wide as he sat on the floor with his chin in his palms, elbows on his thighs. Even though he had some kind of anger towards his brother most days, he wanted success for the other. He couldn’t lose, there was no way.

The buzzer sounded, and Technoblade jumped back again. He ran to the tools that were laid out for him and grabbed a fishing rod, a move that Tommy wasn’t sure was a good one. These rods were lined with steel rather than normal line that would break easily. They were meant to grip and pull, and Technoblade knew that. He held a sword in one hand, and a rod in the other. Dream looked confused, but he ran at Technoblade, who slid under him as he brought the tip of the sword up as he did so. The sharp blade sliced through leather and almost ripped it in half, the poor chestplate hanging on by a thread. Dream noticed this when he stood and he threw the armor to the side, readying himself and running at Technoblade again. Techno dodged, and as he did so, he hooked the lure of the rod into Dream’s newly revealed hoodie and yanked, pulling the boy to the ground. Dream fell, but forced himself up, trying to get the hook out, and succeeded only by ripping his hoodie. He lunged at his opponent while Technoblade tried to fix the rod, only for the pigman to drop the rod completely and run to the side.

Dream lunged at him again, giving a shout as he tried to bring his axe down. Technoblade’s hair was now unruly, strands in his face, and the axe’s diamond blade nicked the hairs there, slicing them off with how sharp it was. Technoblade was running out of options, with how hard Dream was going. It seemed that whenever he ran, Dream was after him. Whenever he dodged, Dream was swinging. He moved as fast as he could, but soon he was against a corner, Dream nearing him. The crowd was insane, shouting and screaming, and Technoblade figured out what he could do. The fishing rod was near, and he allowed Dream to feel like he had achieved victory.

The brother grabbed the rod, snapping the wood of it and ripping the steel line out. Dream looked like he was amused, despite his face not being shown, and he ran at Technoblade, but Techno knew exactly what he was doing. He slid again, a dirt cloud forming in the air as he moved under Dream’s spread legs, then jumped up, the line in his hands. He moved behind Dream quickly, and wrapped the line around his throat, pulling, pulling, pulling…

“He’s going to kill him!” Tommy shouted in a panic. This wasn’t supposed to be a fight to the death! What was Technoblade doing?! He was going to kill Dream! Tommy had been right, he had been right, Technoblade was a monster, a murderer, he was--

Dream gasped and dropped his axe as the steel line cut into his neck, scrambling as his hands moved to claw at his throat. The camera moved to Technoblade’s face as it caught the action, and his eyes had that horrible look in them. Bloodlust. Evil. Tommy knew he had been right, he had known. He knew that his brother wasn’t a good person, even if just a few short months ago he had been sure of it. He was horrified, and his family was sitting there in shock. What was wrong with Technoblade? What had gotten into him? How could someone support this? How could Phil be proud? He was killing someone! He was hurting someone for fun! Tommy’s eyes were wide with fear, and he wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to watch someone die.

The buzzer sounded, and Technoblade’s arms went slack, and he let go of the line completely, stepping back.

“Technoblade is our champion!” the announcer boomed, and Tommy blinked as everyone around him cheered, even Schlatt who had bet on Dream. Everyone was just amazed to see a fight like that, to see Technoblade use every skill he had to win. Everyone but Tommy.

“He won!” Phil cackled as he threw his head back, Wilbur jumping up from where he had been sitting. He jumped into his dad’s lap without thinking about it, hugging him.

“He won, he won!” Wilbur cheered as his dad hugged him. Tommy was shocked, just sitting there and watching the screen as the referee of sorts raised Technoblade’s right arm in victory. A grin of what seemed like madness was on Technoblade’s face, and Tommy wasn’t even sure if he could celebrate. His brother had nearly killed someone. He had proven his ability. Tommy had seen Technoblade fight in the backyard, but it was nothing compared to this fight. Dummies didn’t claw at their necks and beg for mercy while they were strangled, they didn’t scream in pain. They didn’t do anything because they weren’t alive, they were dummies. Technoblade could kill someone, and he almost had. It was terrifying to think about, and he stiffened when he felt Tubbos arms thrown around him, the boy laughing loudly as Tommy watched the screen, unable to move as the camera focused on his brother as he shook Dream’s hand as a sort of peaceful treaty. A little ‘sorry for strangling you’ move. How was this okay? How did people adore Technoblade? How could they? Maybe it was because they didn’t know what Technoblade would do in the future. In the future, he wouldn’t be hurting people for a prize or for glory. He would be doing it because he wanted to.

Tommy stared at the screen as things began to calm down in the room, still numb from this whole experience. The camera came up to Technoblade again, and a microphone was brought up to his mouth.

“What do you have to say to the crowd? We’ve never seen anything like that!”

Technoblade grinned, hungry for something more than a prize of money and adoring fans.

“Blood for the blood god.”

Chapter Text

It took another few days for Technoblade to even arrive home, given how far the city had been and how he’d had to travel. It was by boat and his own two feet, no wonder it took so long. Phil cleaned for days before he got home, dust being his mortal enemy. Tommy got a good amount of snippiness and exasperation from his father when he came running in from the field, sometimes with Tubbo in tow. They tracked dirt in, and Phil had even found a good amount of spiderwebs that had formed, no doubt from his youngest leaving the door open when he ran in and out. Phil had spent his time sweeping floors and trying to destroy spiders from the source. Sure, they weren’t the big mobs that attacked people, but the daddy long legs that infested the cellar the house had weren’t very fun either. Wilbur seemed fearless against them, picking one up and chasing a screaming Tommy around the house with it. It seemed his boys were slowly starting to get along again, and Phil wondered if the fight had brought them closer. He wouldn’t be surprised, it had been a duel of epic proportions.

“When is Technoblade getting home again?” Wilbur asked as he looked up from his notebook, curled up on the couch. “It’s been forever, dad.” He had been writing incessantly over the past few days, song after song. He had even let Tommy into his mess of a room to listen to him play, singing the words softly as his fingers shifted and plucked the strings of his guitar with ease. Tommy was a bit jealous of how musically gifted his older brother was, but he focused more on the glee he had simply from being allowed to observe. From just being treated like a brother again.

“He should be home soon, don’t worry too much. I know you miss him,” Phil spoke as he worked at scrubbing at the dirt that had collected on the mantle above the fireplace. How did dirt get this bad, this stuck on to things?

“I don’t miss him,” Wilbur retorted, scribbling into his notebook, “I just want someone here so I don’t have to deal with Tommy following me like a lost dog.”

Phil chuckled as Tommy, who was sat on the wood floor, reading a comic book, gave an indignant noise. It was obvious that Wil cared about Technoblade, he was just at the age where feelings were dumb and he wanted to act like an emotionless adult.

Technoblade arrived later in the day, the front door creaking open to announce his arrival. Tommy, despite everything, was excited to see his brother. Maybe if he acted normal, things would be normal. Maybe if he pretended that Technoblade hadn’t strangled his opponent with a steel line, then things would be okay. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Ignorance is bliss?

Phil jumped up from where he had been sitting, rushing over to his eldest and pulling him into a crushing hug, his son laughing in the process. Wilbur came running over and joined the hug, and Tommy forced himself up off the floor and hesitantly wrapped his short arms around Technoblade and the rest of his family. Things almost seemed normal this way, like he hadn’t seen horrible things in the past months. Like they were just a normal family, not three fucked up kids and a dad who was trying his best. Not messed up, just a little broken, just a little tired. Technoblade pulled back and he set his large backpack down, opening the drawstring of it and rummaging through. It was enchanted to be basically bottomless and hold whatever he needed, courtesy of Phil.

“I brought you gifts,” Technoblade spoke as he pulled out a case and handed it over to Wilbur. Wilbur opened it after staring for a moment and gasped.

“A TRUMPET?! OH MY GOD--” he shouted, making Phil wince and instinctively cover his ears at the noise. “OH MY GOD-- I don’t even know how to play this but thank you! Thank you, Technoblade!” He pulled his brother into a tight hug, laughing loudly and then rushing off with the trumpet. “I’m going to write so many songs, this is all you’re going to hear for the next month!”

“You got him one of the loudest instruments that takes a lot of effort to play, huh?” their dad questioned, quirking a brow. “Seems more like a punishment than a present.” Technoblade gave a wave of his hand and looked to Tommy. Tommy stared back, unease settling in his chest as his childish mind tried to figure out what his brother had in store for him. Part of him hoped it was some kind of animal, but his mind also figured that it could be anything. Maybe a severed head. Maybe some dead thing. He wouldn’t put it past Techno. The eldest boy shifted through the bag then slowly and carefully grabbed the handle of something and pulled it out.

It was a netherite sword. Holy crap. Tommy had never seen one in person, and he gently laid out his hands so Technoblade could place it in his palms. It was heavy, and the boy's arms sagged with the weight of the sword. Tommy plopped himself down on the wood floor and ran his fingers over the blade, being careful not to cut himself. He gazed up at Technoblade in awe, who grinned at him.

“I figured you could train and learn how to fight-- might as well carry on the Watson name alongside me, huh?”

Tommy continued to stare.

“What do you say, Tommy?” Phil prompted.

“Thank you.” Tommy’s words were full of shock, and he looked down at the sword. Okay, it was kind of cool. It was kind of really cool. It was kind of huge, though, and heavy. He forced himself to try and bring the blade up, even with his arms slightly trembling from the weight. How had Technoblade carried this thing all by himself? He had to have muscles, insane muscles. Body-builder muscles. He touched the handle, looking at the engraving on the metal. Tommy W. It was so thoughtful, and it was actually really cool. Really, really cool. Tommy got to his feet, gently depositing the sword and pulling his brother into a hug. Technoblade was tall, and Tommy really only came up to his shoulders, but the hug was warm and welcoming. He felt the deep chuckle of Technoblade, the vibration of his chest as he laughed. Technoblade’s fingers went to linger on the back of his brother’s neck, skin touching skin. For the first time in a long while, Tommy didn’t feel that anger towards his brother, that fear. Technoblade was radiating warmth, pride, and Tommy pushed his face into his brother’s shoulder, almost feeling like he could cry. He had wanted his brother back, he wanted everything to be normal. Things almost felt normal, and he gave a shaky noise, almost like a laugh bordering on a cry for help. Technoblade’s calloused fingers pushed into his hair, playing with the messy, blond strands.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Tommy mumbled, voice laden with emotion as his fingers pushed into the fabric of Technoblade’s shirt. He still had that Technoblade smell-- woodsy with a hint of sweat. It was so comforting, and Tommy relished the moment, hoping it would never end. He didn’t want reality to come back, he didn’t. He wanted to stay there, in his brother’s arms, with his dad and his other brother. He wanted his family, he wanted to forget and not think about the future. He’d been thinking about it for months now, and all he wanted to do was stay in the present, not the past, not the horrid memories that hadn’t happened yet. He wanted to be a kid.

“Glad to be back,” Technoblade responded.

The words almost felt like a promise to Tommy, a promise that his brother would always be the brother he wanted. A promise for something good.

Wilbur’s trumpet playing was torture, and Tommy had begun to resent the brass instrument. He was glad Wilbur was at least musically gifted, that he would learn how to play, but the noises sounded harsh, like a dying animal. Tommy groaned as he laid his head on the table they were eating breakfast at. He hadn’t gotten any sleep from Wilbur’s playing at random hours, and Wilbur seemed to not be bothered in the slightest as he chomped on a piece of toast, grinning brightly. “I think I’m getting better at playing.”

“It sounds like you’re hurting an animal in your room,” Tommy mumbled, rubbing at his tired eyes as he glanced at his brother, chin resting on the table, hands in his hair. Wilbur grinned at him, bright and childish, not like the angry boy he’d been in the past few weeks.

“Guess I’ll have to keep practicing and play louder, then,” he said, taking another bite of toast. Tommy groaned again.

Technoblade raised a brow at Tommy. “You’re saying you don’t like hearing the sound of dying animals.”

“Does anyone?!” Tommy questioned loudly, lifting his head a bit, then putting it back down when Phil shushed him.

“It’s too early to be yelling,” his dad chastised.

“But not too early for trumpeting!” Wilbur replied proudly.

Breakfast concluded and Phil went to do dishes as Technoblade got to his feet. He looked to Tommy, who stretched as he got out of his chair. “Do you want to go on a little adventure?” Tommy blinked. An adventure? He hadn’t gone out with just Techno in a long, long time. It was always Wilbur or Phil with them. He wasn’t sure how good of an idea it was, given the situation, but he was rather excited to have alone time with Technoblade after he had been gone for so long. He hadn’t been away from his brother that long ever in his life-- some much needed brother time had to happen. Tommy nodded quickly as Technoblade looked to their father who was focused on dishes.

