Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The famine informed the populace of Her discontent.

As a farmhand, Tommy saw it happen with his own eyes. The cracked earth and crunchy leaves of the crops left everyone devastated, and the smoke from the fires burned to rid the field of the locusts clogged their lungs.

The sun seemed to beat down harder than most days, a drop of sweat falling from the side of Tommy’s face and onto the dirt, trying to renourish it in some twisted way. 

He took off his straw hat and wiped his face with his sleeve, more dirt popping up on his face than leaving. 

The head worker began to call them together by the wagon with the water in it, but not for a break. 

Tommy jogged forward so he didn’t end up in the back while the head worker spoke because it was hard to hear. The man was soft spoken but efficient, so he was chosen to direct the rest of them. 

“Listen, I know it looks bad right now,” the head worker started before he was rudely interrupted.

“What am I gonna do now? There’s no work anymore and I’ve got mouths to feed!” 

The head worker sighed, clearing his throat. “There’s not much to be done right now, but I assure you the landowners are working on a solution. As of now, I can only tell you to go to the Temple and pray for Her forgiveness.” 

Tommy walked by the Temple everyday on his way home from work, but it was strange to do it so early in the day. He was usually kicking rocks on the way back late in the evening, watching as his fellow workers hit the pubs or greet their families with a kiss. 

The town wasn’t extremely pious, but everyone usually showed up to the rituals in their Sunday bests in the early mornings. The Temple was well-maintained by the local priest and offerings were given regularly by regular folks and wealthy visitors alike. 

Whatever it was, that was the village head’s problem to figure out. Tommy’s own problem happened to be how he was going to keep a roof over his head and food in his mouth. 

Tommy lived in a small apartment above one of the busiest pubs in town. Rent was low despite being downtown, and he struck a deal with the pub owners that if he helped out some nights, he’d get free food those nights. It was a pretty good deal, but with the punch to the village’s main economic pillar, he doubted many people would be venturing to the pubs for the rest of the year, which meant Tommy was on his own in terms of food. 

He didn’t have the heart go home so early, so Tommy did circle back to the Temple.

It was the nicest building in town. The bricks were newly washed, and the cold stained glass windows held no dust. The pews were always neat and lined up, and the altar always had fresh offerings. The old ones were thrown away cyclically in order to maintain the sweet aroma of lavender at all times. 

The people visiting on a Tuesday morning were sparse, but he recognized some of the fieldworkers kneeling near the front with their heads down. Tommy tied the string on his straw hat and let it fall on his back. 

There was a marble statue of a tall woman, her features lost under a veil. Her arm was out, a finger pointed outwards with a bird perched dutifully. At her feet were twin boars mirroring each other.

The Goddess and her Blesseds. 

Tommy slid into a pew near the back, leaning back on the backrest. He didn’t want to pray-- unlike the rest of the town, he didn’t believe in the charade of religion. Maybe she existed, but she wasn’t benevolent or all powerful if she would allow a plague like this. In all honesty, he was just here to beat the heat. 

“Mind if I sit next to you?” Tommy turned to see a tall, lanky man with a curly brown fringe covering half his face. 

Tommy looked back around the room. “Out of the whole temple, you wanna sit next to me?” 

The man nodded. “I like company when I pray.” Tommy tried not to twist his face into something wretched, so he just looked down and scooted over. The man slid over, holding his hand out. “I’m Wilbur.” 

Tommy did not take the hand. “Uh… Tommy.” 

Wilbur nodded, turning back to face the statue, a look of reverence on his face. He didn’t kneel, just sat and stared with adoring eyes. Tommy’s eyes strayed over to Wilbur many times, trying to be stealthy while he tried to read the guy, but it was like he had eyes in the back of his head. “Tell me, do you find my faith amusing?” Wilbur’s tone was harsh but there was something sweet that slithered in, hissing at Tommy to answer honestly. 

“A little.” 

Wilbur huffed with amusement. “What’s so funny about believing?” 

“It’s not your belief that’s funny. I think believing in things is super cool-- it’s just that… What does believing in the Goddess even do? Even if she is real, what does she do for us? It’s just a bit silly to leave all this food as offerings when there’s people starving on the streets. That’s all.” 

Wilbur shrugged. “You might find in the near future that the Goddess might be your only saving grace.” With that, Wilbur lifted himself to his feet, offering Tommy a small salute before heading out of the temple. 

It was a bit strange-- Wilbur had to have been the second traveler Tommy had encountered in the past week, despite the town being situated in a fairly isolated valley. It was a hard place to travel to, but not hard if you lived in the area, which is why so many rich landowners were able to come to the Temple every now and then when they stayed in their country estates.

 The first traveler was a mysterious man, who Tommy would later learn was named Philza, visiting the pub on one of the nights he was helping out. He’d come in with a strange bucket hat and a thick green cloak despite the summer heat, and he insisted on sitting in a corner booth. 

He had ordered two beers and seemed content to just observe the rest of the pub’s population. When Tommy brought him the second beer, Phil had requested he sit with him. 

“I shouldn’t,” Tommy had said. “I have work to do--” 

“I’ll pay you to sit with me.” 

Tommy would never turn down money. He had slid into the opposite side of the booth and waited for the man to speak, but he continued to look out in the crowd. “What do you think of the people here?” Phil had asked. 

“Uh, they’re nice, I guess.” 

“Just nice?” 

“Well they’re nothing special, but I can’t really say much, yeah? I’ve never left this village before.” 

Phil had turned to look at Tommy, examining his face closely. It was a little unnerving, considering Tommy still had dirt on his face from the fields and a bit of a sweaty forehead from running drinks and food out onto the floor. “You’re young. A little too young to be working in a pub.” 

Tommy had just cracked a smile. “That’s life, ay? At least there’s never a dull moment.” At that moment, he noticed Phil’s hands, which rested on the table next to his pint of beer. They were calloused and hardened, but he had fairly clean nails and a gold ring with a large emerald. “Are you a knight?” Tommy had found himself asking.

“Pardon?” 

“Your hands. Do you know how to use a sword?” 

“I do.” 

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to learn, but the Templar knights only come once a year and they’re always so standoff-ish. Fuck those guys. Eh, not like it matters. I spend all my time in the fields or here anyway.” 

“You work in the fields on top of this pub?” 

Tommy nodded. “I only work the pub for dinners. The fields are where the real money comes in.”

“And during the off months?” 

“Odd jobs around town.” 

Phil had leaned his head back and finished the pint off, slamming the mug down on the table. He dug through the pockets of his cloak before coming up with a wad of cash, paging through it and putting a small stack on the table, handing the rest to Tommy. “For your excellent service. And incentive to come with me somewhere.” 

It was certainly a strange proposition, but the green paper had looked so enticing. Normally he wasn’t allowed to take tips, but if he was gone for a short while, it wouldn’t have hurt anyone, right? It was getting late and the pub was winding down anyway-- he wouldn’t be missed.

“Alright,” Tommy had decided, tucking the cash into his vest pocket. Phil smiled and they left the pub. Phil had taken him to the local stables, where a beautiful black horse was waiting patiently. There was a small leather bag attached to the saddle as well as a long sheath for a sword. 

Phil had gone straight to the sword after patting the horse’s muzzle, pulling it out from the sheath and waving it around so Tommy could observe it properly. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tommy breathed, properly entranced. The sword felt like magic, even from standing at a distance. “Can I touch it?” 

“Swords aren’t for playing.” 

“I won’t be playing with it!” Tommy huffed. “I got serious moves!” 

“Mate, you just told me you were untrained.” 

“They’re my Tommy moves! It’s a special school of fighting.” Tommy had the grand idea to bring Phil out into the fields. Under the veil of night time, they would be undisturbed if Phil were to show Tommy a few forms. Phil was a good teacher, but he didn’t show Tommy anything cool-- just basic stances and how to hold position. Still, it was the most fun Tommy had had in a while. It felt he was just going through the motions of life-- wake up, go to work, work some more, sleep. 

It was a strange mid-life crisis to be having at fourteen.

Phil had let Tommy chase him around and do cartwheels and laughed at his jokes. 

All good things had to come to an end. Because as much as Phil let him fuck around and have fun, he also thought Tommy should have a bed time, and walked him home just as the pub was officially closing. 

The pub owner’s wife was waiting at the front with her hands on her hips and a nasty scowl on her face. “Tommy!” she shrieked. Where did you go? It’s like you don’t want to eat!” Like clockwork, his stomach began to grumble, and Tommy ended up mustering up the most apologetic look he could. 

At the sight of the pub owner’s wife’s face twisting anymore, he was about to begin bowing, but Philza stepped in front of him, his cloak pushed back so his sword was in clear view. “Are you really about to deny this child food?” 

“If he didn’t earn it, damn right I will!” 

“Are you sure about that?” Phil challenged. Tommy had only been faced with Phil’s back, so all he saw was the pub owner’s wife’s expression change from arrogance to fear. 

“You-- you-- what--” 

“Will you give Tommy his meal or not?” 

“I will! I will!” 

Tommy could hear the smile in Phil’s voice. “Good.” He turned to Tommy, putting a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Eat well. I hope to see you again soon.” With one last squeeze, Phil had taken off into the darkness of the street, and by morning he and his horse were gone from the village. 

He was such a strange man, but Tommy really enjoyed hanging out with Phil. It had only been a week since then, but Tommy was already feeling the withdrawals of when you get attached to someone that you can’t be around. 

Tommy left the Temple after accidentally taking a nap in one of the pews and decided to pay a visit to the local blacksmith and his apprentice, Tubbo, to bump some lunch. Tubbo and Tommy had known each other since their early youth, but the main difference between them was that Tommy was an orphan while Tubbo came from a relatively good home. 

It was easier to get trade work when you have a family to back up your history. 

Tommy would only ever be good for odd jobs. 

Three days after the swarm, the village head called a town meeting. The priest had generously offered the Temple as a place to meet, so on Friday evening, half the town gathered in the well lit Temple, nervous chatter passing through the people like ocean waves. 

Tommy hadn’t planned to attend, but the pub owner had given him some pocket cash to check it out while he and his wife kept the pub open. It wasn’t like anyone was coming in, but the couple were clinging to financial stability. 

The village head was an old man with a hunched back and almost always wearing an older style rather than the newer fashions. Many a time he’d walk around town in a long tunic that looked like an ill-fitting dress, which Tommy and Tubbo would secretly chuckle at how ridiculous he looked. Still, it made him appear sagacious enough that he was constantly re-elected to his position despite also appearing as though he’d keel over and die at any moment. 

“Friends,” the village head croaked out. “Our fields took a great hit today, and after discussing with the patrons of the land, it was decided that it was unwise to keep farmhands on for anything other than livestock production.” 

Hands shot up instantaneously, some even standing up and shouting rather than waiting their turns. “What do we do in the meantime? What do you expect us to do?” 