“Is it okay if Tommy and I go out?” the pigman asked, cocking his head a bit. Phil looked up from his dishes.

“Don’t get into trouble,” he replied, “and if you track dirt into the house I spent days cleaning, I’ll be angry.”

Technoblade nodded firmly and looked to Tommy. “Go get ready, wear your boots.”

“What are we going to be doing?”

“You’ll see.”

“Do you know what an apex predator is, Tommy?” Technoblade asked as they walked through the forest. The ground was firm, luckily, the mud having gone away once the sun had shown itself again. Tommy was happy for the sun, even if there was a slight chill to the spring air. Tommy’s birthday was almost there, just a few short weeks away now that March was upon them. He was excited for cake, mostly, something that was more of a luxury. Their father didn’t bake treats like that outside of birthdays and other holidays, and Tommy was elated to find that his dad had made a list that was pinned on the fridge, one that had a list of cake materials on it. Tommy tried to ask for a different kind of cake every year, just so he could try them all, and he had requested red velvet this year, one he had never had. Nevermind that it was just dyed cake with a different type of frosting-- it was red, and that was Tommy’s favorite color.

“A what?” Tommy asked as he walked alongside his brother, his brows furrowing as he tried to figure out what it meant on his own.

“An apex predator. It’s the animal that’s on top of the food chain, the most powerful one,” Technoblade explained. “Like lions, tigers, killer whales and polar bears. Humans are considered the highest level of apex predator. They can take down whatever they need to for whatever reason, with enough skill and power.” He glanced to Tommy, then looked back ahead. “An apex predator is something you shouldn’t mess with, something that you can’t just take on alone.’

“Why’re you telling me this?” Tommy questioned.

“I want to teach you, Tommy. Wilbur isn’t as skilled as you are when it comes to fighting and arguing, and he’s less agile too. He’s more sensitive and soft-- you have skill. Your anger will help you fight, it’ll help you train. You can be the next apex predator.” He smiled over at Tommy. “Wouldn’t you like to defend yourself, be the apex predator, right at the top of the food chain with me?”

“You’re asking me if I want to… fight like you? To be like you?” Tommy asked, his voice growing a bit concerned.

“In simple terms, yes. I think it’ll help you channel some ability you have. You’re dad’s only biological son, and he fights better than almost anyone. You could be like that, too.” Technoblade’s words were glowing with pride, and Tommy’s heart was in his throat. He could fight like Technoblade, he could train like him, he could kill like him. He could be Techno’s project, and while the idea of being as powerful as his older brother was alluring, he couldn’t help but think of what he knew of Technoblade, what he was capable of. He wasn’t sure what to say, but kept walking along the path Technoblade and he were travelling on. What was he supposed to say? If he said no, Technoblade would be disappointed. He hated disappointing anyone, especially family. Tommy thrived off positive attention, and he couldn’t handle just getting his brother back just to let him down. On the other hand, he didn’t want to become Technoblade, he didn’t want to fall down the same path. Technoblade had even mentioned their father, how Phil’s blood and genes were in Tommy’s own. Techno hadn’t seen the horrors their dad had committed, he had no idea. Even if he did, would he damn Phil? Probably not. Technoblade took a turn off the path, starting to walk through grass with Tommy. He stopped in front of a cave of sorts, and turned to Tommy. “Are you ready to become the apex predator?”

Tommy swallowed, bit his lip. “I…” He had to agree, he couldn’t lose Technoblade, he had just gotten things back to normal. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Technoblade slid his backpack off his back and pulled out a torch, holding it in front of himself with a grin. Even in the light, his face was eerily illuminated by the flame, the fire dancing in front of his eyes. “Then let’s make you one.”

Tommy’s light eyes stared into Technoblade’s own dark ones. He nodded firmly, and they stepped into the cave.

The cave was creepy, to say the least, and Tommy realized he hadn’t really been in a real cave before, only the clubhouse, which wasn’t really one at all. He looked to Technoblade who stepped along the stone of the cavern, his hoofed feet clicking against the hard ground. Tommy looked to him again, then back ahead at the dimly lit void of the cave. He had to be brave, even if this was kind of terrifying. He knew that mobs were in caves, and that’s why Phil had forbidden him from venturing out in them. Tommy froze when he heard a deep, guttural grown of something inhuman. Technoblade stopped, and Tommy stood a few steps behind him, fear in his eyes.

“It’s okay, don’t worry," Technoblade said quickly, noting the look on his brother’s face. “I would never let you get hurt, okay?” Tommy nodded quickly, still basically hiding behind Technoblade as another groan was heard. “There aren’t any skeletons in this cave, just zombies. Pigs and cows are nothing to fight, you need a real challenge. Zombies are slow, anyways-- if we really need to, we’ll run, but you know I can handle this if anything happens.”

Tommy swallowed and nodded, his fingers reaching out to gently hold onto his big brother’s white shirt without thinking about it. The comfort was short lived as Technoblade moved and reached into his bag with one hand, pulling out a bow and a quiver of arrows, his fingers running over the feathers after he had placed the torch in front of his feet. He looked at Tommy, holding out the bow expectantly, which Tommy took slowly and carefully. It wasn’t as heavy as the sword, but it still had some weight to it. He ran his fingers over the wood, feeling the power in just a small item, then looked up to Technoblade, who pulled an arrow from the quiver with ease, then moved to stand behind his little brother.

“Put your hands here,” Technoblade spoke, adjusting Tommy’s grip and holding his arms in place without touching his skin directly. He took the arrow and readied himself behind the boy, adjusting him a bit, before Tommy saw it. He had seen zombies before, outside the window, but not up close, only from a distance. It was an ugly thing, it’s rotting skin giving off a horrible stench, even from how far away it was, and Tommy glanced up at Technoblade, then focused back on the zombie. It hadn’t noticed them yet, just stumbling around and groaning. “The biggest thing about attacking these things is to act first. You need to get the first strike-- getting the first move in is important in any fight.” Technoblade’s voice was a deep whisper, and Tommy nodded, hoping that this wouldn’t end in a horrible way. He shifted his stance and swallowed again.

“Put your hand on the arrow, the back of it,” Technoblade instructed, making Tommy nod and do as he was told. He faltered and Technoblade shifted his hand, pink fingers touching Tommy’s pale ones.

Tommy felt the flash of light and he was in a different body. It was darker out, but not as dark as the cave, and destruction hung around the area. He looked around the best he could in his body and noticed the indents in the ground, something having exploded there. There was a series of chattering, and Tommy forced himself to focus on the scene ahead. In front of him stood a boy in enchanted armor, taller than Tommy was currently. It was a bit hard to figure out who it was with the dark armor on, but he saw the eyes the body held. He had seen them many, many times before, but not on anyone he had ever met. He saw them in the mirror every day.

It was him. He was looking at himself.

This Tommy didn’t look nearly as worn down as the first version of himself he had seen. He looked much stronger, much more put together, even in just his eyes and face. Tommy stared at the boy, only registering that someone was speaking after a moment. It was Technoblade, it was the body that Tommy inhabilted in the vision.

“Let me tell you a story, Tommy, a story of a man named Theseus…” Tommy felt himself stiffen as he heard people gasp and murmur, watching the boy in front of him step back a bit, eyes wide. “His country was in danger, and he sent himself forward into enemy lines, he slayed the minotaur, and saved his city.” The Tommy in front of him looked incredibly uneasy, more uneasy than Tommy felt in Technoblade’s body. This couldn’t end well.

“You know what they did, Tommy?” Tommy didn’t want to know. “They exiled him. He died in disgrace, despised by his people.” Tommy’s blood was cold, but he could feel how warm Technoblade’s own was, how it was pumping with adrenaline and energy. “That’s what happens to heroes, Tommy.”

“But he saved everyone!” a voice piped up from the side, one that Tommy knew well. It was Tubbo, just older, his tone deeper with age.

Technoblade continued, ignoring the interruption. “The Greeks knew the score… but if you want to be a hero, Tommy? That’s fine, that’s fine.” Tommy’s vision was moved as the body he was in turned and faced what looked like the outline of dirt and body. Tommy realized it wasn’t just any dirt after a few moments of looking as people began to protest. The vision moved again and looked back at the apprehensive teenager again.

“If you want to be the hero, Tommy-- then DIE LIKE ONE!” Suddenly all at once, Tommy realized what was happening. Two withers were brought to life, and there were screams of fear as everyone panicked. Tommy felt like he could vomit if he had any control over his body, but he could only watch as the screams were pierced with a loud shout of laughter, Technoblade’s booming cackle breaking the air as the withers went to attack. Tommy had never even seen one in real life, he had only heard stories about them. He was going to die at the hands of his brother. Technoblade was going to kill him.

All at once, the vision ended and Tommy blinked back into the present as the arrow sailed through the air and made its mark. The zombie must have been weak already, because as the arrow struck it in the head, it fell back, going silent. Technoblade cheered, but Tommy couldn’t relish his victory, only feeling numb.

“The apex predator!” Technoblade shouted as Tommy’s vision blurred and contorted. He felt his legs go weak, and began to fall to the ground, he heard a concerned voice, full of fear and worry, as he hit the stone floor.

“Tommy?! Tommy--”

And then everything went dark.

Chapter Text

Tommy felt like he was floating for a long while. Even unconscious, he could vaguely register things around him, the shift of his body being moved around. Everything hurt, and when he woke up, it only hurt more. Tommy groaned softly, his head pounding. He blinked, confused as he went to reach up to feel his head, only to feel a series of bandages around it, then a warm, strong hand pulling his fingers back down. Tommy glanced over to who was touching him, and saw his dad sitting on the edge of his bed with teary eyes, full of concern and some hint of pain. Tommy was back in his room, and he had to remember what happened, his eyes trying to focus as his head pounded harder from the small amount of light that shone through the curtains that had never closed all the way. They were too small for the window, and Phil was always saying he’d make new ones, but never did. Tommy tried to focus on his father’s face, then finally croaked out a noise.

“Dad…” the boy groaned, his voice heavy with a tone of pain, one that Phil hated hearing from any of his kids. “My head hurts...”

“You hit it when you fell,” Phil replied with a murmur, going to shift a bit closer, “you fainted again.”

It all came back at once, and Tommy groaned again, moreso out of the realization than the ache in his head, pushing his face in his pillow. “I saw things… I saw it all…” His voice was weak, and he was too tired to even produce tears. “Techno…”

“Shh…” his dad hushed, and Tommy couldn’t tell if it was because his dad was worried about him tiring himself further, or if he didn’t want to hear the truth. Blue eyes glanced away from Tommy’s own, and he sighed. “Technoblade shouldn’t have taken you out to the cave-- I shouldn’t have said yes, I should’ve asked what he was doing-- it was too much for you.”

“Wasn’t the cave,” Tommy mumbled, “it was him. He’s a bad guy.”

Phil shook his head. “Technoblade isn’t bad, Tommy. None of you are.”

“You haven’t seen it.” Tommy’s voice was impossibly quiet. “You haven’t seen what I have.”

Phil bit his lip, unsure of what to say. He could tell Tommy the truth-- that he had seen it long ago. The visions hadn’t come from Technoblade until the piglin was around five, just a child. It had been a punch to the gut when he saw his little boy doing horrible things, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate Technoblade, he just couldn’t. Phil had been alone for so long, so alone and so tired, and with Technoblade there, he didn’t feel so exhausted by the world. He couldn’t look at his son, a pig who had somehow mastered English and was so skilled, so smart… he couldn’t look at him as something to be feared. While he knew he couldn’t change Technoblade’s path, he knew he could support the boy, try to soften the blow for himself. Once again, Phil was selfish, he didn’t want to be alone, he didn’t want to lose everything he had built for himself. He couldn’t go through loss again. Phil liked to think he wasn’t a selfish person, but he had his flaws. He didn’t want to be alone, he didn’t want to have to bear through the pain all by himself. It wasn’t fair-- he was a person, too. He needed someone, and at first that someone had been Technoblade, then his late wife, and now it was shifting to Tommy. He didn’t mean to suffocate the boy with protection and affection, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. He couldn’t lose anyone else, not after watching his friends perish in the war, not after watching family members go insane from the curse, not after everything. He couldn’t do it, he wasn’t strong enough.