“We’re reaching out to other gentlemen who might need help on their lands. Rest assured, friends, all that can be done to rectify the situation is being done. I ask for patience, and I ask for prayer. If we could all join hands…” 

Tommy looked around him and noticed the baker, Niki, was the only person sitting next to him. She reached her hand out to him, ready to say grace, but Tommy was reluctant to take it. It was the polite thing to do, sure, but a part of Tommy wanted to spite the Goddess for her slights against him. 

Niki dropped her hand after Tommy refused to make eye contact with him and just held hands with her brother, Ranboo. Ranboo was someone Tommy knew by name but not personally. Most of the information he heard about Ranboo was from Tubbo, because the only person Tubbo spent more time with than his master, Sam, was Ranboo. 

It didn’t really matter much to Tommy before, seeing as he was always so tired from work to spend time with friends, but now he had all this free time and Tubbo just… didn’t. 

A tap on Tommy’s shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. The first thing he saw was long pink hair cascade down in front of him before his eyes wandered up to a man with an unusually pretty face. The strangest thing about him (besides the hair) was the maroon of his eyes. 

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?” 

Tommy looked across the aisle at the completely empty pew across from them, glancing back up at the guy who didn’t bother to follow Tommy’s eye journey, and folded his legs under the pew.

No way was he moving from his spot at the end.

The man settled in, hands folded neatly in his lap. Like Philza, he also had the hands of a knight, and Tommy felt a streak of excitement run through him. 

“What’s your name?” Tommy whispered to him. 

The man raised an eyebrow, perhaps surprised that Tommy was interacting with him, but answered nonetheless. “Technoblade.” 

“Technoblade… Cool name.”

“Thanks.” 

“I’m Tommy.” 

“Cool.” 

“Are you new here, or are you a traveler?” 

“Both.” 

“What does that mean?” From down the pew, Niki leaned forward and pressed her index finger to her lips, a silent plea for them to quiet down as the village head continued to address the growing concerns. “It’s a bad time to be new here with all the crazy stuff with the crops. You should just move, man.” 

“It’s only goin’ to get crazier,” said Technoblade. “Let’s just say… watch your food.”

Tommy wrote off the man’s words, mostly because he was more invested in his clothes. This man had come into a small village crisis meeting in an armored chestplate, a centurion cloak, and heavy black boots that made quite the ruckus in a hall like this. Who was he dressing for? Not for a small village crisis meeting. 

The meeting ended, and Tommy wasted no time in bothering Technoblade as they joined the crowd of people flooding out of the Temple. “Where’s your sword?” 

“What sword?” 

“You wear armor but don’t have a sword? Bull. Shit.” 

Techno huffed. “You sure are a curious thing.” 

Tommy laughed, continuing to look Techno up and down for the semblance of a sword. Finally, under the shield of his cloak, Tommy spotted a hilt jutting out from his hip. “Aha! Look who’s a liar.” 

“I never said I didn’t have a sword.” 

Ah. That was right. Tommy managed to break apart from the crowd, everyone trickling back into their homes or the pubs, for those who were not as affected by the famine. The pub owner would probably want him back to help out, but he was surprised to find Technoblade trailing after him. 

“Can I help you, Tech-no-blade?”

“It’s just Technoblade. And I--” Techno shut himself up, his cheeks darkening as he scratched the back of his head. “You like the sword, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Technoblade unclipped the sheath from his belt, and with two hands, presented it to Tommy. “For you, then.” 

“What?” Tommy took a few steps back. “I can’t accept that. That’s your sword! I thought a knight’s sword was his life?” 

“I have others. This one's for you.” Despite his hesitance, Tommy couldn’t deny the desire to hold a sword again. It was addicting, even from the short time he was able to hold Phil’s. Unlike Phil’s sword, which was heavy and stubby, this one was long and light, almost as if it were made for Tommy to hold. “It’s a rapier.” 

Tommy unsheathed it, waving it around with an elegance Tommy didn’t know he had. “Do you think the Templar knights will finally teach me how to use this thing?”

Techno’s face scrunched up tightly, as if acutely offended by the implication. “You don’t need those rats teachin’ you. In due time, I will teach you.” 

Tommy’s eyes nearly shot out of his skull. “Really? When can we start?” How lucky could he be, getting this random guy to teach him? From the looks of it, he could be particularly skilled-- especially if he had more than one sword. 

A bud of hope blossomed in Tommy’s heart-- that perhaps he wasn’t just cut out for farmwork, and with the help of Technoblade, he could rise up in the world and become a Templar knight. 

“Once the final storm passes-- that’s when we start.” 

“What the fuck does that mean.” 

Technoblade dropped him off at the pub, and at the sight of him, the pub owner’s just sent him up to his apartment despite the amount of business they were receiving that evening. The pub owner even gave him an extra dollar for his troubles at the village meeting. 

And the next morning, Tommy began to understand what bad luck truly meant. 

It started with shrieks from the river-- a group of women that wanted to do laundry early in the morning ran back terrified, their baskets of laundry completely forgotten as they raved about an army of frogs and bubbling water emerging from the river. 

Tommy didn’t really believe it, but with all his free time, he recruited Tubbo, and by extension, Ranboo, to go to the riverside and check it out. The river wasn’t far, just a short walk through a stretch of trees and a little bit through a field of lavender, and there it was. 

Even before they made it near the river, a chorus of croaking could be heard as far back as the treeline. In the distance, the trio could see a group of men yelling and jumping as frogs jumped at them and clung to them. 

“Do we go closer?” asked Ranboo. 

Tubbo shook his head. “I don’t want an arm full of frog.” 

When they walked back, they were approached by dozens of frogs, all of them jumping over Ranboo and Tubbo’s feet but none coming close to Tommy. It was a little strange. Tommy even did his best to bait one to hop in his hands, but they kept their distance. 

This, of course, caused another village meeting to be scheduled. The Temple once again became refuge for the village, as it was the only place untouched by the frogs. Everyone’s floorboards were crawling with the sticky creature, save for Tommy’s. 

He didn’t find a single frog in his room. 

This meeting, Wilbur sat next to him. Tommy chose to sit a bit closer to the front so he’d actually pay attention this time, and Wilbur was right there in seconds, scooting in after him. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” the older man said with a grin, wrapping his arm over the back of the pew.

“It’s a town meeting. Not surprising to see a resident show up,” Tommy shot back. “Why the fuck are you here? Do you even live here?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Okay, where do you live?” 

“Isn’t that a bit invasive?” laughed Wilbur, quieting down when an older couple sent him a nasty look. “This town and I are old acquaintances.” 

Tommy ended up tuning Wilbur out in favor of the old village head discussing the frogs. He raised his walking stick and pointed up at the statue of the Goddess. “Before might have been a coincidence, but it is clear now, friends, the Goddess has been angered. Our lovely priest has thankfully opened up the Temple for a later cleansing ceremony that I urge you all to attend to stop this madness and return our village to its normal peace.” 

Tommy rolled his eyes. He’d admit it: the frogs were a little weird, but the river was probably overflowing (he knew that wasn’t a proper explanation). Wilbur probably believed everything they were saying about the magical anger or something. 

Whatever. He would just head back to his apartment for a nice sleep. 

Wilbur followed him out rather than stay for the cleansing ceremony. “Need someone to walk you back?” 

“Uh no?” 

“You sure? It’s going to get dangerous in the next couple of days.” 

“Why do you say that like you know something?” Tommy accused. 

Wilbur shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

Chapter Text

Breakfast over the next few days was a dismal affair. 

Off the corner of main street that led to the fields was a bakery-- the one Niki worked at. Tommy was not a frequent visitor due to lack of funds, but every once in a while he felt he deserved a treat and got a chocolate muffin or something. 

The frogs had been somewhat eradicated from downtown, but outlying houses still dealt with the loud croaks and the strange slime the creatures left behind. The pub owner’s wife paid Tommy a few extra dollars to help scrub down the pub of any trace of the frogs. 

That turned into bakery money. 

He was hoping he’d see Technoblade around town if he wandered long enough. Since the first town meeting, Technoblade had basically been a ghost-- he’d seen more of Wilbur than he had Technoblade. Tommy kept the rapier Techno had gifted him safe in the back of his armoire wardrobe. Every other day or so he’d take it out to admire it and wipe it down (not that he’d ever let it get dusty). 

The bell rang overhead as he stepped into the bakery. It was vacant save for Ranboo behind the counter, who was re-arranging the pastries in the display case. 

“Hey, Ranbo.” 

“Uh… Hey?” Ranboo greeted back, not bothering to correct Tommy’s pronunciation. 

“I want… A croissant.” 

“Oh, uh… Yeah, about that…” 

“What? You only give service when I’m with Tubbo or something? That feels like nepotism. Discrimination. It feels like--”

“No, nothing like that,” Ranboo interrupted. “Our food… It’s gone bad. We’re actually in the process of closing up early.” 

Tommy looked around, a wave of realization washing over him as he realized he was the only person in the bakery mid morning. It was a bit strange-- usually the bakery had a long line out the door at this time of day. “What happened?” 

Ranboo shrugged. “Niki started the morning off by baking fresh everything, and when we sold it, a bunch of bugs just started coming out of the pastries. Scared the bejeezus out of the poor customers.” 

“Wish I could’ve been there,” lamented Tommy. What great entertainment that would’ve been. 

“Yeah, so we don’t have anything to sell. Maybe tomorrow.” 

So Tommy had walked out with his pockets still heavy with bakery money, returning to the pub. The pub only opened starting mid-afternoon, so the place was pretty quiet. He wandered into the kitchens, popping his head in to see the pub owner’s wife with her hands over her ears, her forehead pressed against the wooden counter, choking back a scream. 

Tommy knocked on the door lightly. “Is something wrong?” he asked tentatively. He didn’t want to accidentally stick himself in an unsolicited therapy appointment where he was the therapist, but it didn’t seem like the pub owner’s wife would be interested in something like that anyway.

She swiftly lifted her head, her entire face beet red as began to scream at him, spit flying from her mouth. “Was it you? Did you do this?” 

“Do what?” She bent down and lifted up a giant piece of beef, slamming it down on the counter. It was littered with little flies and gnats, maggots crawling in and out of it. “How the fuck would I even do that? That’s, like, a farm thing.” 

The pub owner’s wife’s eyes brightened. “You’re right! And you-- you worked there, right?” 

“Only on the fields.” 

“Still, same farm, right? Can you go down and find out what’s going on?” Tommy extended his hand out, his fingers beckoning for an extra incentive. The pub owner’s wife rolled her eyes and stuck her hand into the front pocket of her apron, pulling out a couple of coins. “That's all I have for now.”

Tommy sighed but still took the money. 

Seemed like everyone was poor these days. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back out, this time avoiding the direction of the bakery. Once he made it out of the main part of the village, he headed down the path that led to the fields. From there, the paths diverged-- one to the fields, and one to the farmhouse where all the livestock was kept.

On the way, he began to count how many frogs he still came across. The townspeople may have swept them off the streets and out of their homes, but Tommy had a feeling they’ll be back. 

It seemed like Tommy wasn’t the only one looking for answers from the landowners. A group of men, similar to the one found by the river, was gathered by all the livestock, raising pitchforks and yelling loudly. Tommy slipped into the crowd, slithering his way to the front. 

When he got to the front, he wished he hadn’t. 

Every cow laid on their sides as if they were tipped over, labored breathing and mites crawling all over their fur, their eyeballs, and their mouths. But it wasn’t just the cows-- it was the horses, the chickens, the pigs, the cattle-- all across the grazing fields and the coop, the animals were covered in flies looking half dead or half crazed. 

Tommy pulled his shirt over his nose to cover the abominable smell wafting up from the disease, and began to listen to the crowd. “All of our produce is fucked because of this! The meat we had in our freezer looked like this too!” 

“What have you been feeding your fucking animals, ay? You trying to kill everyone?” 

“Why is the Goddess not yet appeased? What more must we do?” 

“Everyone calm down!” The entire crowd turned their heads to see the old village head lumber his way up the hill, wheezing with every stab of his stick into the dirt, his tunic turning muddy as he continued up. “This is just another--” 

“Enough bullshit! No prayers are working!” interrupted one man before the village head could even get a word in. Tommy was inclined to agree with that guy. Finally, someone was seeing sense. 

“I understand your frustrations-- we’re all suffering the same, believe me! But we must remain steadfast and faithful through this trial we’ve been given. We are not the first peoples to be tested by the Goddess in history. Do you know how She knows of our faith? She will send detractors and She will send demons to test our faith-- but the Blesseds are also here, watching us. By the end of it, She will know who is truly worthy of Peace and who is worthy of Limbo.” 

Tommy crossed his arms, huffing quietly as the crowd mumbled words of agreement. To add insult to injury, the village head invited them to yet another meeting at the Temple in the evening to discuss moving forward in these times of hardship. 

Tommy couldn’t quite understand it, even on his walk back. These people were never especially pious-- even the village head was never that much of a religious nut-- so why now? Are they becoming pious because of these plagues? Or is it truly the fear of the unknown after death? They’d rather believe in a Peace or a Limbo rather than nothing at all? Rather risk being right than denying any sort of cosmic force at play?

He shook his head, lost in his thoughts as his forehead hit something solid. He stepped back, nursing the little bump forming, before glaring at the offender. “Wilbur?” He didn’t think the lanky man had such a solid frame. 

“Tommy! Just the boy I wanted to see.” 

“That makes one of us.” 

“Are you hungry? Would you like to have lunch with me?” Tommy couldn’t help but be reminded of what he just witnessed, his face twisting unpleasantly. He still hadn’t had a single meal today, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to even if he managed to get his hands on some food. “I promise it will be good.” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Wilbur smirked. “Untouched.” From the inside of his trench coat, Wilbur pulled out two sandwiches, each full of thick cut meat and fresh cheese. He held one out for Tommy to take. Tommy waited for Wilbur to take a bite first before Tommy took out a chunk, pieces of bread falling out of his mouth as he chewed. 

“So you saw already?” he asked in between mouthfuls. 

“Do you mean your food situation? I’m afraid so, yes.” They fell into step together as they continued back downtown. “It sure is a shame, but I know a guy. If you ever need food, just come find me.” 

“You have a solution? Why not bring it to the village head?” 

Wilbur shook his head. “Nothing long term, and nothing that feeds an entire community, Toms. Just you and I.” 

“Oh.” 

Wilbur pulled out a small canteen, unscrewing it before handing it to Tommy. “Fresh water, too. I know this will be even more of a commodity than it already is in a few days.” 

“What the fuck does that mean? You’re one cryptic fuck, you know that?” Tommy snorted, throwing his head back to take a swig of the water. The river water was still safe to use, but with the amount of frogs still lurking around, not many people were appetized by it. “All of this will blow over. Everyone’s just being dramatic.” 

“You don’t think this is divine retribution from the Goddess?” 

“For what?” 

“Maybe She senses a non-believer in your village. Maybe you’re causing the plagues.” Tommy stopped in his tracks, Wilbur pausing his step slightly to crack a smile. “It’s a joke, sunshine. The Goddess wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“Right, but She’s done a whole lot worse. If this is Her work, anyway.” 

“Agree to disagree for now,” Wilbur shrugged, both continuing their walk. The beginning of the cobbled street was just in view now. “Where are you off to next?” 

Tommy rolled his head back. “Dunno. Not much to do with no work.”

“How about spending the day with me?” 

“I’ll take the boredom, thanks.” 

“Come on! I’m the only one you’ve rejected! It’s not fair!” 

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “And what do you mean by that?” 

Wilbur’s face sharpened, his eyes becoming darker as he realized his wording. “It’s nothing, sunshine.” 

“And that nickname-- where the fuck did that come from? You’re a real wrong’un, y’know--”

“Forget the past thirty seconds.” Tommy held his head in his hands, something foggy coming over his brain. He couldn’t quite place this feeling, and he also couldn’t fathom how he became much closer to the village just by walking. He could’ve sworn he was a little further down the path than where he was.   “Now tell me, where are you off to next?” 

“Dunno. Not much to do with no work.” 

“Do you like music? I happen to be a musician. Would you like to hear me play?” Tommy perked up that. He loved music. Sometimes some of the guys from the field would spontaneously start singing while working and then everyone would just join in, and it helped make the work go by faster. In the evenings, some people liked to busk near the Temple or outside of the pub-- violins, guitars, saxophones and more-- and Tommy would always spare a coin or two for those people.

He didn’t want to say this made him view Wilbur in a different light because he already vowed to loathe the man for no given reason, but… Music was so cool. “Alright, I’ll listen to you since I’m so nice, and I like supporting small creators.” 

“I like being supported.” 

“Damn.” 

“Just please… Please tell me you know something other than psalms.” 

Wilbur gave him an offended look. “I write my own music. Why would I sing psalms? Those things are tasteless.”

“I thought you were super religious,” Tommy mumbled.

“I can believe in Her kindness and love and also think the Central Temple needs to hire new composers.” This accidentally launched Wilbur into an entire rant about how awful the music used in services was and how he would change it, which lasted the whole journey to wherever Wilbur was taking him. 

Apparently the man had a guitar case just sitting in a tree on the other side of town, which made Tommy start to think he was homeless, but the fabric of his clothes were too nice for that to be true, even if his coat looked like it’d been run over by a wagon a million times over. 

The rest of him looked fine. For the most part. 

After retrieving the guitar, Wilbur dragged him to that lavender field near the river where all the frogs made a home. Tommy was against it at first, but Wilbur promised the frogs would not be a bother, and he was right. It was as if all the frogs had vacated the field. He could not hear a single croak. 

Wilbur unclipped his guitar case and took out a sleek acoustic guitar, the strings unclipped from the last time they were changed. Wilbur quickly tuned the guitar by rote, humming the note as he went. 

“Do you play anything?” Wilbur asked absent-mindedly. 

“No… I mean, the pianist at the Temple taught me a little about the scale after one service-- I used to sing in the choir when I was younger, but… I’ve never really played an instrument before.” 

“Piano, huh? I know a little piano. My brother does too, but he’s mainly a violinist.” 

“Talented family, ay?” 

“Eh, our parents are piss poor at this sort of thing. They never really felt the need to dabble in such… Quotidian hobbies.” 

Tommy didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t want Wilbur to think he was stupid, so he let it slide. Wilbur played him a couple of tunes, some originals, some melodies he heard from his travels that just stuck with him. Wilbur had good music taste-- everything he played pleased Tommy’s ears greatly. 

He was almost sad when the sun started to go down and he had to head back. Wilbur grinned when Tommy’s face dropped for a second, slinging an arm around his shoulder and promising to hang out with him again soon. 

Tommy shook him off quickly, racing back to town.

He didn’t even bother to head to the town meeting, not really wanting to confront the glaring issues of his livelihood. Honestly, it was better that the whole town was struggling now instead of just the farm families. Now it didn’t matter that Tommy would be out of food and money, because so was everyone else.

They would struggle as a community. 

In the morning, he would find out the town head’s next move, because it was all anyone was talking about.

Chapter Text

A week had gone by with their food supply criminally low-- the livestock were sickly, the produced meat had gone bad, and products from livestock such as eggs and cheese had also lost any edibility. Overnight the town had turned into a hunter-gatherer society, but even the prey brought back went bad as soon as it was brought to town. 

This was something not even Tommy could explain away with logic, and so he came to a sad truth: this was the work of a goddess, and she hated them. Why the people continued to worship a vengeful creature like this, Tommy would never understand, but that was the collective’s choice. 

After a week of struggling by just eating fruits, vegetables, and funky mushrooms, the village head’s solution arrived on horseback with wagons full of supplies.

The Templar knights. 

The village head had asked the town priest to write to the Central Temple for aid of any sort, seeing as the village was no longer self-sustaining, and the neighboring towns could only help themselves at this time. 

Perhaps it was a bit evil of him, but Tommy for one was absolutely excited for the Templar knights' arrival, just not for the same reason as everybody else. 

The Templar knights were the dream-- to become one was a great honor. Though they were a religious order, not everyone who joins was inherently religious, much like Tommy’s case. He had been spurned by them before, but now he had a cool new sword and some moves to show off. Once they saw the stances Philza taught him, they’d totally teach him more. 

He hadn’t seen Wilbur much that week, but when he did, the man always had an extra sandwich and a full canteen of clean water, non-frog water. It seemed as though the frogs were here to stay, always coming through people’s floorboards or open windows. Some people would go to the well for a bucket of water and come back with a bucket of frogs. People had become quite clever in ways to clean their water and get rid of the frogs, though, so the water had become a non-issue in the face of soul-sucking hunger.

When the Templar knights did arrive, it was with great fanfare. A great caravan of knights rode into town with four wagons filled with rations, and the best part about it was that none of it went bad as soon as it made it to town. Tommy was starting to think there was something wrong with the land again rather than some goddess, but he wouldn’t be so narrow-minded to only allow one possibility to take precedence. 

Tommy recognized a couple of the knights-- there was Sir Sapnap, who always tied a white ribbon around his forehead, and Sir Punz, who liked to show off his incredible family wealth with a sickening amount of gold chains. Near the rear he spotted Dame Hannah and Dame Puffy, who were the only two people who were even slightly interested in teaching Tommy the ways of the sword, though their superiors caught wind of it and put it to rest. 

Tommy watched them parade into town while sitting on the bench outside of Niki’s bakery. He looked away for a moment, turning to his side, and was surprised to see a familiar face. “Technoblade?” 

The man was dressed less conspicuously than when Tommy had last seen him, only wearing a plain white poet’s shirt and sleek black trousers that would surely absorb all the heat from the late summer sun. “Uh, hey.” 