But even then, what kind of father was he? Phil had willingly brought his son into this world, knowing that there was a chance he’d turn out like his father. He knew that the disease, the curse that plagued him, could hurt Tommy. It had been in his mind the entire pregnancy, all of it. He knew that there was that slight chance that Tommy would inherit it, not knowing that it hit every first born male of every generation. How could he have known? He didn’t have immense knowledge, despite what his sons saw in him. At the end of the day, he had suffered. He had suffered knowing that things would happen, that things would continue to happen. He had suffered knowing he’d make mistakes, that the memories that haunted him would rear their ugly heads. He suffered for the good of others, taking the world on his shoulders so no one else had to. He suffered, but he did nothing to change his suffering. He accepted the pain, the horrible pain of living, and unlike Tommy, he didn’t question it.

“I know,” Phil said finally, his mind racing, “I know I don’t.” Stop lying to him. Tell him the truth, tell him what you know. Talk to him, open up to him, stop lying. He couldn’t do that, though, let Tommy know that he knew all the horrible things that his sons would do, and that he had kept it from them all. Maybe it was messed up, but Phil figured that if he told his kids what they’d grow up to be, then they wouldn’t be able to be kids. Dropping a bomb like that on a child wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair even to an adult. He couldn’t do that to his kids, who he loved. Who he loved as much as he could.

“He’s not a good person, dad,” Tommy said, trying to turn on his side and wincing, “I know he’s not-- I know he isn’t, I’ve seen what he’s going to do, and I don’t want to-- to--” He huffed and laid back against the pillows. “I don’t want to love him when I know he’s not going to be a good person-- that’s bad to do.”

“Good people do bad things sometimes, Tommy, that doesn’t make them a bad person-- just someone who made a mistake,” Phil tried, though his voice was tired, weak.

“Yeah, well, Techno is doing bad things while being a bad person, just not yet. He’s going to be a bad guy, and so is Wilbur. What if I am, too? What if I turn out to be this horrible person that everyone hates? What if I’m the bad guy? I don’t want to be the bad guy, dad.” His voice cracked painfully as the lump in his throat that always seemed to show up at the worst time. “I don’t want to see everything go wrong-- I shouldn’t have to!”

“Tommy--”

“No! No! I’m tired of having to shut up and be quiet about everything!” All of Tommy’s anger was bubbling up at once, a volcano of emotions finally exploding after months of forcing it down. He sat up quickly, ignoring the spinning of the room and how much it hurt. “You know what happens?! Technoblade kills people, he hurts people, he goes after them and does awful stuff! Your awesome son, my brother becomes a bad guy! Wilbur does, too! Wilbur dies or becomes a ghost or something! And that’s supposed to be my FATE?! I’m supposed to just shut up and say that’s okay?! It’s NOT okay! I’m not okay with that! Tubbo DIES because of Technoblade and because of his dad! People die, dad, people die because of Technoblade, because of something that I didn’t even do! And I have to sit there and watch it every day! I have to dream about it and I’m tired of dreaming, I’m tired of thinking! Maybe Wilbur was right, maybe I shouldn’t have been born, because this SUCKS and I’m tired!”

Phil sat there, staring at his son.

“Say something!” Tommy shouted. “Say that I’m going to be okay, because I don’t know if I’m going to be, and you’re supposed to tell me that I will be! You’re supposed to tell me everything will be okay, but all you do is hug me and try to tell me Technoblade is a good person and that you love Wilbur! Those are LIES, dad, you’re lying to me! You’re lying to me, and you’re lying to Wilbur, and you’re even lying to Techno!”

Phil swallowed. “Tommy, please--”

“I know what you did, too! I had dreams about it, I still do! I see the wars you were in, and you-- you act like some hero, but you’re not! You hurt people, and then you make Technoblade do the same! Why does he have to be like you?! Why does ANYONE have to be like you?! I hate this family, I hate everything! I wish mom was still here, because I know she’d actually say something instead of staring at me and acting like I’m crazy! I’m NOT crazy!”

Tommy sniffed, angry tears in his eyes. “I’m not crazy.”

“I know,” Phil said softly. “I know you aren’t, Tommy.”

“Then why do you act like what I’m saying is? You saw Technoblade nearly kill that Dream guy. What happens when he goes all the way and actually does it? What happens then? Do we just wait for it to happen?”

Phil didn’t have an answer for Tommy, and he looked away, ashamed.

“Tell me everything’s going to be okay,” Tommy said, voice pained and angry, “tell me everything’s going to be okay and that none of this will happen.”

Phil spoke slowly. “Everything’s going to be okay, Tommy. They’re just dreams.”

Tommy sniffed again, glaring at his dad. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Phil’s voice was broken.

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re just angry.”

“I’m always angry! I’m angry at everyone because they act like I’m an idiot! I’m a kid, I’m not stupid! I just don’t know everything yet, and I don’t want to, anyways!” He pushed a hand against his eyes, rubbing at them angrily as he gave a frustrated little sob. “I don’t get it! I don’t get what I did to make this happen! I’m a good person, and good things happen to good people! This isn’t supposed to happen! I don’t--” He sobbed again. “I don’t get it…”

Phil pulled his son into a hug suddenly, cradling him against his chest like he had done so many times with all three of his kids when they had cried. His heart was crushed, not even because Tommy had gotten to the point in every kid’s life where they say they hate their parents, but because of everything. Everything going on, everything that was wrong. Tommy had gotten a horribly short end of the stick, and now he was desperately trying to hold onto what he had. Phil had regrets, he was selfish, but nothing compared to this. Tommy hugged him tightly, sobbing harder and harder, gasping for breath.

“Shhh…” Phil shushed, rubbing his back, “it’s okay… it’s okay, things will be okay…”

“N-no they won’t be-- they won’t be and I-I don’t know why--” Tommy choked out, gripping his dad’s shirt tightly. “I don’t know wh-what’s going to happen and I want to know b-but I don’t--” He gasped again, coughing and sobbing. Everything hurt, why did everything hurt? Was this just how it was supposed to be? Was everything going to hurt forever?

“It’ll be okay…” Phil said softly, forcing himself to not cry after everything that had been said, the pain he felt for his son, “it’ll be okay…”

“When?” Tommy asked, sniffling and pushing his face into his father’s shoulder. “When will it be okay?”

“I don’t know, Tommy, but it will be.”

It seemed that as soon as all his emotions had come out, Tommy couldn’t handle them anymore. He was angry, he was so angry. Everything was going wrong, he had a headache for the first few days after, and Phil insisted he needed rest. Now that his dad realized what was going on, how much pain he was in, he was far more attentive, even moreso than before. Tommy had stopped crawling into his bed at night, not wanting to give his dumb dad the satisfaction that he needed comfort, but he woke up in the morning four days after the explosion of emotion to his dad curled up in his twin sized mattress against him, arms wrapped protectively around his son. Tommy hated how nice it felt, the warmth of feelings he felt from skin on skin contact from his dad, and he had forced himself back to sleep. When he had woken up again, Phil was gone, and the bed had a lingering warmth to it from where he had been.

His brothers had noticed something was off, too. Maybe they had heard his outburst, but if they did, they didn’t say anything. Technoblade would come into his room while he was healing from a minor concussion of sorts, and would read myths and legends to him. Tommy, once again, not wanting to rely on anyone but craving it, sat and listened with his head against Technoblade’s shoulder, making his brother stop on every picture in the books so he could study them. Wilbur, meanwhile, would come in and play guitar idly, thankfully not bringing the trumpet. He had sang a good number of times, stupid little songs, and Tommy had forced back his smile, trying to look angry until Wilbur would say something stupid and he just had to laugh.

It sucked that he had to actually throw fits to get attention-- he felt stupid for having to cry like a baby to get someone to notice him, for yelling at his dad. Tommy reasoned that he was no better than Wilbur, but Wilbur almost had a valid reason for acting out. All Tommy had was some dumb dreams and a bad attitude, and it made him hate the situation even more. He luckily wasn’t breaking into tears every two seconds, but that anger festered inside him. He didn’t want to be stuck in bed, he wanted to be out in the field with Tubbo and the bees. Tubbo understood him better than anyone, and he was longing for his friend’s soft voice and dumb jokes, his naive personality and care for people.

On the fifth day of being stuck in the house, Tommy glanced up at a knock to the door. “Come in,” he called, putting down his comic book that he had been messing around with. His dad had bought him a few new ones, and he had been working his way through them. The door opened and Phil stood there, then stepped aside to reveal Tubbo. Tommy’s eyes lit up.

“Tubbo! Come here!” he laughed, forcing himself up even though his legs were practically asleep from the way he had been positioned. Tubbo came running and Tommy hugged him tightly, giggling. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too-- I was so worried, I thought that you had died or something,” Tubbo said, pulling back to look at his friend. “Your dad said you fell, do you have a scar?” Tommy pushed up his hair to reveal a large scabbed over wound from where he’d slammed into rock, and Tubbo gawked. “Jeez! Did it hurt?”

“No way, you think just a fall could hurt me? Uh, I’m invincible, Tubbo, you should know this by now.” Tommy glanced away from his friend and looked to his dad still in the doorway, watching him fondly. “You can go, dad. Leave.”

Phil raised his hands in defense. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving-- don’t be too loud, there are other people in the house, remember that.” Tommy rolled his eyes after his dad had closed the door.

“Dads kind of suck,” Tommy said, though there was a grin on his face, one that Tubbo mirrored.

“Your dad is kind of cool, though,” Tubbo admitted.

“He’s actually extremely lame, everyone here but me is. I’m the best one in the family,” Tommy said, his grin brightening as he gave a little laugh. He had so much to tell Tubbo. “I killed a zombie, you know-- Techno took me out and I had a bow and arrow and I got it right in the head!”

“Woah!”

“Yeah, and then I fainted.”

“Oh.” Tubbo shrugged. “It’s still cool that you killed a zombie-- those things give me the creeps. They’re all gross when they walk and they make those awful noises. I never liked them very much.”

Tommy giggled. “You’re saying you don’t like undead people who like to eat human flesh? Shocking.”

“Hey, shut up-- you know what I meant.”

Tommy was eager to show off his new comic books, filled with stories of adventure and cool pictures. He knew, however, that Tubbo wasn’t great at reading and had trouble with words, so he read aloud to his friend while Tubbo looked at the pictures. He hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed until Tubbo was yawning and the room was only lit up by a lamp, the sun having gone down. A little bit more time passed, and Tommy realized that Tubbo was asleep next to him, curled up and snoring softly. Tommy hadn’t even noticed how tired he himself was, and he gently set down the comic book, pulling the blankets over both of them and curling up.

In seconds he was asleep, legs tangled with Tubbo’s and arms wrapped around the other boy protectively. He was still asleep when Phil went in to check on them, but his father didn’t wake the two, simply watching the rise and fall of the blankets as they both slept. He took a moment of just watching the peaceful scene, watching his son finally look at ease for the first time in days, then crept in, shutting off the light, and exiting quietly. Tubbo had already told him that Schlatt didn’t mind if he stayed the night, but he hadn’t brought anything with him, really. It irked Phil, but he said nothing, allowing his son and his son’s friend to have a little bit of peace in their hectic lives.

Kids should get to be kids, after all.

Chapter Text

When Tommy sat in the worn cave that he and Wilbur had built and slaved over with their own two hands, he noticed the man that his brother had become. It was something jaded and ugly, full of anger and hatred for a place he had once called home. Home was a place in the heart, not just a physical location, and sometimes the best of places had their own flaws and falls. Tommy wasn’t sure if Wilbur realized that he had aided in their home’s own downfall, and he wasn’t sure if Wilbur ever would.

In a few short years, Wilbur was falling down a dangerous path, and Tommy was finding it was harder to change fate than he thought it was. Now a budding young man of twelve, he was less exhausted by the world, and more understanding of it. It didn’t mean things weren’t hard, but they had started to make more sense. The dreams had become more intense, but with age, they had become easier to live with. Despite everything, Tommy liked to think he had a better life that he’d had when he was eight-- things were working out. He and Tubbo had become best friends in what was a relatively short time to Tommy, but was really just years out of a long lifetime. He prayed that things would work out, but Tommy had never been much for religion or hope for some otherworldly being looking out for him. He had himself, and that’s what he had to rely on.