Tommy jumped up in surprise. “Where’ve you been?” 

“Business.” 

Tommy deflated back onto the bench, his spine molding against the back of the bench as he slid down. “You know, you’re really mysterious. Oh, I know! You’re here to see the Templar knights, aren’t you? I knew you were a fan.” 

Technoblade’s face twisted with disgust, eyeing the caravan warily. “I’m not.” The Templar knights waved at the adoring crowd, stopping in the middle of the square and unloading their boxes of rations. 

The village head had gone ahead and set up a space for people to come and receive their share in an orderly fashion. Everyone that watched the Templar knights moved to join the queue, big smiles on their faces at the promise of a full meal for the night. 

Tommy himself got up to join the line, Technoblade silently trailing after him. While they waited, they conversed lowly about mundane things, mostly just Tommy trying to get more information out of Technoblade and Technoblade lightly insulting Tommy at every turn. The conversation halted when a familiar white coat stepped in front of them, a red glove resting on Tommy’s dusty vest. 

“Well if it isn’t the Big Man himself,” Puffy laughed. 

“Pussy!” he greeted with a large grin. “--I mean, Puffy! How are you?” 

“I’m good. I can’t believe it’s been a year since we last stopped by. I’m sorry to hear about the fields. It must have been a tough couple of weeks for you.” 

Tommy shrugged. “We do the best we can. Hey, Puffy, this is Technoblade. He has a sword and he says he’s better than all the Templar knights combined!” Technoblade never did say this, but after a total day of acquaintance, Tommy considered himself somewhat of a Techno-translator. 

Puffy crossed her arms, a smirk dancing across her face as she looked Technoblade up and down. Slowly, the smirk was pulled into a frown, her eyebrows pushed together in a concerned manner. 

“I never said that,” Technoblade corrected. “Pleasure to meet you, Dame Puffy.” 

“L-likewise,” Puffy stuttered, stepping back. She turned to Tommy. “I have to go back to my post. It was nice catching up… Come find me later to talk more, okay, Tommy?” 

“Yeah, sure--” 

She gripped both his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. “Promise me you’ll come by later.” 

“Promise! I Promise!” Tommy said, eagerly shaking the woman off of him. Puffy nodded contentedly and took off back to the gaggle of knights unloading boxes. “That was fuckin’ weird. Maybe she’s finally going to take me as her squire! It’s about time after all!” 

“Squire?”

“Remember when I was talking about the Templar knights-- y’know, about them training me?”

“Rings a bell.”

“Right, well Puffy was the one most interested. Maybe the higher ups are finally going to say yes.” 

Technoblade scoffed. “You don’t need them. They’re lousy conformists. You’ll never learn something if you end up their dog.”

“Not a big Temple guy? Me neither, but people like me can’t be too picky, you know.”

“I told you I’d teach you, didn’t I?” 

“You’ve been gone since I met you, man!”

“Alright. Meet me in the square tonight and we’ll begin lesson one.”

“Sure, after I visit Puffy--”

“Don’t you want your sword lessons? Skip the knight, just come straight here.” Technoblade’s usual rhythm was slow and meticulous when he spoke, but here he was rushed and sounded a little uncertain. 

Tommy fiddled with the buttons on his vest as he thought about it. Tommy considered himself a man of his word, and perhaps he’d be missing a great opportunity if he didn’t meet with Puffy. But Technoblade-- Gods, Technoblade was just such a cool-looking guy. Tommy had secured lessons from this guy, and he gave him a sword. 

“Alright, alright.” 

When the lampposts flickered on, Tommy took his sword and made his way to the square, his eyes darting back and forth looking for a certain Dame that may or may not be looking for him.

The square was uncharacteristically quiet this evening. One would think the village would be celebrating with the arrival of the rations and the knights, but everyone was either in their homes with their families or in the Temple giving thanks to the Goddess for Her mercy. 

Technoblade was the only one in sight, standing over the fountain with a frog in his palm. With his index finger, he tickled the top of the frog’s head until it leaped out of his hand and onto the streets, hopping off to an alleyway. 

“They’re cute, yeah?” said Tommy, hugging his sword close to his chest, careful so the sharp edge of the blade did not slice his forearms. 

“They’re alright,” said Techno, not at all bothered that he was caught petting a frog. Technoblade had a large broadsword strapped to his side, the height alone almost eclipsing Tommy’s own by a shred. “I see you’ve been taking good care of your present.”

“Yeah! Of course, big man!”

Techno smiled in a way that didn’t quite look like a smile, just a nudge of his lip skewed in one direction, but Tommy knew it was a smile innately. He knew it like he knew how to breathe, and it was a moment of sharp realization that a certain dread set in. This acquaintance of his spurred these feelings of warmth and familiarity so soon and there was no concern until he realized it. 

“What do you already know?” Techno asked, shaking Tommy out of his head. Tommy immediately set his feet apart and held the sword up in one of the first positions Philza showed him all those weeks ago, and Technoblade hummed in approval. “Strong first position. Steady your feet a little more. Your hands are shaking. You have to be calm.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No apologies, just correct it. Where do apologies get you?” 

“One time it got me out of a night of jail time.” 

“We’re going to breeze past that one.” 

Tommy showed him the other positions Phil instructed him on, and in his own way, Techno kindly adjusted anything that was off about it. It was a bit strange to be doing this in the middle of the town square where he was so used to seeing dancing and laughing and window lights, but Technoblade seemed to be a man of little social awareness either way. 

Finally, they got to the interesting aspect. 

The real swordplay. 

Techno demonstrated some simple katas, exercises Tommy could try on his own to improve his swings, and then he finally pulled out his own sword and got into his own defensive position. “Do you think you’re up for a little spar?” 

“Oh you know it! You’re going down, Blade!” Tommy readied his blade, holding it far from his body with both hands as Techno let his sword drop to his side, only one hand on such a long and broad sword. Without another word, Technoblade lunged at Tommy, and it took every muscle in his body to block a direct hit from Techno. 

Tommy stumbled back a few steps before he re-applied his grip on the handle and ran at Techno swinging with an angry growl. Techno easily deflected the blow, causing Tommy to fall forward and onto his face. He hit the cobble hard, feeling a rush of blood from out of his nose and down his lip, chin and neck. 

Technoblade crouched down, awkwardly patting Tommy’s back. “Nice try.” 

“I think you broke my nose.” 

Techno pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. “Again.” 

Tommy wiped his nose with the cuff of his shirt. He’d have to ask the pub owner for some hydrogen-peroxide to get these stains out. He dusted off his trousers and readied himself again, his legs swaying back and forth as he amped himself up, racing at Techno again, his sword set out to impale Technoblade rather than slice at him. Techno rolled his eyes and side stepped, letting Tommy flop over on his own. 

This time, Techno didn’t even need to pull Tommy back up. Tommy was up on his feet after only a few seconds of tasting dust, a guttural war cry coming from deep within his throat. With his sword over his head, he made a large arc intending on bringing it down on Technoblade’s head, but was softly defeated by a knee to the stomach. 

This time he was down on his backside, his chest heaving effortfully as he wheezed out a string of curses. 

Techno offered a hand, but Tommy wilfully batted it away. “Why the fuck are you so good?”

“Years of diligent study and a keen eye for detail. Maybe a hyperfixation on bein’ the best, but I think-- I think that’s a secondary thing.”

Tommy took a deep breath before getting into one of the practiced stances. He didn’t make a move this time, waiting for Technoblade to move first. Perhaps reacting was better than acting at this point. He wasn’t getting through Technoblade with brute force, that was for sure. He watched which foot Techno put his weight on; he watched which hand he held the sword with, which fingers were on gripping the hilt the tightest, which direction his eyes moved before he made his first move. 

So when Technoblade moved next, Tommy was ready. He did not block the hit, but rather moved out of the way, taking a moment of opportunity to slice at Techno’s side. Metal on metal as Tommy’s blade slid off Techno’s own as his hit was deflected. 

Tommy moved back voluntarily, reassessing the situation. He was cornered by the fountain-- Technoblade had all the space in the world behind him. From his periphery, Tommy could spot a little girl peeking out from her window on the second floor. 

It was that brief moment of distraction that Technoblade struck, barreling into Tommy with his shoulder and pushing him back into the fountain. Tommy shrieked as he felt his backside soak up the cool water. The cool liquid engulfed his face, taking him down as his head hit the bottom of the fountain. When he opened his eyes, it was not the clear blue it used to be, but an overwhelming crimson, filling his eyes, his nose, and his mouth as he screamed. 

Tommy shot out of the fountain, looking at his now red shirt and dripping red hands. “Tommy, are you okay?” Techno placed a concerned hand on his shoulder. “You did well this time.” 

Tommy stared slack-jawed at Techno, his gaze going back and forth from the older man and the bloody fountain. He heard a shrill scream and turned around, the girl watching him from her window running away to notify her parents. 

Soon people started funneling out of their houses, filling the empty space of the square, pointing and gasping at Tommy, covered in blood, and the fountain that was shooting out blood rather than water. 

Some people ran back to their houses only to faint from the shock of seeing the water in their pots turn to blood. Some scouts from the river came back with frogs on their heads and bloody tracks following them back. 

In the center of it all stood Tommy and Techno. Techno looked unbothered, even offering Tommy a coat to cover up. The village head and the local priest were quick to show up with an entourage of Templar knights, including Puffy. 

The girl from the window, Tommy and Technoblade were all pulled aside for questioning. Technoblade and Tommy’s stories matched each other perfectly, but the little girl was in hysterics. “That boy touched the water and it turned red! It was devilish! It was unnatural!” 

Though the village head attempted to make the questionings as private as possible, the ravings of the girl could be heard by anybody who stood close enough, and these sorts of words do not stay private for long in such a small community. 

Throughout it all, Puffy kept trying to make stern eye contact with Tommy, but he could not meet her gaze, the guilt of blowing her off setting in fully. 

When Tommy and Techno were excused, he received a different sort of attention. Men he worked with and trusted with his life looked at him coldly. Women who have known him practically his whole life sneered as he passed. He saw Tubbo near the end, but Tubbo didn’t even look at him, only pulled on Ranboo’s sleeve so he’d bend down for Tubbo to whisper in his ear.

“Ignore them, Tommy. You know you’re innocent,” Technoblade consoled. “Somethin’ weird happened and they can’t explain it, so they look to you for blame.” 

“Still…” 

“Tommy, focus on the good. You did really well. I was impressed with you.” 

“Really? You’re not just saying that or shit?” 

“No. You adapted and you learned from your mistakes. You did exactly what I wanted you to.” 

“Which was?”