Wilbur, meanwhile, over time, had gotten worse. It seemed that now that Phil had latched onto his youngest son with a vice grip, Wilbur had grown resentful from being unappreciated. Maybe Phil didn’t notice his middle child growing angrier and angrier as days went on, but Tommy knew it’d come to a head at some point, that Wilbur would lose it on absolutely everyone and would be left to lick his wounds alone. Tommy felt bad for his brother, and now that Technoblade was older, twenty and ready to take on the world, he had to support Wilbur however he could. Even if it meant hurting himself in the process.

Wilbur had told him once that he’d always be on Tommy’s side, how could Tommy not repay the favor?

While they’d gotten easier to deal with, nightmares still haunted Tommy. They had switched, over time, from focusing on Technoblade to harboring intense visions of Wilbur. Tommy was shaken to acknowledge that there was more to Wilbur than memories of TNT and ghostly apparitions, there was so much more. Months before his twelfth birthday, a vision had hit, one of epic proportions. He was outside a sort of building, some kind of monument, and arrows were flying through the air. Everyone, even people Tommy hadn’t even met yet, were screaming and running to avoid being hit. Tommy could remember the fear in Wilbur’s voice as they ducked for cover, and he’d woken up with a start, sitting up in bed while covered with sweat. It had been one of the last times he’d gotten into bed with Phil, having snuck out of his room and tiptoed past a door that loosely belonged to Technoblade, and a bedroom that held a sleeping Wilbur. He crawled into bed with his dad, like he had done so many times as a kid, and curled up beside him, feeling the warmth of his dad as he thought of the same warmth that had been in some of the arrows, ones that had been lit with flames. Phil had barely moved from the intrusion, but Tommy manhandled him, going to shift his dad’s arms and wrap them around his thin frame. He craved touch that no longer felt safe, but reminded him of something simpler, something more genuine.

It wasn’t like Phil didn’t care-- the problem was that he cared too much. He cared about how all three of his sons turned out, but he was a man who had constantly feared the future and how he had seen it. Despite seeing everything laid out in front of him in the form of dreams and visions, he did nothing to change it. Where his fault in accepting how life was ended, was where Tommy’s own began. They were the same blood and bone, the same genes and fears, but complete opposites. Tommy couldn’t sit down and accept everything that happened, and he would never be able to. He didn’t understand his father, how he could just choose to live the life that had been given to him, rather than questioning it. It was completely beyond Tommy that his father had led a life full of adventures and fights that had made him sit down and shut up rather than forcing himself into more action. Phil was older, he had been through so much, and he had gotten beaten down, now too tired to do anything but welcome the horrors that would unfold in his sons’ lives. He was too tired, he wanted rest, even if it meant hurting people in the process. He was selfish, and unprepared to believe that he could be a bad father, one that had taken on children out of fear of dying alone rather than respecting them and understanding they were people. They all had personalities and differences, but at the end of the day, they were all Phil had, and he couldn’t bear to part with any of them, showing his frustrations in different ways. Technoblade was glorified, Wilbur was neglected, and Tommy was protected and smothered.

While Tommy was still a bit too young to acknowledge his father’s shortcomings, Wilbur was at an age where he decided to question everything. Now fifteen, almost sixteen, he picked fights and argued, running out and sneaking off in the night to meet with friends that Phil didn’t even know the names of. His son would make the trek into town every night to talk to his one friend, Niki, who listened to him and understood him. They were thick as thieves, with the girl constantly waking up in the night and sitting with Wilbur on her parents’ front porch while Wilbur attempted to explain himself and his actions. At the end of the day, he was just as scared of himself as his own father was, though he didn’t have nearly as much insight as the older Watson. He was just a kid.

It was another long morning in which Phil and Wilbur were arguing, and Tommy sat at the table, eating his cereal as he listened to the fight a ensue in their small kitchen.

“Wilbur, stop, you’re not going to move out until you’re eighteen, and that’s final. Technoblade is even still here, and he’s older than you.” The father immediately regretted his words when WIlbur’s eyes took a dark glint to them and he spoke hotly, anger evident in his tone.

“It’s always about Techno, isn’t it? Technoblade, your little golden fucking child, your kid who can do no wrong. It’s never been about anyone but him, it’s never been about Tommy and I, it’s always been him. What does he have that I don’t, huh? What does he have? Is it his stupid, overgrown teeth? Is it how he hunts with you and can take down anything he wants? Or is it just because he’s as fucked up as you are? Is it because he’s going to mess up his life as badly as you have, Phil? Is it because you see yourself in him? What do you see in me that’s so bad? Why do you hate me?” His words were sharp, and Phil looked hurt, unable to hide it. A sick part of Wilbur loved seeing his dad falter at his words, scramble to fight back and fail. He liked having power over Phil, he liked making Phil hurt as much as Phil had hurt him. He loved it.

“That’s-- that’s not true. I love you--” Phil began.

“--as much as you can, which happens to be a piss fucking poor amount!” Wilbur interrupted with a shout. “Do you think no one sees how you favor Technoblade over everyone else? Even Tommy can tell! He’s a fucking kid and he can tell! And you’re sitting here, lying to us and claiming you love us all equally when really you’d drop me to the ground the second I mess up again! Some dad you are-- seriously, father of the year, let me get you your trophy, o mighty dad!”

Phil swallowed, glancing away.

“You’re a bad dad. Maybe not to Technoblade, and maybe not to Tommy-- yet-- but to me. All I wanted was for you to like me, to tolerate my stupid, messed up existence, and you couldn’t even do that right.” Wilbur’s eyes were narrowed as he stepped a bit closer. “Tommy will leave you when you do the same to him, and all that you’ll have left is your golden god of a son who’s only staying because you kiss the ground he walks on.”

Phil stared at his son, and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He didn’t have anything to defend himself with. Wilbur’s shoulders went slack, and he sighed heavily, stepping and shoving past his father as he went towards the front door.

“Forget it, you’ll never fucking learn,” he grumbled, “you’ll always be blind.”

Tommy winced as the front door slammed shut, and looked to his dad, watching him slowly take a shuddering breath in, then exhale, and meet Tommy’s own eyes.

“Dad--” Tommy attempted.

“Eat your breakfast, Tommy,” Phil replied, though his voice had no fire to it. He sounded broken and beaten down, like he had been waiting for this moment but it had destroyed him all the same. He couldn’t argue with what Wilbur said, but he couldn’t face the facts that had been laid out right in front of him. Tommy glanced down to his cereal, then back up, almost wanting to get up and hug Phil. Before he could, though, Phil had exited the room, leaving the hot and heavy tension that was there.

He wouldn’t ever face the truth, and Tommy had a feeling it wouldn’t end well when he accepted even that small fact about himself. He would constantly try and try to be better, but when the foundation of a house wasn’t properly set, the building was bound to crumble to the ground. Tommy wanted so desperately to try and encourage his dad, but Wilbur had had a point, even someone as young as himself could realize that. His dad had tried, and failed, due to what he’d seen. Wilbur didn’t need another enemy, he needed a dad who supported and loved him despite his flaws and actions. He was still Phil’s kid, and Tommy’s own brother, and it seemed that where Phil couldn’t even bear to show affection to his second child, Tommy had to step up and take his place.

The boy got up from the table, abandoning his cereal and quickly pulling on shoes over his socked feet, rushing out the door. Wilbur couldn’t have gone that far, and Tommy knew where he was going: the clubhouse. He had been going there to hide out after every fight, and Tommy sometimes showed up to comfort him and try to pick up the pieces that every argument between his family had caused. He almost wished Technoblade was around more so that he could damage control the situation, but he was an adult, doing his own thing and only showing up a couple of nights out of the week, despite still officially living in the house. Technoblade was abandoning the family in his own little way, and Tommy wondered if it was because he was realizing the same thing Wilbur was, that their dad wasn’t as great as they had thought as kids. Surely the pressure of being expected to be amazing, to be perfect and golden, was weighing down on his older brother. Phil expected so much from Technoblade, yet also nothing. Technoblade’s existence was enough for their dad, but Tommy wasn’t sure if the half-pig knew that, if he knew he was allowed to make mistakes.

Tommy ran through the woods on the worn path he had travelled so many times over the years. He knew every bump in the road and he knew where almost every path in the forest led. He had explored it with Tubbo so many times, showing off the clubhouse which had become a safe spot for the two of them now that Wilbur was constantly yelling and Schlatt had become incredibly overbearing towards Tubbo. It was their safe space, and they didn’t have to think about anything while they were there. They could hide away, eat cookies, read comic books, and not think about the weight of the world. Technoblade had said once that there was a myth in which the sky, the heavens above, was held up by a titan, Atlas. He said that Atlas’s duty was to keep everything in balance and keep everything held up. But, it had been a punishment. Atlas had acted out of turn, so Zeus condemned him to forever hold himself in that place, unable to experience life as he once had. In a way, Tommy sometimes felt like Atlas as things went on, having to carry the weight of the family despite feeling like he didn’t do enough. The role had shifted from Phil carrying it all to Tommy, and Tommy couldn’t help but feel a bit resentful sometimes when he realized the position he was in. Usually he pushed the thoughts away and kept going, knowing he would sink and drown if he lingered on those feelings too much.

When he got to the clubhouse, Tommy burst inside, only pausing when he locked eyes with Wilbur’s own. His brother’s eyes were red and puffy with tears, and Tommy swallowed, carefully slowing down. He stepped and closed the door softly behind himself, then looked to Wilbur.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Wilbur said with a sniff.

Tommy wasn’t sure what to say, how to comfort Wilbur. A joke wouldn’t be good right now, and he thought for a moment, before stepping closer, then sitting beside his brother. He needed to think of something to cheer the other up, but his strong suit wasn’t comfort, it was loud jokes and stupid comments. Instead of saying anything for a moment, he rested his head on Wilbur’s shoulder, then spoke softly after thinking over his words.

“You know, I think you’re pretty great.”

Wilbur gave a huff of a laugh. “I think you’re the only one who does.”

Tommy nudged his knee against Wilbur’s own. “I think you’ll find that my opinion is the only one that matters, big guy.”

Wilbur nodded, though it seemed he didn’t believe the words. They sat there for a few minutes in silence, with only Wilburs small sniffs and sighs to fill the air. After the silence, Wilbur shifted and went to pick up his guitar, settling back in the same spot and slowly and idly strumming, before his voice filled the air.

“Sleep don’t visit, so I choke on sun…” Wilbur’s voice was soft and beautiful, something that Tommy always took comfort in. He had heard this song before, it had become a favorite of his brother’s. “And the days blur into one… and the backs of my eyes hum with things I’ve never done…” It was sad, it was a sad song, it made Tommy feel guilt. Guilt for his brother since he couldn’t do anything about the situation. What was he supposed to do? Tell Phil off for being crappy? He didn’t even know where to start with that, what to bring up, and Phil wouldn’t listen to him anyways. He thought about talking to Tubbo about it, but Tubbo wouldn’t have anything either. The best he could think of was when Technoblade came back again, that he would go to his brother and beg him to knock some sense into their dad, to tell their father that he needed to step up. They were past the point of giving up, all they could do was try and patch the wounds, not let Wilbur die completely, Phil needed to realize that. He had taken on the responsibility of having a child, and when things got rough, he ran off. Why hadn’t he done that with Technoblade? The eldest was objectively worse. Technoblade had been encouraged to act out and be himself, Wilbur had been forced to.

At the chorus, Tommy listened to Wilbur sing, and joined in, his voice soft as he echoed his brother’s words.

“I’ve come ho-o-ome-- ho-o-me, ho-o-ome…” Tommy sang, spacing out the syllables in his sentences to properly fit the tune. He didn’t miss the smile that graced Wilbur’s face when he had joined in, and he gently smiled back at his older brother.

He was on Wilbur’s side, he always would be. They were brothers, and you couldn’t leave your brother behind when things got tough, you could only support them and try to help them. Phil had damned his son in the worst way possible, abandoned him when he saw the future. Tommy didn’t see a monster when he looked at Wilbur anymore, he had learned. He only saw a scared kid who wanted love and affection, who craved positive reinforcement. It was completely unfair to Wilbur that he had to act perfectly and get no prize for it, getting nothing he craved and falling further because of it. Technoblade seemed to always be amazing in not just their father’s eyes, but anyone who was a fan of his fighting. Wilbur had strengths, too. He was smart, kind, funny, talented with his art… it was unfair.

Tommy didn’t see some angry, angsty teenager who was a problem child, who would turn out fucked up. He saw a scared little boy who didn’t understand. In a way, he saw himself all those years ago, acting out of fear, out of not understanding things. As Wilbur sang, Tommy’s fingers brushed against the rips in his jeans, skin touching skin, and he felt an immense sadness emanate from his brother’s core, his eyes flicking with concern as he studied Wilbur’s face.