Techno stopped walking, and Tommy followed suit. They were a little farther from the crowd, closer to the pub than anything, but still close enough to hear the murmurs that rippled through the crowd. “I wanted you to learn from your mistakes. Learn through experience rather than being told what to do. When you live through something, that lesson stays longer than if I just told you what I wanted you to do. You hurt your nose, your backside-- you’re covered in blood-- and you’ve learned what?” 

“Uhh… I’m fast? And… I should be patient?” 

“There you go. Great first lesson, right?” 

“I guess so, Blade.” 

“It helps that I’m a good teacher, I suppose.” 

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

Tommy’s attention broke away from Technoblade when he heard all sound from the townspeople cease. The village head and the local priest stood in front of the fountain, an impending announcement brewing. 

“My friends, we have not done enough for Her. It is under the judgment of Father Dream and the Templar knights that I implore you all to set up an altar in your homes for our beloved Goddess and her Blesseds. The detractors among us will not win if She hears our prayers in our most vulnerable moments-- in our homes. The Templar knights will be checking everyone’s homes by the end of this week. As for fresh water, word will be sent to the Central Temple immediately for continued rations. Bless you all and have a safe night!”

Tommy and Technoblade did not move from where they stood, allowing people to push past them, some purposely bumping into Tommy.

“Come on. I’ll take you home.” 

Tommy sighed but allowed Techno to shoo him home to the pub. He returned before the pub owner and his wife, and Technoblade bid him goodbye at his door rather than the entrance of the pub. From his belt, Technoblade produced a large canteen. “Fresh water. So you can wash up.”

“Thanks.”

Technoblade bid him good night after that, and Tommy was quick to shut his door, sliding down the wooden paneling as he looked at one of his empty walls. He’d have to set up an altar for that vindictive Goddess, though he really didn't want to. 

Perhaps he’d set one up the day before and take it down after inspections, though he didn’t know how he felt about the home invasion by the Templar knights. Maybe Technoblade was right-- they were just dogs for the Temple. He didn’t want to feel that way about Puffy, but she was irrevocably tied to the institution.

Tommy felt a bit of relief knowing he didn't meet Puffy. 

But it wouldn’t have changed his fate either way.

Chapter Text

Grab.

Smoothen.

Rip.

Grab.

Smoothen.

Rip.

Over and over again, Tommy performed the same repetitive motions until he could scarcely even register the activity-- it was like the pieces of clothing he was grabbing had become a part of his arm. 

He was in the dining room of the pub with the pub owner’s wife and some volunteer workers with a pile of donated clothes, ripping them to shreds in the hopes they would cover the new vicious plague that had swept the town. 

Boils. 

At first, no one recognized it as a plague at all. An old man from the outskirts of town was the first to contract it-- a man Tommy had worked the fields with a few summers ago-- seeing as he already lived far away enough from everyone, no one had put much thought into it, besides with the water turned to blood, frogs still hopping around in the crevices of everyone’s home, and the rations beginning to dwindle, a man with boils was the least of everyone’s concern. 

That was, until a little girl that lived downtown began to develop the small sores on her neck and back; the same little girl that had seen Tommy fall into the fountain. With the lack of clean water, the boils became hard to treat, and she was dead within a week-- dead from sepsis. 

The old man had been found dead a week later, but he had died much earlier than that. 

The town had immediately rallied together in efforts to halt the spread of the boils and to treat those who did have it. Half the knights in town were sent out to retrieve more rations and now, any sort of water-- it didn’t matter if it was swamp water (that could be purified), as long as it was water, it was usable-- while the other half began patrolling the streets early in the mornings, in the afternoon, and in the evenings. They watched who went to the Temple to pray, and they made note of who kept to themselves and who was out carrying baskets of bandages. 

That’s why Tommy was volunteering.

Because ever since the whole blood fountain incident, Puffy and the rest of the knights have been keeping tabs on Tommy like it was nobody’s business. Every time he took even a breath of fresh air, there was a knight stalking the pub, or Niki’s bakery, or the fucking fields where he met Wilbur sometimes. 

All he could do was give them a smile and a wave and hope the knight didn’t run him through with a sword upon eye contact. 

Tommy decided to do something about it. If he was seen doing something for the community, then perhaps they’d see he was not some harbinger of doom, but the same sort of victim they were. So when the pub owner’s wife hosted a drive of sorts where people collected their old clothes and rags and people turned it into bandages, Tommy was one of the first to volunteer. 

The room was mostly full of women; mothers and wives, sisters and daughters trying to keep their families afloat while their fathers and husbands and brothers and sons succumbed to their illness. There was one girl who was sitting in the corner with mittens on ripping clothes up, hard at work despite having the same sores all over her body as her brother. Her mother kept a watchful eye on her as she worked until the skin on her fingers were red and raw from the abuse her delicate flesh was undertaking. Someone already weak with illness forced to take on a lengthy labor would of course have the scars to show for it. 

Tommy tried to get Tubbo, and by extension, Ranboo, to volunteer at the pub, but they were tied up helping elsewhere. Tubbo’s master, the blacksmith Sam was bedridden with boils, and Tubbo took it upon himself to make sure his master made it through the nights, while Ranboo was helping around Niki’s bakery, concocting new recipes that wouldn’t instantly be filled with maggots or mold. 

Some were successful, others not. 

There was hardly any rhyme or reason to what went bad or what didn’t-- what the townspeople understood was that any meat products or products otherwise coming from animals that have lived on the land of the town were bound to go bad immediately. The livestock were close to death anyhow, so it didn’t even matter if they were slaughtered. In fact, some farmers prematurely killed some of the livestock in order to benefit from the non-edible uses of a cow or a sheep. With autumn setting in, a wool coat or leather gloves went a long way. 

Tommy was wholly focused on his work at the moment. He was given a pile of clothes to rip up, and even though he didn’t catch any sort of disease, more people avoided him than they did with actual boils. 

It was fine. This was just a show, after all; however, when he looked up he saw someone sitting in front of him, hands in holding his face up as if he were in a dream.

“Hey, Wilbur.” 

“Hello, sunshine. How do you do?” 

“Well, I’m not sick, so I guess I’m fine.”

“I’m the same. How similar we are!” 

Tommy grinned up at him, the first true smile he produced since the blood fountain incident. “Yeah? Sort of like sworn brethren of health, yeah?” 

“Brethren, huh? Are you saying we’re like brothers, Tommy?” 

“Is that what that word means?” 

Wilbur sighed, a look of disappointment on his face, but Tommy knew it was all fun and games. “How busy are you right now?” 

“Very. But if you helped, it would make it go a lot faster.” 

Wilbur chuckled before grabbing an old shirt. He first observed Tommy’s actions before trying it for himself. On the first try, Wilbur had a clean rip-- the nicest bandage in the pile. He threw it in with the rest of Tommy’s handiwork before continuing on until the daunting pile dwindled away into nothingness, and Tommy and Wilbur were looking at air. “Now that we’re done, I say we have lunch.” 

“As long as it’s on your dime.” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Tommy stopped by to check in with the pub owner’s wife, generously offering more help in the evening in any way the women needed. Some looked at him with grace in their eyes while others maintained their wariness. That was fine. The people just needed to be reminded of how Tommy had always been-- a hard worker and a team player. 

“I have a friend I’d like to meet up with. You’re probably already acquainted with him,” Wilbur informed Tommy. 

“Who?” Tommy was acquainted with just about everybody in town-- even the richer folk at least knew him as some sort of delivery boy of sorts. 

“Technoblade.” 

Tommy pumped his fists in the air. “You know Technoblade? This is so great. Isn’t he the coolest ever? You know, he’s teaching me how to be a knight. He gave me a sword. Did I ever tell you I have a sword? It’s the coolest thing ever--” 

“Slow down there, Toms. Someone might think you like Techno more than me.” 

“Good! We wouldn’t want them to get it all wrong! So anyway, on the first day of meeting, Techno--” 

Wilbur silenced him with a playful knuckle on the head. Tommy squirmed out of his grasp with a laugh, running down the narrowing dirt pathway to a spot Wilbur and Tommy frequented often. There was a peripheral awareness of a knight’s footsteps following after them, crunching on dead leaves and fallen twigs. If Wilbur noticed, he didn’t show it. 

Technoblade was already there at their spot, bundled in his red cloak and sitting under an amber oak tree with a blanket spread out and all sorts of delicacies Tommy had never dreamed of eating. “Woah! Where’d you get all this, Blade?” 

“What if it was me?” Wilbur pouted. 

“Doubt. You always bring sandwiches.” 

“And they’re good sandwiches, aren’t they?” 

“They’re alright.” They were the best sandwiches Tommy ever had the pleasure of eating. 

Techno patted the spot next to him while Wilbur spread himself across the entirety of the blanket, narrowly avoiding the food and dishes set up. There were small finger sandwiches as well as out of season fruits, flaky pastries, and some warm brown beverage that smelled heavenly. 

“This is hot cocoa,” Wilbur introduced. “Liquid chocolate paired with milk.”

“And all of this food is… Good?” While Tommy meant it in the edible sense, he supposed it was a fair assumption for people like Wilbur and Techno to assume he meant if the food was tasty. 

“It’s some of the most delectable food by mortal standards. I’m just sorry I couldn’t offer you more,” answered Wilbur. Techno picked up a sandwich and handed it to Tommy on a small porcelain dish. 

“So, how do you two know each other?” Tommy asked with his mouthful. 

“We go way back,” said Techno at the same time Wilbur said, “We’re brothers.” The two looked at each other, then at Tommy, then back to each other, some sort of conversation flying through their eyes. 

“We’re brothers.” 

“We go way back.” 

They flip-flopped answers. 

“We’re brothers that go way back,” Wilbur decided on their final answer. 

“Okay…” 

They ate and conversed for the entire afternoon. When a cool breeze blew past them and Tommy shivered, Techno offered him a place under his cloak, right next to him. Tommy did not pass up an opportunity for warmth. He only had an old suede jacket for the winter months that had seen a few years before it even came into Tommy’s possession. It was falling apart at the seams and was short on Tommy’s arms, just coming above his wrists. 

It seemed Techno and Wilbur noticed this. “Do you not get paid enough for new clothes?” 

Tommy only shrugged. “I guess not.” Even with all his odd jobs and careful budgeting, he still came up short sometimes, and clothes were not an expense he cared much for. If it could be mended, it could be kept. Jackets that were outgrown were sorry subjects, but he couldn’t just get rid of his only jacket. And now, with the whole town in a crisis and no one having money to pay anyone for anything, getting a new jacket was just out of the question. 

Techno unclipped his cloak, pulling it over Tommy’s shoulders. Immediately, Tommy tried to shrug it off. “No, keep it. I have a million more.” 

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need handouts.” 

“It’s not a handout,” said Wilbur. “You’ll be offering us something precious in the future.” 

Tommy scoffed. “If I’m not dead by the time this fucking Goddess is done with this town, I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

Wilbur arched his eyebrow with interest, his face moving closer to Tommy and Techno. “Is that a fact?” 

“Don’t quote me on it. On the off chance that I have enough luck to live, I’d like to keep my freedom or some shit. Or some money. Money would be good.” 

“We don’t want your money,” Techno chuckled. “It’s no good to us.” 

“Oh yeah, ‘cause you’re a bunch of rich fuckers, aren’t you? I mean-- you’ve got swords to give to random kids, and Wilbur’s got… He’s got food-- hey! Where do you get this food, anyway? I’m sure the sick people--” 

Wilbur cut Tommy off with a well-rehearsed yawn, leaning back onto Techno’s lap. “Don’t you think it’s a wonderful day for a nap?” 

It washed over him like a calm ocean wave. The breeze was nice when it was only hitting the back of his neck, the rest of him wrapped in a warm cloak and Techno’s residual body heat. The air was fresh and the sky was white enough to make him want to close his eyes and lose himself in the beautiful nothing. 

He felt safe.

Tommy was not tired before, but a few words from Wilbur had his head lolling back onto Techno’s shoulder and the tenseness in his body seeped back into the earth. 

He heard distant buzzing noises, one melodic and one a rumbling harmony-- voices-- but they were not loud enough or angry enough to shake him from his stupor. 

“I think you might have put the knight that was trailing Theseus to sleep.” 

“Good. Those vermin from the Temple are playing with fire.” 

“This is what Kristin and Philza want. It’ll make it easier for the transition period in the long run. I think they really learned their lesson with us.” The buzzing crescendos into a magnificent climax-- something akin to laughter-- and then it was mostly silent. Chirping, blown leaves, and running water-- water? 

Then Tommy’s eyes were open.

It was dark. 

Techno and Wilbur were still by his side, staring at him as if they were waiting for him. The food was all packed up and so was the blanket, and Tommy’s weight was being lifted off the ground by Techno, who had him swaddled in the cloak. “Wha--” 

“It’s late. We’re taking you back to your apartment.” 

“Okay, well put me down! I can walk! I can walk!” Tommy began kicking his feet out, flopping around like a fish in a futile attempt to get Techno to drop him. Eventually Techno did, not because he couldn’t keep Tommy still, but because Tommy began to bite his shoulder, and even that was too much trouble for the great Technoblade. 

The town was quiet when they arrived back. There was some action in the square; there were nights beginning their patrols, a couple of folk heading back home, and another group of people, around ten or twenty, laying on pieces of white cloth, bundled in their thin winter jackets, shivering in the cold with sores on their faces. 

Tommy took a step behind Wilbur to hide from the sight. 

He couldn’t help but think-- had Tommy gotten the rot, would that be where he was? Part of the Unwanteds, banished to the streets? He had no one to care for him, not even the pub owner’s wife-- she barely tolerated him as it was.

Tommy wasn’t deaf-- he heard the talk around town. Some of the women urged the pub owner’s wife to kick him out or hike up the rent to get rid of him faster. The only reason she didn’t was because he kept paying either way, and money was money, especially in these trying times. 

Wilbur and Techno walked him to the door before bidding him goodbye. Tommy peeked into the pub. The lights were still on, and there was a circle of women in one of the corner booths, their mouths opened wide and their hands dancing wide as they spoke. 

He hadn’t seen Tubbo in a while. 

He hoped he was okay. 

There was a certain relief in knowing one had the freedom to walk over to his friend’s house at whatever hour. Tubbo lived a little further from downtown. It was on the opposite side of town from the farms. Most of the houses were a little spread out, but not quite as rural as the other side of town. 

Tubbo’s bedroom was on the first floor, and it was easy to knock and throw rocks at the glass to get his best friend’s attention. Tubbo was quick to draw his curtains back and stick his head out the window, a bewildered look on his face.

“Tom?” 

“Hey, Tubbo. Wanna let a man in?” 

Tubbo looked back inside his house before turning back to Tommy. “No. Not tonight, I’m afraid.” 

“What? Is there something wrong? Is someone in your family sick? I can ask for some extra bandages for you, Tubs. Just tell me what it is, and it’s done--” 

“No, it’s just-- it’s a bad time all around, Tommy. And you-- you’re not good to be around right now.” 

Tommy let out a laugh, hoping Tubbo would crack a smile and start laughing too, but the inscrutable gaze never left. “You’re not serious, are you? Not good to be around? I’ve been working my fucking ass off for the sick people! Making bandages, carrying dead people in wheelbarrows, sourcing clean water when I can-- and I’m not good to be around?” 

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here, Tom. Just think about it. Some of this weird stuff started happening ever since those strangers came to town-- the ones you’re always hanging out with.” 

Tommy vehemently shook his head. “Don’t go blaming this stuff on Wil and Techno. They’re victims as much as the rest of us!” 

“Are they?” Tubbo sneered. “Listen, maybe they’re good guys, or maybe they’re the detractors the village head is talking about. I’m worried about you, Tommy. I think they’re trying to lead you astray.” 

“So you’re kicking me to the curb?” 

“No! I just-- I need to think about my family, Tommy. I don’t want them getting caught up in whatever it is you are. We’d be halfway out of town by now if we had the sort of supplies for that.” 

“Well some friend you are, then!” 

Tommy kicked a pebble at the side of Tubbo’s house, shuffling out of his yard when he heard some clamoring from behind him. Tubbo was climbing out of his window, one leg stuck on something inside while the other dangled just above the ground. “A little help here?” asked Tubbo. 

Despite everything Tubbo just said, he was still Tommy’s friend. His best friend. He wasn’t going to leave him hanging in his window. 

Tommy unlatched Tubbo’s foot from the window, letting Tubbo fall the rest of the way down. Karma and all that. Tubbo dusted himself off. “Look, Tommy, you’re my friend, and I care about you even though you’re a right dickhead sometimes, which is why I’m being honest with you. You’ve got knights on your ass and nobody trusts you after that blood stunt. People are dying--” 

“I didn’t do that, Tubbo! I don’t know what happened--” 

“I’m saying it’s your friend-- the one with the pink hair!” 

“It’s not ! Stop saying it is!” 

“If you don’t want to listen to reason, then I can’t help you! But I’m not putting my family and my future on the line if you’re not going to help yourself, Tommy!” Tommy didn’t even get a chance to rebut, as Tubbo was already hurdling back through his window, slamming it shut and shoving the curtains back over the view. 

“Well, fuck you too!”

And as he walked further from the house, stewing in this violent anger that had nowhere to go, Tommy became overly aware of his surroundings. It was dark, dark, dark, with only a couple of street lamps every block or so. A singular knight walking the opposite direction as him. 

The cool breeze invaded the inside of the cloak and up the torn sleeves of the suede jacket and he felt the overwhelming loneliness take him over. 

When he was back downtown, he did not go straight home. No, he found himself at the entrance of the Temple, a singular candle flickering in front of the statue of Her.

Chapter Text

An armored hand reached out in front of him, stopping Tommy from crossing the threshold. “What’re you doing out so late?” 

It was a knight Tommy didn’t recognize.

“I’m just on a walk. Clearing my head and shit.” 

The knight put his arm down, letting out a sigh. “Don’t you understand what a curfew is? Go back home, kid.” 

“Curfew? What curfew?” Tommy looked around and behind him, suddenly understanding why the town was so quiet except for a couple of knights walking around. Patrols were the new normal, but there was always even a little bit of activity later at night. 

“Don’t you listen in town meetings? Due to the illness, the Temple has instated a curfew. Everyone is to be in their homes by 9 PM.” Behind him stood the clocktower, lording over the square and casting a shadow even in all this dark. 

9:06 PM.

That would explain why the knights were ignoring him before-- they probably thought he was making his way back. “Wait, when was this town meeting?” 

“Tonight? Were you even there? Ah, I bet your parents didn’t make you go. Strange, everyone was supposed to go, even the kids.” 

“Okay, fuck you, man. I am not a kid-- and I didn’t miss the meeting on purpose, I didn’t even know it was happening--” 

“Whatever. You know now. Go home.” 

Tommy rolled his eyes and kicked rocks all the way back to the pub. The lights were off on both floors, meaning the pub owner and his wife were probably already asleep. It must be strange for them, seeing as they usually slept from early morning to early afternoon. 

It was strange for the entire town.

He clambered up the rickety wooden stairs to his small apartment. Noticeably absent in the corner of his boxy living room was the altar meant for the Goddess. Tommy had it set up for a week, but after the Templar knights came in and made sure it was there, he took it down. 

He was quick to light a candle and head into his room, grabbing a small bottle of water Wilbur had given to him a couple of days ago that he had been hoarding to wash his face with. A better man would’ve given it to the village head for the plague victims. A better man would’ve told the village head that Wilbur had access to clean water. That he had good food. Edible and tasty. 

It was a bit selfish, but in these trying times, Tommy felt more cared for and healthier than he ever did before. He was fed almost every day-- good food-- he was hydrated, he was entertained-- and yes, it didn’t feel good to be on the receiving end of such cold looks or harsh words; it didn’t feel good to be denied by his best friend; however, even if he was losing his shallow connections to the people in this town who only barely tolerated him, the orphan boy who was only good for odd jobs, he had Wilbur and Technoblade who would take care of him. 

They would take care of him. 

After washing his face, he slipped into more comfortable clothing and covered himself in his thin sheets. It would have to do for now. Perhaps Wilbur and Technoblade would give him a new blanket if he asked. What else would they give him if he asked for it? 

Tommy went to sleep with these thoughts, and it was these thoughts that defined his dreams. What would the brothers give him if he asked? He dreamed of three layered chocolate cakes with thick frosting; emerald earrings that glinted in the sun; flaky cherry pastries; soft guitar picking and the gradual building of a major chord; the turning of a page; the whistling of a tree; homely laughter. 

It was a most beautiful dream. 

When he woke up, shivering and desperate, he bit his tongue to stop tears from running down his face. 

What a beautiful dream. What a beautiful dream. 

Tommy rubbed his eyes and pulled back the curtain, ready to be blinded by the sun to get him started for the day. He had more plans to help out the people with boils. He was hoping at some point in the day he’d run into Wilbur or Wilbur would come find him for lunch. 

Yet, rather than dazzling rays of the sun, Tommy was underwhelmed by the darkness that covered the world. 

Huh. Perhaps he didn’t sleep for as long as he thought he did. Tommy had a pretty good internal clock-- he had to for someone who worked such crazy hours-- so when he woke up, he was pretty damn sure it was morning. But it was clearly still dark. 

Tommy shrugged and flopped back onto his mattress, allowing the sheet to cover his frozen feet when he noticed Techno’s cloak folded on top of the dresser. Tentatively, Tommy stepped onto the cold floorboards and grabbed the cloak, wrapping himself in the warmth before jumping back into bed and shutting his eyes. 