“Now my head’s splitting at the seams… and I don’t know if I can…” Wilbur’s fingers plucked and strummed at the strings as he finished the song. “Here, beneath my lungs, I feel your thumbs press into my skin again....”

Tommy had to change something about this, or die trying.

Chapter Text

Technoblade arrived home that night, stepping into the warm house and in from the dark of the outside world. Tommy was waiting for him, he needed to ask something. He never asked anything of Technoblade, so a simple favor wouldn’t hurt, it couldn’t. While Technoblade, over the years, had grown more and more distant, they were still brothers. Tommy knew he could rely on Techno, despite everything. Technoblade had been the one who used to carry him to bed when he passed out on the couch, or even out of a cave when he slammed into the ground. Technoblade had been the one who taught him how to properly fight, a situation that he took with caution after the experience of the vision and the fainting. He could trust Technoblade with some things, just not everything, and he knew he could trust his brother with today’s issue and how to solve it.

“Techno?” Tommy asked as his brother stepped into the house. “Can we… talk?”

Technoblade turned as he unbuttoned his cloak, one he wore like a safety blanket, and looked to Tommy. “Talk about what?”

“About… dad.” Tommy’s words were hesitant and shaky at best, but he cleared his throat as Technoblade stepped closer, and straightened his posture. Phil always said he slouched too much, but he couldn’t help it. It was like everything in the world was pressing down on him all the time, like he was being dragged to the center of it. Atlas was in his core, and he wasn’t too happy about having to hold up the skies.

“What’d dad do?” Technoblade asked as he went to take his hair down from the messy ponytail it had been in.

“Well-- a lot of things, but it was more how, um… Wilbur responded.”

“Did they get into another fight?”

Tommy nodded.

“Was it bad?”

“Really, really bad. Dad looked like he was going to cry.” Tommy bit his bottom lip and shoved a hand through his hair, awkwardly shifting on his feet. “Wilbur wants to move out, dad said no, so he basically told dad everything he didn’t want to hear. He said that dad doesn’t love him, that he’s awful, and that he worships you and cares about you more than anyone-- I mean, I don’t know… It seems like Wilbur is getting angrier and angrier, like he’s hating everyone more and more. It’s like he’s tired of trying and failing to get dad to like him, so he’s given up on it and is now just trying to attack him for everything dad did… or I guess, didn’t do.”

Technoblade’s expression was unreadable, and Tommy studied it for some sign, some indicator that Techno actually cared about Wilbur’s feelings, something like that. He needed a sign from Technoblade, just one sign that Techno cared about Wilbur rather than viewing him how everyone else viewed him. Tommy gazed at him with that look in his eyes, pleading for something. Just one little sign that his brother hadn’t changed yet and still felt emotions for his family. Just one sign that the path he was set to go down wasn’t written in stone. Technoblade stared back, and finally he spoke. “So what do you want me to do about it? Convincing Wilbur that dad isn’t a bad person isn’t an easy job, Tommy, he doesn’t listen to reason.” Tommy’s heart fell, deep into his stomach. How could Technoblade damn Wilbur, too? It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t asked to be like this.

“I don’t want you to convince Wilbur, I want you to talk to dad and-- and tell him to quit it. Tell him to think about how Wilbur feels,” Tommy said quickly, “I want him to understand what-- what he’s doing to Wilbur!” He realized he was being too loud, and lowered his voice. “I want dad to know that Wilbur’s going to turn out to be a bad guy if he keeps doing this to him. All Wilbur wants is a friend-- dad doesn’t even need to be the best guy in the world, the perfect father, he just needs to be a friend to Wilbur. Not an enemy, not someone who constantly um… constantly tells Wilbur that he’s acting crazy for having feelings. Wilbur needs someone, and he needs it from someone fast. Before it gets worse.”

Technoblade looked like he was thinking, but once again his face was stoic and Tommy couldn’t get a read on his brother, his eyes creasing up in worry as he waited for a reply. “Dad isn’t the best when it comes to Wilbur,” Techno finally said slowly, taking off his gold crown. He’d found it when exploring the Nether and hadn’t ever taken it off since. Tommy was pretty sure he even slept in it. “He didn’t connect to Wilbur when he was a kid. I guess he saw something that Wilbur didn’t see in himself.”

I did, too, Tommy wanted to say, wanted to explain, but he’s still a good person. He’s still our brother.

“It’s not as simple as telling dad to stop being uncaring, he is caring he’s just caring to an extreme,” Technoblade spoke, glancing at a framed family photo. Tommy was only six in that photo, and he had thrown a fit the entire time leading up to the actual photo. They’d had to go into town to get it taken, and Tommy had screamed about how his sweater was itchy, how he didn’t want his hair to be brushed, and that his shoes were too tight. Despite everything, in the picture he had a bright smile on his face, showing off his missing teeth that he had just started to lose at the time of the photo. Technoblade looked back to Tommy. “He either cares so much it’s suffocating, or he’s distant. He either thinks everything or nothing, or at least with us he does. You have to understand that we’re all he has, Tommy. He doesn’t have a family outside of us, he doesn’t have Emma, and he doesn’t have friends. If something like Wilbur were to threaten that for him, threaten everything he’s built for himself, he wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he listened to his brother’s words. How was Techno missing the point this badly? He was supposed to be the smart one. “But-- Wilbur’s a person, he’s family, Techno. He’s… he’s still our brother, he’s just kind of angry sometimes and he’s a little mean. If you just understand him and-- and listen to him, he isn’t so rough. He’s really nice if you get to know him, and dad doesn’t get that.”

“Listen, Tommy. I can talk to dad and tell him to cut the shit, but he’s not going to change. Do you know how hard it is to convince him to do anything he doesn’t believe in? It’s all or nothing, it’s the Watson family way. You do it, too.” Technoblade stared him down, and Tommy felt judged under the gaze, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, standing there in his pajamas. “So, I can tell dad to try and get to know him, but Wilbur is almost sixteen, it’s a little too late for dad to show up and try to be a parent.”

Tommy had to hide the look of anger on his face. “So you’re saying that Wilbur should just accept that he gets treated like crap? That he should just suck it up until he can get out?”

“Tommy, you’re too young to understand dad’s motives, he’s been through a lot--”

“So have I!” Tommy said, raising his voice. “We all have! That doesn’t mean dad gets to be a jerk because something happened to him!”

“Lower your voice,” Technoblade said in his stern, yet emotionless tone. Tommy shrunk back a bit. “You need to either accept that things won’t work out the way you want them to for Wilbur, or lose the battle. Dad isn’t going to realize the error of his ways, okay? He’s a grown man who likes doing what he wants, even if it hurts his children. He doesn’t like thinking he’s being toxic, he doesn’t like thinking he’s a bad dad. We are all he has, and the idea that he’s ruined that, too, it’s beyond him. He acknowledges that he’s messed up and hasn’t been the best, but as soon as you throw words and accusations around, he acts like a kicked puppy. It’s not a matter of simply telling him to stop years of neglect. As you get older, you learn to accept what you’re given and try to handle it the best you can. That’s what I had to do, that’s what Wilbur has to do, and that’s what you’ll have to do.”

Tommy gave a noise of anger, his hands balled into tight fists. “You’re acting like you hate dad, too, like he treated you as bad as he treats Wilbur.” The words were grit out in anger, and he had instant regrets when Technoblade stepped closer, something angry in his eyes.

“You have no idea what I’ve dealt with, so don’t act like you have.” His words were angry, despite their cool tone. “Do you understand that I dealt with dad the longest, that I had to see every last thing that happened and just deal with it? I was there when he cried, I was there when Emma died, I was there when he needed support, I was there when he stopped trusting Wilbur. Do you understand how hard it is to try and exceed expectations and excel at everything even when you don’t want to? Do you even comprehend that I never had a childhood because someone was either crying for attention or dying, while I had to be the perfect big brother who listened to his siblings freak out, who watched his dad get depressed as he lost the only girl he loved? You don’t get it--” His voice was getting louder, angrier. “--dad and I aren’t even a father and a son, it’s like he’s obsessed with me, like I’m his best friend. It’s this fucked up, co-dependent situation, and yeah-- I do feel sorry for Wilbur, but like him, I also never asked to be born into this family with this pressure, with this messed up parent who attaches to people like a leech and then freaks out when they get tired of him being selfish.”

“Maybe I’m the asshole, Tommy, you’re right, maybe I’m some jerk who doesn’t understand Wilbur or why he acts the way he does, but I am not blind to how dad is. I know what he’s like because I’ve been forced to be his only companion for years. Do you get how exhausting that is? Do you?”

Tommy’s mouth was dry, and he shook his head dumbly.

“No, you don’t,” Technoblade continued. Tommy had never seen his brother this pissed while also being calm. It was incredibly unnerving. “So don’t act like I didn’t get the short end of the stick, too. We all did, Tommy. All of us came into this situation with a dad who couldn’t even take care of himself emotionally, let alone three kids.” Technoblade looked away. “None of us asked for this, we just got it, and that’s how the game is played. We have to take the hand we’re given, and while I would love to change it and have a dad who doesn’t treat me like I’m amazing, who treats me like a normal person instead of the coolest, best son ever, like his best friend instead of his literal fucking kid, I can’t. So, the best I can do is get the fuck out of here before I’m trapped forever. Tell Wilbur that for me.”

Tommy could only stand there while Technoblade sighed, looking like he was going to say something, say some kind of apology. He shook his head, finally, and walked off towards his bedroom, leaving his little brother standing there. His throat felt dry, thick, and he swallowed and looked around as if trying to come back into focus with the room. What the hell was that, what had prompted that? Techno had it fucking easy compared to Wilbur, he had a parent that adored everything he did, isn’t that what every kid wanted? Someone who looked up to them, a parent who was proud? What was Technoblade so mad about? It struck an odd chord in him, though, hearing his older brother say that their dad “attached” to people, or whatever, got obsessed with them. It occurred to him that Phil was awfully clingy with him, now, and he looked down at his socked feet, thinking.

What if Phil got obsessed with him, too? What if he was smothered with affection? It wasn’t so bad to have someone watching out for you, but as time had gone on, he realized that his dad was painfully close to him. He constantly asked questions, constantly feared that Tommy would get hurt, feared the worst. It was like if he did anything, Phil had a million questions about it, and while it wasn’t terrible to be curious, he felt his dad had some innate fear that everyone he loved would die some horrible death, turn out messed up like him. Rather than keeping distant with those he cared about, though, he doubled down. Is that what Technoblade meant? He meant that dad was a leech, a parasite who was selfish? Who wanted people to love him but didn’t want to understand that they were people, too? That they had emotions?

Tommy’s head was spinning, and after what seemed like an hour of thinking, standing there as his mind raced, he retreated to bed. So much for Technoblade helping him out. All he had wanted was for Techno to tell dad to knock it off, but it was like even his eldest brother, the smartest, didn’t know how to tackle his father’s complex fear of abandonment and the future. Technoblade may have attempted to tell Phil, Tommy wasn’t sure; but instead of any progress, he seemed to have realized that the only way to deal with it was to get out while you can.

Technoblade was abandoning them, and while Tommy didn’t mind his brother leaving the nest, he had a bad feeling in his chest that their father wouldn’t feel the same.

Tommy was waiting in the field when Tubbo arrived. His friend was dressed in his signature green shirt (was that the only color he owned?) and khaki pants, sitting himself down beside Tommy with a grin. It fell when he realized his friend looked like he was about to start screaming, though he realized Tommy wasn’t angry at him. He never really was, it was usually everything around him.

“What’s wrong?” Tubbo prompted, nudging his friend.

“Stupid brothers,” Tommy grumbled back, his legs pulled to his chest and his chin pressed to his knees, anger on his features.

“Oh.” Tubbo glanced to where Tommy was watching the bees collect pollen. Fall was nearly upon them, and the bees would go off to wherever they went in the winter. It made him a little sad. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tommy sighed, digging his fingers into his pants. “It’s like my dad didn’t have kids to make them into people, he had them because he wanted someone to love him. That’s messed up, right?”

Tubbo cocked his head, confused. “I thought dads were just like that, though? You have a kid so they’ll grow up like you. In your image, yeah?”

Tommy looked over at his friend, trying to think of how to word his thoughts without just blurting them out and offending Tubbo. “No. Dads are supposed to, like… I don’t know-- you’re supposed to have kids so they can grow up and be prepared for what’s going to come, not because you need something to love you. They aren’t pets, they’re like-- they’re people, Tubbo. Kids are just little people who you have to love and let them be themselves, not make into yourself. If every person was like their messed up parents, we’d have a bunch of weird freaks in the world who don’t understand how to actually act like-- like a normal person who cares about others.”

Tubbo blinked. “We kind of already have that, Tommy.”

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be that way!” Tommy argued. “People should respect other people! It’s not that crazy to think about!” Tubbo moved back a bit, shocked, and Tommy sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to yell-- this is just all so stupid. Why did I have to be born into a family of people who don’t understand themselves or others? It’s dumb.”

Tubbo nodded, going to look at the bees again. “Well,” he said, still staring ahead, “you have me. I’m like your brother, just not exactly. I understand you, I think. I’ll try to, at least. My dad didn’t teach me to do that, though; you did, Tommy.”

Tommy blinked, raising his head and gazing over at his friend. He hadn’t realized how impactful he was, how he had given Tubbo something the older boy desperately craved: a friend. He hadn’t realized for the longest time that even he himself needed a best friend, someone to care for and love without a bias, without the interruption of messed up emotions. Tubbo needed him as much as he needed Tubbo, and he almost wanted to ask, what does he do to you? What does he tell you? What made you so sad and alone? Were you always like this? Was he always like this? At the very least, he had always taken satisfaction that even if his dad was paranoid and obsessive, he was well loved, he wasn’t even sure if Tubbo had that when it came to Schlatt. Any time he was over at Tubbo’s house, Schlatt was distant, usually in his office or sitting on the couch with a drink in his hand. He wondered if Tubbo had felt loved before he had made his friendship with the boy. Tommy hadn’t been lonely as a kid, he’d always had his family. What did Tubbo have? What had he had as a kid? Had it always been his emotionally distant, yet powerful father shaping him into something he wasn’t?

“Hey, Tubbo?” Tommy asked, voice quiet.

“Yeah?” Tubbo looked over at him.

“I’m really glad to be friends with you. I hope we’re friends forever.”

Tubbo smiled brightly at him. “Well, we always will be! Don’t worry, I could never leave you behind.”

Something in Tommy wasn’t sure how true that was, a gut feeling. He smiled anyways, soft and sweet, and then looked back ahead at the bees fumbling around in the air. They sat there for a while in silence, just watching the insects collect their pollen and fly off. It was nice and simple-- everything with Tubbo was. Things worked out easily when he was around Tubbo, he didn’t have to try as hard as he did at home.

He hoped it’d be that way forever.

Chapter Text

After the conversation with Technoblade, the eldest brother didn’t come home for a week. Tommy wondered if it was because he had finally shared his emotions and had run off to make sure no one could see him after it. It wouldn’t surprise him, Technoblade was an incredibly private person, but it made Tommy think about how little he knew about his oldest brother. It made him wonder how Techno truly felt about their father, if he should tell Phil himself that even the golden child of the family resented their father’s inability to love properly. He had never asked Technoblade how he felt about things, always assuming that he was just happy to be loved. Isn’t that how most people were? Happy to get any affection they could? Maybe it was just Tommy’s own messed up family that was like that, eager to please in their own ways. It made Tommy question his dad’s motives even further, and he spent most of his time in his room, away from everyone. He needed time to think, and he really only went out to go see Tubbo, the one person who kept him safe. The idea of smothering Tubbo as much as Phil smothered him and Techno worried Tommy, afraid he’d turn out like the man he saw with such heavy flaws. He didn’t understand his dad, he never really had, but after the revelation that his father had negatively affected Technoblade, too, he found himself understanding less and less.

Maybe Phil noticed that his son was withdrawing, afraid of losing another one of his ducklings, and he came into Tommy’s room one day after knocking softly on the door, leaning in the doorway as he spoke. “I thought I could take you and Wilbur on a hunting trip,” he tried, making Tommy look up and blink in confusion, “would you like that?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Wilbur first? Did you ask him if he wanted to go?” Tommy said, glancing back down at the book in his hand, then back up at his dad.

“I wanted to get your opinion first,” Phil replied with ease, “I’m sure your brother would be happy to go.”

“Dad, Wilbur doesn’t like hunting,” Tommy replied blankly, “he doesn’t like hurting animals.” He isn’t like Technoblade, he wanted to add, but bit back his words as he watched his father falter from the previous sentence.

“Well, I just thought…” Phil glanced away, studying a poster on Tommy’s wall as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, rather than meeting Tommy’s gaze as he trailed off.

“You thought…?” Tommy prompted.

Phil sighed, looking back over to Tommy. “I thought it’d be good to have a family outing of sorts, now that Techno’s gone. I don’t know, it’d be good to feel close to someone, to both of you. I don’t want either of you feeling left out.”

Tommy set down his book, scrubbing at his face in frustration. “Dad, what’re you trying to do?”

“What?” Phil asked, confused.

If Technoblade wouldn’t say anything to their dad, Tommy would. “Why’re you obviously trying to get close to me and dragging Wil along in the process? What’s the point, what’s the angle? Do you-- I don’t know-- do you feel bad? I’m not how I was four years ago, okay? I don’t need you constantly hugging me and being nice to me, all it does is make me feel like a replacement Techno. If I were you, I would focus on Wilbur, because-- because he needs you, dad, he needs someone to take care of him. I feel like I’m the one who does most of that.”

Phil was silent.

“Dad? Come on, don’t just do your silent mode thing-- say something.” Tommy was exhausted with this, exasperation clear in his voice. “You know what’s happening, right? Wilbur’s getting tired of this, of how you act around him. I feel like his weird, replacement dad.” He stroked his fingers over the leather of the book. “And it’s not my job to be that, it’s yours.”

Phil nodded slowly. “I know.” His voice had a tone to it, clipped and broken, crushed that his insecurities were being hashed out in the open. “I know it’s not.”

“Then-- then can you act like it? Please?” He felt like he was begging his dad to just act like a fucking dad. “I’m really tired of constant fighting because Wilbur is obviously just hoping you’ll give him some attention that you only give to me, or Techno. He needs you, you’re his dad. I can’t…” He sighed and let his eyes dart away. “I can’t keep…” God, what was he supposed to say. Was he supposed to just say it? “I can’t keep acting like a caregiver to Wilbur because you’re scared of him-- that’s not what I’m here for. I’m a kid, and I’m really, really tired. All you two do is fight, and it’s always you acting all sad when he calls you out for not being how you should-- just--” He looked back to Phil’s wide, fearful eyes. “I know you’re not… not prepared to deal with Wilbur because he isn’t like Techno, but no one ever will be. Techno is Techno, but Wilbur is Wilbur. They’re both people who have good and bad parts to them, just like… I do, too, I guess. Just like you do. Can’t you just focus on the good parts instead of every mess up he makes? It doesn’t even have to be because you want to, but do it because I’m too tired to do it anymore.” He stared at his dad, waiting for him to say something, growing irritated when he stood there, silent.

“Dad, I’m not a therapist, just go tell Wilbur you love him and then keep telling him it every day until he believes it. And don’t say, oh, I love you all equally, you don’t-- we know you don’t, and you don’t have to. You don’t have to love us all equally, and you don’t have to obsess over your favorite of the day. Just-- just be normal, for once.”

Phil prickled at that statement. “I’m trying the best I can, you don’t know how hard it is--”

“You’re right!” Tommy snapped, “I don’t! But I don’t have to because I’m not a dad and I don’t plan to be for a super long time! I just--” He sighed heavily, trying to soften and go easier on Phil, but all he felt was frustration at the whole situation. “I don’t know-- do you understand how things-- like-- make us into who we are? If you’re so scared of Wilbur growing up into be this big, bad guy, you also have to see you’re only making it worse by shutting him out and acting like he’s some evil person. He just wants you to love him, and not even in that scary, protective way you do with Techno and me-- just like a normal dad. I don’t even know what it’s like to have that, I seriously don’t, because all I have is you, and you’re so… so…”

Phil was still staring at him, and he sighed again.

“I don’t know, you’re so weird. What made you so messed up?”

“A lot of things, things you don’t understand,” Phil said, an edge of anger to his voice.

Tommy sat up straighter in his bed, glaring at his dad. “Well do you honestly think anyone will ever understand you if you act like this? If you get obsessed with people, only to freak out when they get scared from how obsessed you are? I’m not-- I’m not a person who’s that great. I’m not awful, I haven’t done anything bad. I’m-- you know-- a kid. You’re the adult, I’m not, and I just really need you to act like it--” Phil went to speak, but Tommy didn’t allow him to. “Techno’s creeped out, too. Why do you think he’s leaving all the time? He doesn’t like you acting like he’s amazing, it makes him feel like he can’t be anything but amazing. There’s so much pressure on him to go above and beyond, and he’s trying to get out before it crushes him. You’re scaring people off, and then you’re acting like it’s everyone else’s fault for that happening. It’s your fault, dad, it’s not anyone else’s. There isn’t some god in the sky telling you to treat Wilbur like crap, or to think of Technoblade as some angel that can’t do anything wrong. You’re the one doing that.”

Phil’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a pissy voice, one that Tommy had to not roll his eyes over. “It’s something I can’t control, this is how the world works out sometimes, it’s fate--”

“I hate that word!” Tommy’s anger came out of him all at once, a shaken up can of soda exploding. “I hate this whole “fate” bullcrap! It’s not fate, okay?! It’s not-- it’s you being a crappy dad and then expecting people to accept it instead of questioning that hey, maybe you suck! I don’t hate you, okay? I don’t-- but you’re going to make me hate you if you act with me how you acted with Technoblade! We love you, but you’re so-- you’re so fucked up--” Wow, had he really just sworn at his dad? It was kind of powerful, kind of cool. “You’re so weird and you act like this isn’t all your fault! We didn’t ask for this, and-- and you gave it to us! None of us asked to be your kid, and I didn’t ask to be born or have freaky visions of the future-- but I do know that if I have to watch you treat Wilbur like shit--” Damn, he was on a roll. “--then I’m going to lose it! Just be normal! Be a normal dad who likes all three of us, who understands that we’re people with-- with emotions! Technoblade may not be anymore, but Wilbur and I are just kids! I shouldn’t have to be so careful about what I say to you, and neither should he! You should just accept that things aren’t that great, and then just try and fix them instead of acting like this was destiny, like you being shitty was destiny! It wasn’t-- it was all you!”

Phil’s lips were a thin line, and his face was full of rage, but Tommy didn’t shrink back. He wasn’t scared of his dad. “I’m so sorry for trying to give you a good life, so sorry--”

“This isn’t a good life! Yeah, we have everything we need to survive, but--!” Tommy gave a frustrated little shout, and stood up suddenly, practically jumping out of bed. “Do you not get what you’re doing?! We’re going to end up like you! Doesn’t that scare you?!”

“I’m not a bad person!” Phil shouted back.

“You sure act like it!” Tommy screamed.

“ENOUGH!” Tommy flinched at his father raising his voice, stepping back. “I worked my ASS off to make you all happy, I worked so hard! I lost everything, I lost everyone! I had to kill people, I had to murder those I loved out of obligation, and yeah-- now I get attached! You haven’t experienced loss because you’re TWELVE, you are a CHILD, and I’m an ADULT. Do you understand how hard it is to be a good father?!” Tommy thought of Technoblade’s words, how Phil’s mirrored his, and he swallowed as Phil continued. “I’m doing the best I can with what I was given! I lost your mother, I lost her and I had to buckle down, just deal with it! You didn’t meet her, you never even knew her, you don’t know what that was like!” Tommy felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as his dad continued. “I lost everything I had, and I continue to lose it! Technoblade is gone, Wilbur was never here, and now you’re questioning everything I do! Do you think I’m not TRYING?! I’m trying so fucking hard, I’m trying harder than I ever had, but it’s hard! It’s hard to do this, to wake up every day and not know what to expect-- even with everything about me, I DON’T know what to expect! I don’t! And it sucks, okay?! It sucks that I don’t have all the answers, and I never will, but I am doing my BEST!” Tommy felt like his throat was closing up with the force of his emotions, and his vision blurred from his tears. He had just been frustrated with all of this, he didn’t mean to make Phil mad. He just wanted to tell him the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy croaked, closing his eyes as the first tear fell, then the second, and suddenly they wouldn’t stop. “I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean--” He was suddenly swept up into a hug, and Tommy hugged his father back tightly, sniffling and pushing his face into Phil’s shoulder as a watery sob escaped him, his eyes shutting tightly. “I didn’t m-mean to--”

“Shhh…” Phil whispered, rubbing Tommy’s back as he hugged him. “Shh, it’s okay, I didn’t mean it--”

“Th-then why did you say it?” Tommy whimpered.