He wanted to be back in that dream again. Everything about it was hazy, but he knew it was beautiful. He knew it was something to covet. He knew it was something he could never achieve in this plane of existence. Even if Tommy somehow made it as a knight, it was another thing entirely to have the peace that came with the beauty. If he were a knight, he’d be sick with the violence and the noise. It would be no different from living in this town. 

So there was no escape from the suffering while he was alive here, and he had no idea what came after. Some say the Goddess is kind and there was a precious place for every soul, every good soul. Peace. Then there was an existence so mundane and so neutral, so boring that it was torture. Limbo. 

After an hour and a half of laying curled up on his cot and the sun still not coming up, Tommy decided to take action. He got dressed into some relatively clean clothes and headed downstairs to the pub to see if the pub owner or his wife were up. To his surprise, the dining room was filled with a wake of the women with whom Tommy was making bandages with. 

They had pushed the tables in the center of the room to the side and had the chairs form a circle. In the center was one of the older women, still wearing her coat and a green cotton dress that creeped up her neck. She had a stern look on her face and held a thick purple book, open to one of the early pages. 

The village head’s third wife. 

When Tommy walked in, they all turned their heads, something bloody in their eyes. “You,” the third wife seethed, snapping the purple book shut-- the book that was usually kept in the Temple for people to look upon. The Texts of Muerta, a long book that no sane person would ever read for fun; it was said to be written by the Goddess’ first Blessed from when he was still mortal and ever since, the Temple had followed its word like it was the Goddess’ own. 

Most customs, holidays, and superstitions of the Temple came from the Texts of Muerta. It was written in an older language that only people training in the Temple or those with money could afford to learn, though they made them nice to look at. 

The village head’s third wife would be the sort of person to be able to read the Texts of Muerta, but it didn’t explain why she was in the pub reading it to a circle of women. Or why she had so much venom in her voice when addressing Tommy. 

“Hello?” 

“This is it, ladies, this is the demon that the Texts warn us of. Look at him-- he wasn’t at the meeting last night. Why? He was conjuring this total eclipse! What more do you need to see that he is the one causing this madness?” 

“Woah,” Tommy said, taking a quiet step back. “I fell asleep early, that’s why--” 

“You lie!” The pub owner’s wife screeched. “You never returned after leaving with that strange man. That detractor!” 

Murmurs among the women solidified Tommy’s fate. They all stood up one after the other, curling their hands into their dress skirts and moving back behind the third wife. 

“I fell asleep in the forest, ma’am, I swear. I swear to the Goddess.” 

“Don’t use Her name in vain, you foul child. I’ll be damned if I don’t bring you to the Temple and force you to reckon with your crimes!” The third wife stepped forward, her heels making a sharp sound against the rotting floorboards and made a swipe at Tommy, attempting to grab his arm or his shirt or anything. 

Tommy was quick to jump back, racing up the stairs. His toes caught on one of the stairs, forcing him down a stair or two. The women were on his tail like a frenzied mob, screaming and cussing him out. He grabbed hold of the wall and pushed himself up, climbing the stairs on all fours-- he felt more like a cat at that moment. When he reached his apartment, he slammed the door shut, locking the doors tight. 

“Open the door, you demon brat!” One of the women screamed. 

“I have tenant rights!” he screamed right back. They were pounding on the door, and he had not a doubt in his mind that the power of just one of those she-devils would be enough to break the door down, let alone a dozen and a half of them. 

What was even going on? All he did was wake up! Why were there so many people out to get him so early in the morning-- 

Morning.

It was morning.

And it was dark.

They thought he caused the darkness? That was ridiculous. Impossible, even. Did that mean they thought he did everything else? All because of that fucking blood fountain. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! What was he going to do? He couldn’t hold off these women for long, and there was no other feasible way out, other than the window, but Tommy would surely break a leg if he jumped, if not both. 

Still, it was a better fate than whatever lied with the women. He didn’t like the way the third wife called him a demon, and he didn’t like that word everyone kept using-- detractor. What the fuck was a detractor? He remembered the village head using it while in the farms, and every now and then someone would whisper about these detractors. Tubbo used it to describe Techno and the third wife used it for Wilbur.

Did they think Techno and Wilbur were trying to make him work against the Goddess? That was ridiculous. He was never even on the side of the Goddess in the first place. He was just as inconvenienced as the rest of them! 

Finally the knocks softened until they fell away, and rather than an army outside, he heard only one voice-- one he was vaguely familiar with. “Tommy?” 

Niki, the baker. He hadn’t even noticed her among the circle of women, yet there she was outside his apartment door. “I didn’t do it,” he said. “I didn’t fucking do it!” 

“I know, I know. I got them to leave. May I come in?” 

She could be lying. And why should he trust her? She was the same as them-- she looked down upon him for being alone, for working his ass off to survive, for just being in the same town as her. She probably thought he was guilty too.

“Why?” 

“Because I have something to say to you. Something that needs to be said to your face.” Tommy loosened up on the door and unlocked it, opening it slightly and peeking out. True to her word, Niki was the only one in the hall. “Can I come in?” she repeated.

Tommy nodded and widened the door. Niki stepped in, glancing around quickly at the drab decor before taking a seat at the small table in the corner of the room. “What can I help you with?” 

“You don’t have an altar,” she noted. 

“Niki.” 

She sighed, tapping her hands on the table before deciding on what she wanted to say. She wasn’t so quick to say what she thought-- every word was always rehearsed. “Ranboo told me what happened with Tubbo last night.” 

“And how does Ranboo know?” scoffed Tommy.

She gave him a pointed look. “Because Tubbo told Ranboo. They’re both worried about you. I don’t think you’re evil. I don’t think you’re causing this, Tommy, but those people…”

“Who? Wilbur and Technoblade?” 

“They’re not natural, Tommy. Even before them-- we never got much visitors, but I remember that man in the green cloak--” 

“Phil? Now you’re all going to blame it on Phil? He hasn’t been here in months!” 

“Tommy, I’ve been attending Temple study for the past few nights. We all sit and read the Texts together; it’s really nice. The Texts of Muerta talk about creatures that would poison an individual and steal them away from the Goddess. The poisoning of a well is how it was described. And when the well of a village is poisoned, then the whole town goes down. Do you understand what I’m saying? Everyone thinks you’re being led astray--” 

“No, no, no. Tubbo tried this yesterday, Niki, and you’re all wrong. Don’t you see? They’re-- they’re-- they’re good people! They take care of me, y’know, better than anybody ever has.” 

“They’re courting you, Tommy. I know it feels like they care at the moment, but they’re agents of chaos. I’m sorry, Tommy, I really am.” 

“I don’t want to lose them.” 

Niki does not move to offer a hand of comfort or a hug. She sat there with glassy eyes and a thin line for lips. “I know you’ll do the right thing.” She got up soon after, closing the door gently behind her. Tommy slid down his wall, holding his head in his hands, pressing his knees close to his chest.

What was he going to do? They want him to deny Wilbur and Technoblade-- would that end the plagues? But it wasn’t them-- they weren’t causing it; everyone’s wrong. They’re wonderful people; they believe in the Goddess just like everyone else-- so they’re a bit critical of Central Temple, but that didn’t mean they were demon detractors! 

Tommy crawled over to his bedroom, grabbing the red cloak from his bed. He clipped it around his neck, his fingers lingering on the fabric. This felt wrong. This was Techno’s cloak. He stood up, his knees burning from the abuse they took falling on the stairs and crawling over the place. Tommy beelined for the rapier in his armoire. He hadn’t cleaned it in a few days, but it looked just as it did the day he first received it. 

He breezed out of his apartment door, and then the front door of the pub, ignoring the women who were back in their spots, listening to the Texts being read by the third wife. He noticed Niki in the circle now, listening raptly. 

The world was dark. The streetlamps were never relit, and Tommy wanted nothing more than to just go back inside and stay in bed, but he had to do this. 

His hold on the sword was weak, his palms sweaty and his fingers trembling far too much for someone meant to be going out for a strong confrontation. Tommy tiptoed through the town, the brick of the buildings barely visible in the voided sky. He was able to tell when the town began to taper off only by the feeling of the street beneath his feet, how it went from cobbled roads slowly to a dirt path. When something sharp barbed at his shoulder, he knew he was in the forest; he knew it was a tree. 

Wilbur and Techno would show up. They always did. When he wasn’t expecting them too and when he was, they were there. They were constant. 

They would show up. They would talk. They would tell the truth-- they were not demons nor detractors, they were just Tommy’s friends. They would be happy to prove it to the village-- that perhaps the true evil that was causing the plagues were the very people pointing figures. 

If they lied? If they prove Tubbo and Niki right? Well, that’s what the sword was for. Tommy would end the plagues himself. 

As Tommy continued forward, he began to regret not bringing some sort of lamp or candle with him. It was completely dark, he could hardly see one foot in front of the other. So much so, that he did not see the massive rock in the middle of his path until he felt his toes crunch and his entire weight fall forward. He had barely enough time to cover his face with his arms, hundreds of tiny little rocks stabbing into his arms and legs. The sword flew out of his grasp and fell a few feet ahead of Tommy. When he looked up, he saw a hazy light in the distance-- it wasn’t so bright it was blinding, nor was it able to eclipse the complete, encompassing darkness-- but it was coming closer and closer til it was right in front of him.

Until Philza was right in front of him, bent over with a concerned look on his face. “Well, well, well, what do we have here, mate? You look worse for wear.” 

“Phil,” Tommy gasped, pushing himself off the ground. “You-- you’re here! But--” 

Phil clicked his tongue, effectively cutting Tommy off. “Look at you, you’re all bruised up. What are you doing walking around in all this darkness anyway?” 

“I--”

“No matter. Let’s get you cleaned up. Where I stay isn’t far from here.” Phil didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing Tommy by the forearm and hoisting him to his feet. The sword was already in Phil’s hands, how it got there Tommy could not recall, but it didn’t matter because Tommy’s knees and arms really did hurt.

“I thought you were a traveler. I didn’t know you lived so nearby.” 

“I am a traveler. I’m not staying for much longer. I’m only here to visit my sons.” 

“Sons? I didn’t know you had kids. Who are they? I might know them. I basically know everyone-- well, I thought I did, but fuck that, y’know? Things will be fine after I do something.” 

“Oh? Do what?” 

Tommy shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about it. In fact, I should probably get going. I have to find them. I have to--” 

“Tommy, it’s too obscure outside. You tripped once, you’ll trip again.” 

“Give me your lamp.” 

“Tommy.” 

Tommy threw his head back and let out a loud sigh, dragging his feet as Philza dragged him to wherever they were going. There was another soft light in the distance, this one even dimmer than the one in Phil’s hands. Closer, closer, closer, right at the front door, he could see it was a compact cabin with a homely design inside. A brick fireplace, a fluffy green couch and plaid blankets, a wooden table with little scratches on the sides and the smell of natural herbs blowing in from the kitchen. 