Phil shushed him again, and Tommy dropped it, pushing his face further against his dad’s shoulder. He would accept the comfort, he would take as much as he could get, he craved it. What was wrong with him? He should be angry, not desperate for a hug from his fucking dad. “I was just angry, I want you to understand, shhh, it’s okay, Tommy…” Tommy didn’t know what he was supposed to understand-- hadn’t his points been valid? Hadn’t he been right? Technoblade had said in the argument that Phil didn’t like being questioned, didn’t like his flaws being thrown around. He didn’t want to accept them, he couldn’t. Tommy let out another sob at the thought, and he dug his fingers into the cloth of Phil’s shirt, inhaling his natural scent, one that was comforting. He felt like a baby all over again, crying from being yelled at from his dad, but a part of him was so angry, like he wanted to scream. He didn’t understand why he was so angry, either, it was all confusing, and he felt like a cornered animal in his dad’s hug. It didn’t make sense, why didn’t it make sense?

“I’m sorry…” Tommy hiccuped, “I-I’m really sorry.”

“It’s my fault, shh, I shouldn’t have lost my temper, or said those things-- there was just a lot bubbling up, so many things in my head. I know you know that feeling better than anyone…” Phil pulled back a bit, smoothing down Tommy’s wild hair, and looking at him. “Everything’s okay, Tommy, I’m not mad.”

Tommy looked up at him and sniffed, nodding gently. He did know that feeling better than anyone, it haunted him constantly. Phil understood that, and he pressed his face to the base of his dad’s neck, sniffling and trying to hide himself. There was something so piercing about his dad’s gaze after being yelled at, like looking at something in the dark in your bedroom. You had seen the same object a million times, but suddenly it looked much scarier in the dark, like it was something you had never seen before, like it was something that could hurt you. His dad had looked so scary, and he wondered if this is what Wilbur saw every time he got in an argument-- not some loving dad, but instead a very scary, flawed person. Tommy sniffed again, whimpering and pressing himself impossibly close as Phil’s fingers carded through his hair over and over again.

“Let’s stop trying to attack each other,” Phil said gently, “we’re family, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Was I attacking you? Tommy wanted to question, Or was I telling you something you didn’t want to hear? Still, he nodded, just wanting to agree and get this over with. He wanted to let it go, to stop making his dad sadder than he already was. His dad had gone through a lot, he couldn’t be adding to that.

He couldn’t put his dad through more than he already had.

If Wilbur heard his dad and his brother screaming at each other, which Tommy was sure he did, he didn’t say anything. He had an odd look to him, watching Phil like a cat as the man made dinner, but he said nothing. Tommy almost wished he would throw another fit to teach their dad a lesson about yelling at literal children for no reason, because he himself didn’t have the energy to. All he could do was curl up on the couch under a blanket and feel exhausted. He didn’t even notice he was starting to drift off until it all hit at once.

The dream began and Tommy looked around, taking in the sight. There was a dinner laid out on the table, and the air was warm and thick with the smell of food, but also a deep tension. Tommy glanced down at the hands he had in front of him, that rested on the table. They seemed small, smaller than his now, and he looked back up as a man entered and sat down at the table, then a woman. They were older, and they looked familiar, but Tommy couldn’t tell who they were. A plate was put in front of him, and Tommy glanced up from the food at the man who sat across from him. He had a faraway look to his eyes, like he wasn’t present in the moment, and Tommy went to pick at his food without having the control to do so. The woman cleared her throat.

“Phil, did you do your chores?” she asked in a sweet tone. Tommy felt his head nod involuntarily as he took a bite of his food, then looked at the man again. The name struck him as odd, and it clicked all at once: he was in a memory of his dad’s childhood. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the war memories, but there was something very, very off about this family. The man at the table, who Tommy realized was his grandfather, sat with that expression that seemed absolutely lost. He frowned, then looked back down at his food. What was going on? Tommy felt a longing in his chest, the same way he felt when he wanted a long hug from Phil, or when Wilbur was snippy and he just wanted things to be resolved. It was incredibly odd.

The conversation was practically nonexistent, and Tommy ate the food without thinking about it, hoping the awkward, tense dream would end. As he reached for a roll on the table, unable to control the body he inhabited, the man did the same. Their fingers brushed, and Tommy’s grandfather gasped like he had been smacked, going into an almost trance-like state as he hissed in pain, looking at Tommy directly. The look in his eyes was absolutely terrifying, like he was witnessing something horrible. Tommy shifted back as best he could in the chair, but his grandfather gasped as he lowered his head, overcome by something. He looked to the woman, his grandmother, but she acted like this was normal. Was it normal? Had his dad had to deal with this constantly? His father freaking out? It was scary, and Tommy didn’t like it. He couldn’t imagine his dad had either.

“You monster, Phil,” his grandfather’s low voice came from across the table, making Tommy freeze up as he looked back over to the older man, “you monster, you killed them-- you killed them all--”

Tommy swallowed without meaning to, and that icy chill of his body only worsened. What the fuck was going on?

“Are you proud of yourself for killing them? For hurting innocent men?” What was he talking about? What was he seeing? Did he have it, too? The visions? Was his grandfather fucked up like he was? Tommy stilled as his grandfather growled out a command. “Get out. Go to your room.” Tommy didn’t move, and suddenly the man shouted.

“GO! GET OUT!” His grandmother wasn’t even saying anything, how was she condoning this treatment?

Tommy’s current body moved without his control, and the chair was shoved back, moving so quickly it tilted and fell back. He ran without looking back and ran to his room in fear, closing the door quietly and going to his bed. The room was bare, like it was only a bed and some books, a dresser. That was it. What the fuck was this place? Why was it so awful here? His dad had never told him anything about his grandparents, and he was starting to see why. Tommy’s inhabited body moved and he curled up in bed, pulling up the covers over his head and hiding like a scared little kid. Tommy felt like a scared little kid. How often had this happened for his dad? He hadn’t even gotten to eat dinner, and Tommy felt a hunger clawing at his stomach, though he knew it was a dream, that it wasn’t real.

He only noticed after a few moments, snapped out of his thoughts, that a small voice was repeating the same sentence over and over again, voice small and scared.

Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep…

He was trying to convince himself to go to sleep verbally, vocally, Tommy realized, his heart twisting at the thought of his dad having to do this every night. There was no goodnight hug or kiss like Tommy had received as a child, there was no comfort, he only had himself. He didn’t have anyone, he felt so alone… like no one was on his side, like no one cared. This was horrible? Why had Phil never told him about this? Had he ever told anyone? This was hell, and Phil had just dealt with it, keeping quiet about the terrible life he had led?

Suddenly, it all ended, and Tommy snapped awake with a gasp of a noise. He was back on the couch, still under his blanket, and he looked up, blinking at his dad.

“Tommy? Dinner’s ready, love,” Phil said with a small smile. “Didn’t realize you’d been so tired, you should sleep early tonight.”

Tommy stared at his dad, confused as he tried to piece it all together. How much loneliness had Phil harbored his whole life? Was he that lonely all the time, like in the vision? Had he filled the hole with kids, with something, anything, to stop the pain? Tommy couldn’t comprehend how someone could live like that, and he heard his own stomach growl, reminded of the hunger he had felt in the dream. How had his dad survived that? He had no one, and it seemed that after the outburst, after Technoblade had left, and Wilbur not being there… he still didn’t.

Tommy sat up quickly, wrapping his arms around his father’s midsection in a crushing hug.

“Woah!” Phil chuckled, surprised, and wrapped his arms around Tommy the best he could, stroking through his hair. It was so comforting, and Tommy had a horrible feeling knowing his father had never experienced it as a child. “You okay, Tommy? Bad dream?”

Tommy shook his head, though his throat was tight. “I just love you a lot, that’s all,” he lied, pushing his face into Phil’s shirt and smelling the scent of lavender soap, pine, a woodsy sort of smell washing over him.

“I love you, too. Very much,” Phil said quietly, still petting through Tommy’s hair. Tommy wanted to hug all his dad’s sadness away, fix what had been done to him as a kid. How could someone do that? In the vision, Phil couldn’t have been older than seven. Even his dad, despite everything, had never done that to Wilbur. He didn’t think his dad was capable of that abuse and blame, that hatred for someone who had only been trying to enjoy dinner. Wilbur may not have had the emotional support he needed, but he didn’t get screamed at and banished from dinner with no food over minor issues that hadn’t been his fault. He wasn’t that bad-- a little weird, but not that bad.

“Come on, dinner’s getting cold, Tommy,” Phil murmured as he pulled back with a small smile directed towards his son, full of pride and love.

Tommy numbly got up, silent, and as he sat at dinner, he thought.

How much had Phil been through that he didn’t know, that no one knew? How much would Phil continue to go through? And what could he, his dad’s son, just twelve years old, do to make sure it’d never happen again?

“Can you pass me a roll?” Wilbur said next to him, snapping him out of his thoughts. Tommy looked at the basket of baked rolls, and gently handed it over.

He made sure not to touch Wilbur’s hands, not wanting to think about the consequences.

Chapter Text

Despite everything, Tommy felt he was pretty lucky for having the dad he did, but he couldn’t say the same for Tubbo. Tubbo didn’t talk much about Schlatt, and when he did, he was extremely hesitant in saying anything that would damn his father. It was like he had some horrible feeling that Schlatt would find out if he said something bad, if he acted reasonably and questioned his dad’s actions. Tubbo seemed to fear his dad more than anything, but was under the impression that he had to love the man because they were family. It rocked Tommy, and he’d tried to figure out a way to say to Tubbo that you didn’t have to love your family. If your family was bad, you didn’t have to love them, you didn’t even have to respect them. He wanted so badly to wrap his friend up in a hug and take him far away from the words Schlatt used liberally, words like mistake and fuck-up. Tubbo wasn’t either of those things-- he had never asked to be born. Schlatt acted like he himself was some kind of god that could do no wrong, and Tommy ached to break his stupid, straight teeth and teach him a lesson, one that would stick with the ram for all of eternity. One that told him that Tubbo was a person, not a mistake, not a screw-up in Schlatt’s perfect plan for himself. Tubbo was a kid with emotions, a twelve year old who didn’t need to hear that he wasn’t what Schlatt wanted, but instead one who needed support.

He resigned to finally asking his best friend a question that had been bothering him. They sat in the field, the bees finally having gone off to wherever they went. Tubbo had said that bees went into hibernation in the winter, and they all piled together to keep warm and not die. ”Like a big slumber party!” Tubbo had excitedly said, his voice getting loud from his passion for the insects. Tommy had laughed, and said that a slumber party of bees didn’t seem too bad; that seemed like it’d be kind of fun to be in a giant cuddle pile of bees, as long as they didn’t get into stinging mode. The grass on the ground was starting to turn brown and ugly, and Phil now insisted that Tommy wear a coat out, despite it not being that cold. Tubbo had his own coat, a dark green jacket with fur lining, one that was no doubt more expensive than anything Tommy himself owned. It seemed that Schlatt liked to buy his son’s affection, and Tommy desperately wanted to tell him that material objects didn’t equate to love. Schlatt didn’t love him, or at least only did when it was convenient, something that bothered Tommy to no end. Dads were supposed to love you no matter what, support you even in the worst of times. The thought had briefly brought Wilbur to the forefront of his mind, but he’d squashed it back down in favor of focusing on something happier.

“What happened to your mom, Tubbo?” Tommy asked as they watched a rabbit run and dart through dead grass, no doubt going somewhere warm. Tubbo looked over at his friend, a small look of what seemed like shock crossing his features. Maybe he had asked a bad question? Tubbo never mentioned his mom, but every person had a mom of some sort, didn’t they? Tommy had had a mom at one point, even if she wasn’t around, but Tubbo didn’t seem like he was exactly comfortable with talking about this. Before Tommy could say nevermind and drop it, Tubbo spoke softly.

“Um, my dad-- um…” He tried to think of what to say. “I don’t know my mom, I guess? My dad was left with me after they-- y’know-- did that. I just showed up on his doorstep with a note, and he couldn’t abandon me so he took me in.” He fiddled with his fingers in his lap nervously, and Tommy felt immense guilt for asking the question.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Tubbo looked ahead, not meeting his friend’s gaze. “I think that’s why he hates me. Because I wasn’t part of his plan, and I ruined his life by being born.” Tommy’s breath hitched, concern crossing his features. He went to gently rest his hand on Tubbo’s green coat, feeling the coarse wool underneath his fingers.

“Your dad is lucky to have you-- no one would put up with the shit he pulls but you, and he’s lucky. He’s lucky to have such a nice son, because he isn’t a nice person. He doesn’t deserve you, Tubbo.” Tommy’s words were strong, genuine. He believed everything he was saying to Tubbo, and Tubbo glanced over at him, a sad look in his eyes, then looked back ahead.

“I think it’d be a lot easier for him if I hadn’t shown up,” Tubbo said quietly, “if I had never been born.”

“That’s stupid-- you’re so important, you’re the best part about my life,” Tommy tried.

“And the worst part about his,” Tubbo replied with a weak laugh, no humor to the noise.

Tommy swallowed, his hand still on Tubbo’s coat. “He doesn’t-- he doesn’t hit you, right? Or do anything like that?”

Tubbo looked over, shaking his head quickly. “Never, he’s never hit me. He just… says things, and does things. When I’m doing something really good, he acts so proud, and then he-- he holds it against me. He brings up what I’ve done well when I mess up, and he says that I should go back to being a good son, or whatever. He yells a lot, too, when he drinks-- and he’s always drinking.” Tubbo looked down to his lap, his fingers that still nervously moved. “He says he doesn’t like kids, and that I should’ve never been born, that he should’ve never been with my mom. Sometimes I wonder if she was nice, nicer than him. I wonder what it’d be like to be with her, and not him, if I’d feel…” Tommy’s chest twisted, eyes wide, as his fingers clutched at the wool coat.

“If I’d feel loved... if that makes sense,” Tubbo finished finally.

Tommy’s heart hurt for his friend, and he wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. How did he make this better? He couldn’t just change how Schlatt viewed his son, and that rage was building up in him towards the ram. He wanted to hurt him, make him feel all the pain he’d put Tubbo through, make him feel like absolute shit. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. Tubbo had everything he needed physically, but he was treated like a mistake, something unwanted. If Schlatt hadn’t wanted Tubbo, he shouldn’t have been stupid and slept with some girl without caution. Tubbo hadn’t asked to be born, much like no kid ever had, he just had. Now Schlatt was treating him like a mistake, an accident, even though it was his fault Tubbo had been born. He was blaming Tubbo for his actions. Wilbur popped into Tommy’s mind again, but he pushed it aside. Quickly, the boy pulled his friend into a hug, cheek pressed to Tubbo’s shoulder from where he was positioned at his side, and nuzzled into the wool coat that laid under his skin.

“I love you so much, okay?” Tommy said quickly. “Not in a weird way, like how couples do, but you’re my best friend-- I love you more than anything, and if your stupid dad can’t appreciate you, then I will!” He hugged tighter, feeling Tubbo almost melt under the contact, obviously touch-starved. Did his dad ever hug him? Was he really so unkind that he couldn’t hug his only son, his legacy? Someday Schlatt would die alone due to the way he treated people like pawns his game. People would realize what a terrible person he was and they would abandon him. They would leave him for dead to drown in his drinking. “I love you more than any friend I’ve ever had, and I will always love you. You’re-- you’re like my brother. You don’t deserve this, okay? You don’t. You don’t deserve any of this. I’m so sorry, Tubbo…”

Tubbo sniffed, and Tommy only realized that his friend was crying silently. When Tommy cried, it was loud and full of harsh noises that sounded awful, but Tubbo cried like he had been told not to make a sound. There was that saying, children should be seen, not heard and Tommy wondered if Tubbo had ever been heard. He wondered if Tubbo had ever felt like he was listened to, or appreciated. He wondered how many times Tubbo had cried himself to sleep from the abuse he suffered, and he wondered if Tubbo was lonely. Tubbo reminded him of his dad, in a way, or at least the situation did. No one asked to be raised like this, and he hugged Tubbo tighter as he thought about it.

“Th-thanks, Tommy,” his friend said in a watery voice, shifting and wrapping his arms around the other. “That’s really nice to hear, thank you--”

“I’ll say it as many times as you need me to, okay?” Tommy replied quickly. “Anytime you need me, I’m here. Anytime, big guy, anytime you need someone, even if it’s dark out, you can just show up. My mattress is kind of crappy, but you can sneak in and come sleep with me. We can get you away from your dad, even if it’s only for a little bit. I promise. I promise.”

Tubbo smiled gently and hugged Tommy tighter, sniffling a bit. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Toms.”

“The feeling is very, very mutual,” Tommy said in reply, smiling as he looked at Tubbo.

On the walk home from the field, thoughts were eating at Tommy. The conversation with Tubbo had been bad. He had known his friend wasn’t happy at home, but now it was killing him. He had to do something, anything to get Tubbo out of that situation. Stepping inside the house, he saw his dad on the couch, reading, and he walked over, awkwardly standing until Phil noticed him. Phil raised a brow without saying anything, a silent what’s up? to his son. Tommy tried to find his words, but they all came out in a blurted panic.

“Schlatt is being mean to Tubbo and saying he shouldn’t have been born and that he’s an accident, and I don’t want Tubbo to go through that because he’s my best friend and he’s a really good person and I don’t want my best friend to get hurt by his dad because he didn’t even ask to be born, his dad just got a girl pregnant and now he’s treating Tubbo like he’s a mistake and not a good person--”

Phil blinked.

“--and he’s a really good person, he’s the best person I’ve ever met. I love him so much and I don’t know what to do because if he keeps getting treated like crap he’s going to grow up to be mad and angry like everyone else I know and I can’t handle another person being angry and messed up and--”

“Tommy,” Phil tried.

“--and if he’s sad, then I’m sad, because he’s my best friend and best friends are supposed to always be happy and I keep getting this feeling in my gut that he’s going to be unhappy and then he’s going to realize we shouldn’t be friends and he’s going to leave me.” Tommy took a deep breath in as his dad stared at him. “What do I do?”

“Uh… well…” Phil began, only for Tommy to interrupt again.

“Can Tubbo move in with us?”

Phil faltered, and he sighed. “It’s… it’s not that simple, Tommy. You can’t just take him away from Schlatt. Schlatt’s his dad, his family.”

“But Schlatt treats him like shit! He’s not an accident, he’s a person! He’s a person who didn’t ask for any of this! That’s not fair!” Tommy’s voice was a panicked shout and he pushed his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands. “Why is everything messed up?! This isn’t fair, and Tubbo doesn’t deserve that! No one does, no one deserves that kind of feeling of feeling unloved and alone!” Wilbur flashed to his mind again, and he made a frustrated noise, feeling like a toddler as he angrily stomped a foot without thinking about it. “Is this just how growing up works? You realize that everyone sucks and no one’s good?! This sucks! This is the worst!”

Phil frowned and set his book aside, standing up and walking over to Tommy. His son had grown considerably since he was eight, but he still had a bit of height on the boy. He gently rested his hands on Tommy’s shoulders and gazed down at him. “Sometimes there are things we can’t control, and all you can do is support people and help them through it.”

“That isn’t fair, though!” Tommy shouted, feeling like he could cry.

“A lot of times, life isn’t,” Phil said softly.

“Well it should be! I’m going to make it fair!” Tommy wrapped his arms around Phil, desperate for comfort. His dad’s fingers brushed against the nape of his neck, skin touching skin. Once again, a deep sadness seemed to come from Phil, as if he was holding the weight of the world just like Tommy. They were both Atlas, in their own ways. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair! Why do people get hurt, why do good people have to suffer?! That isn’t fair, it’s not how life is supposed to be!” He was so angry about this whole thing, and he felt his dad’s hand dip to his back and start rubbing it in small circles. When Tommy was a kid, every time he’d have a tantrum that would end in intense sobbing after his screaming was done, Phil would lay him down with Tommy’s head in his lap and rub his back, over and over again, until he calmed down. The action now brought so much comfort, and Tommy closed his eyes, allowing the feeling to wash over him. His dad loved him so much, and he knew that. Opening his eyes, he glanced over at the doorway, seeing a figure.

Wilbur stood there, staring with an unreadable expression on his face. Tommy couldn’t tell if it was mad or sad, but it seemed empty, like Wilbur had walked in on something he shouldn’t. He looked at Tommy for a moment, locking eyes with him as Phil continued to rub his back. How long had it been since Wilbur had gotten a hug from their dad? Tommy wondered about it, and Wilbur stared at him for a moment longer, before retreating down the hall, the click of a door closing filling the air. Wilbur had looked so… alone. Even with nothing evident in his features, only a stoic expression, he looked like he had been numb. Tommy wanted to wrap him up in a hug, but he knew it would only mean something if their dad was in his place. He wondered what Phil had seen about Wilbur, because so far Tommy realized that there was a grave issue at hand. He hadn’t had every vision about Wilbur possible, yet, and he wanted to know what would happen. He craved the information about his brother. What put the chill in Wilbur’s bones, what was the breaking point? Was this something that was going to come all at once, or was it going to slowly build up until Wilbur was a husk of the person he had been at one point? Tommy’s brow furrowed, and he wasn’t sure how he felt. He wanted to protect Wilbur, but he didn’t have all the facts or answers he needed to do it. He needed a solution, and he wasn’t sure how to get it, or even if he could get it.

Phil pulled back and looked at Tommy with a soft smile. “Everything will be okay, alright, Tommy? You just need to be patient. Everything will run its course and work out.”

Tommy glanced to where Wilbur had been standing and frowned, then looked back at his dad and nodded. He wasn’t sure how much he believed the words.

That night, dreams plagued Tommy again. He was standing on the ground, looking up at a stage of sorts, and Schlatt was proudly standing there. He looked so fucking pleased with himself, and that smirk he had had only doubled, making him all the more menacing. Tommy looked over to where Wilbur was stood next to him, an angry look on his face, one of betrayal. Schlatt gently tapped at the microphone in front of him, then spoke, his low voice filling the air.

“Well… that was pretty easy…” Tommy’s face was shocked, even though the context was unclear to him. What had happened? Why was Wilbur so mad? “You know what I said, the day I got unbanned from the Dream SMP and the day I said I was running? ...an election that I won, by the way.” Tommy’s blood was cold, and he stared up at Schlatt and his figure in his nice suit, his horns looking even sharper than the first time Tommy had met him. “I said things are gonna change… I looked every citizen of L’Manberg in the eyes and I said, “you listen to me-- this place will be a lot different tomorrow.”” Tommy looked over to Wilbur for a second, then walked forward, trying to get a better look at Schlatt. What the fuck was happening? None of it made sense, but what Tommy could gather was that Schlatt had won, that this land, whatever it was called, was under his control.

“Let’s start makin’ it happen.”

Tommy looked to Wilbur again, who was staring, an emotionless face looking at a corrupt politician. Had they… lost? Had Wilbur ran for president of this place and lost?

“My first decree, as the president of L’Manberg-- the EMPEROR of this GREAT COUNTRY--” Tommy flinched at his volume, shocked. “--IS TO REVOKE THE CITIZENSHIP OF WILBUR SOOT, AND TOMMYINNIT!” Tommy gave a shout of a noise without meaning to, something he couldn’t control in the vision, and people began to scream in outrage, a woman’s voice piercing the air with a shout. It seemed all at once, the people of the crowd turned on Tommy and his brother, drawing crossbows that were aimed directly at them. Tommy stood still as the world crashed around him, the vice president shouting to get the two out of the country, to banish them.

All at once, Tommy was in motion as arrows were fired. He chased after Wilbur who had started running as soon as a flaming arrow hit him, trying to hurriedly put out the fire from the coat he was wearing as he moved with speed. What the fuck was going on? What was happening? Arrows soared through the air, and Tommy drank a potion from a bottle, one he used to detest the taste of as he ran. He looked around for Wilbur-- where was he? Schlatt’s laughter, deep and powerful, was all Tommy could hear. It was all encompassing, and he looked around, panic deep in his bones.

Tommy snapped awake, sitting up in bed as he was brought back to reality, Schlatt’s laughter still in his head as he looked around his dark room. What had just happened? What did that vision mean? Was it going to become a reality? He and Wilbur would lose everything they had? Where had Phil been in that scene, or Techno? Where was their support?

Tommy wasn’t sure what was going on anymore-- but he had a bad feeling in his chest for hours after the dream, unable to sleep as he laid in bed.

What was L’Manberg? And more importantly… what was going to happen to it?