“You sit in the living room. I’ll be back with something to clean your injuries.” Tommy did as instructed, sinking into the green sofa with his hands on his lap, his non-stubbed foot tapping on the red chateau rug. 

Philza emerged from the kitchen with some clear liquid, cotton patches, and a roll of bandages. He sat down next to Tommy and opened the clear liquid, clogging the top of the bottle with the cotton patch before releasing it. Phil pulled Tommy’s sleeves and pants legs up to reveal the bloody scratches that littered his flesh. “This might hurt a bit.” 

“I can take it. I’m no pussy!”

Tommy quickly changed his tune when Phil pressed it down on his wounds. He hissed out something ugly, clawing at Phil’s arms until Phil placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, centering him in the moment. “Calm down, it’s just for a second. You’re fine. Deep breaths.” 

Tommy purposefully exaggerated his breathing, blowing air at Phil’s ugly bucket hat in an attempt to knock it off his head without touching it. And though he didn’t mean for it to happen, Tommy was properly distracted enough that he didn’t feel a thing when Phil continued to clean his wounds and wrap them up. It was only when Phil patted his knee and stood up did Tommy stop blowing on Phil and looked around. 

“You have a pretty nice place, Phil.” 

“I’m borrowing it.” 

“Oh.” 

Phil moved to the kitchen, his voice echoing through the walls. “It’s pretty dark out there. Why don’t you stay here with me until whatever’s covering the sky clears up?” 

Tommy leaned onto the armrest of the sofa, wrapping his arms together and resting his chin on his forearms. “I don’t know. I came out intending to do something.” 

“What were you intending to do?” Phil came back with two cups of tea, setting them both down on the coffee table. 

“You probably wouldn’t know this, but some strange shit’s been going on since the summer. A little after we first met. Anyway, I met these guys and we have fun-- one of them actually gave me that sword-- but everyone in town thinks they’re causing the weird stuff and want me to… Well, I don’t know what they want me to do about it, but I just want some answers, y’know? Because what if they’re right? I don’t want them to be right. I don’t think they’re right. I just wanted to talk. I just wanted to get some straight answers.” 

“I see,” said Phil, taking a long sip of his tea. Tommy picked up his cup too and sniffed it before sticking his tongue in to measure the temperature. It was still pretty hot, so he put it back down. “It sounds like the town is pressuring you.” 

“They are.” 

“That seems wrong. Do they know anything about these friends of yours?” 

“No!” Tommy practically shouted, vindication coursing through his veins. “They don’t know shit! All they know is things started happening when they showed up, but honestly, it could be anything! They just want to blame someone for the Goddess hating them! Even Tubbo-- and Tubbo, for every joke I make-- he’s one of the smartest guys I know-- he’s saying the same shit! They blame my friends, they blame me-- but what about them? I mean, it’s not like they were the most religious fuckers up until a couple of months ago! And even then, who’s to say they’ve been worshiping the Goddess they way they should? What makes them right?” 

Phil leaned back in his chair, a content smile on his face. “You’re smart yourself, Tommy. I can see it in the way you speak. You see things a lot of people don’t. That’s what makes you special.” 

“Well, I-- I am the greatest ever,” Tommy said, his voice quietening down. 

“I’m sure if all you intend to do is have a simple conversation with your friends, then it can wait until the sun comes out. Don’t you think? You don’t want more scrapes, do you mate?” 

“No.” 

“Good. There’s extra bedrooms here, you can have one. Are you hungry? Have you eaten at all?” 

“A little.” 

“Okay. I can whip something up. You wait here. Drink your tea, it’ll warm you up.” Tommy glanced at the teacup, but did not pick it back up. Instead he chose to roam around the room, reaching for any surface he could. His fingers lingered on the end tables, the windowsills, and a small altar covered in a purple cloth, the picture of a woman in the center next to a lit candle. She was beautiful, but not in an explosive way. It was the texture of her chocolate hair and the kindness in her eyes and the brightness in her smile that made her beautiful. 

“Who’s the woman in the altar?” Tommy asked in a loud voice. He entered the kitchen, hovering by the doorway.

“Oh, that altar? That’s my wife.” 

“Is she… Y’know…” Tommy made a slicing motion at his neck.

Phil chuckled before looking down at his actions, careful not to cut a fingertip off. “No, she’s alive. She’s a very important person, so her schedule is not as flexible as mine. Besides, she’s a bit of a homebody” 

“And your sons are out, too? Oh, you never said their names. Have they lived here long? They can’t be too old-- I mean, you’re old but not that old.” 

“They’re adopted. My sons have just breached adulthood.” 

“What do they do?” 

“Hmm, it’s hard to say.” 

“No it’s not. It’s like when I say I’m a farmhand.” 

“But is that all you are? Just a farmhand?” 

“Well, no, but--” 

“We don’t put them in a box they don’t want to be put in. They’re so much more than what they do. It’s what their souls bring to the table.” Phil gestured for Tommy to sit at the little scratched up table while Phil cooked. It smelled heavenly, the thought of how Phil procured the ingredients completely slipped his mind. Having Wilbur and Techno around all the time made him forget how unnatural it was to have edible food in these parts. 

After ten minutes, Phil placed a steaming plate of scrambled eggs topped with green onion, thick-crusted bacon with the oil drizzling down the slab of meat, and finely toasted bread coated in a thin sheen of butter, glistening in the candlelight. Tommy was quick to scarf it down as if there was a timer, not leaving a trace of evidence behind. “Where do you and your wife usually live?” asked Tommy. 

“Far, far away.” 

“How’d your sons end up here?” 

“On some business I sent them on, actually.” 

“So they’re recent visitors?” The only people Tommy could think of besides the Templar knights would have to be… “Phil-- are you Wilbur and Technoblade’s father?” 

Phil’s smile seemed innocent, but the expression in his eyes held no sign of surprise. “So you know them?” 

“Well yeah, I know them. We’re really good friends! Actually--” Tommy stopped in his tracks. How was he supposed to explain that the reason he was wandering out in complete darkness with a sword was to confront this man’s sons? “I mean, yeah, they’re cool. Wilbur’s a bit of a freak, but Techno’s really cool.” 

“I’m glad you feel that way. They speak very highly of you.” 

“Well, who wouldn’t?” Tommy snorted.

“Why don’t you have a wash and change into some cleaner clothes, and then we can discuss the next couple of days.” 

“Days? Do you really think it’s going to last that long?” 

Phil shrugged. “There’s some towels in the bathroom, and I’ll bring you some clothes.” 

“Bathroom? There’s not just a hose and a bucket outside?” 

“Tommy. I’ll treat you well here. You don’t need to dump a bucket over your head and call it a bath.” Tommy had no further complaints, picking himself up from the table and heading down the hall that Phil directed him towards. The furthest door down the hall was the bathroom. Tommy didn’t see many whole bathrooms like this-- his apartment was a half bathroom that required fixing every few months, so Tommy avoided it when he could. 

This one had a nice porcelain tub, a clean sink with a purple soap dispenser and a small toilet with a vase of flowers on the tank. Tommy tentatively opened the toilet seat, surprised to see real, clear and clean water coming sitting like an undisturbed pond. 

“Phil, how do you have water?” 

Phil poked his head in quickly. “I don’t know. Why don’t I fill the tub for you?” Tommy was unceremoniously pushed out of the bathroom before being invited back in moments later, the bathroom now filled with warm steam that tickled Tommy’s skin. There was a pile of clothes on the now closed toilet seat that Phil didn’t walk in with, and a fluffy red towel hanging next to the tub. 

He would not ask questions. 

Tommy lowered himself into the tub and allowed his head to loll back, soaking in the warmth. This was nice. This was sort of like a living dream; he felt at peace in the tub. There was nothing but the sound of his limbs moving through the water and the soft drops of water falling from the side of the tub down to the floor tiles. Here, he could think clearly.

It was dark outside. If it was anything like the previous plagues, it would probably be dark for a while. Perhaps he could convince Phil to bring him back to the village the next day, but ultimately that was a net negative for Tommy. He would only be returning to the town’s ire, seeing as he did not accomplish the goal he set out to do, and he would have to continue living in the cold and dark, starving and thirsting with the rest of them.

Here, though… It was some sort of safe haven. It had everything Tommy would ever want, and Phil was more than happy to accommodate Tommy for a couple of days. Frankly, it would be stupid to turn down Phil’s offer of a few days of hospitality.

Chapter Text

The first day with Phil was the best day. The clothes Phil had left Tommy were so nice and soft and fit in all the right places-- it was a bit of an odd feeling to have his wrists fully covered, but one he could whole-heartedly get used to. 

Phil gave him a quick tour of the rest of the cabin-- reintroducing him to the living room and the kitchen while also showing him four bedrooms, one of which was his for the duration of his stay. There was a covered porch in the back that led to a small garden, but it was obscured by the darkness and was probably dead from the autumn rot. 

There were few things to keep Tommy occupied. Books, which Tommy never took great pleasure in. He was an average reader, but he never quite had the time to get into the practice of it and never found so much pleasure in it when there was always work to be done just to survive. The cabin was stocked with historical novels, plays-- which Phil told him that Wilbur liked to perform for them at times-- manifestos, and philosophical drudgers. 

In one of the bedroom closets were sets of building blocks. One could build a little house or a massive cathedral-- maybe an entire town-- but that was up to the player. It even came with little characters that could move in and out of the created structures. This was his favorite activity. He’d remember stories he heard during late nights in the square when he was younger about knights on horseback and scary demons and reenact them with the little figures. 

“What’s your favorite story?” asked Tommy. “You must have been just about everywhere, right? I bet you’ve got a couple good ones.” 

“I’ve seen a couple things,” Phil chuckled. “I suppose my favorite story is about the wretched mortal that dared to covet a goddess.” 

“Huh? That sounds so boring!” Tommy gave Phil a thumbs down. 

“Do you think a single man is worthy of a goddess? The Goddess? Don’t you wonder what a man would have to go through to win the affections of some being so magnificent?” 

“Does The Goddess even have feelings? Isn’t She like perfect and just and… Perfect?” 

Phil shook his head. “No, no, no, not at all. Common misconception, I suppose. She’s just like us in many ways-- vindictive and cruel at times, but she has a deeply kind soul. Mortals are formed by what she knows, and she only knew herself then, so they come out like her.” 

“Okay, so what did this guy have to do to win Her over?” 

“First he had to prove his loyalty. She told him to jump off a cliff if he had complete and utter faith in her, so he did.”

“What the fuck? Did he fucking die?” 

“No. She granted him wings to soar through the skies. Next, he had to prove his love. Everywhere he went, he professed his love for the Goddess, building temples and statues in her name and image. He wrote a book about every little thing she said. She liked to tell stories, so he wrote them; parables; anecdotes; fictional tales--” 

“No fucking way. Is this that fucking crow on Her shoulder? That first Blessed?” 

“Oh, looks like you did pay attention during Temple services.” 

“Fuck you, Phil. They tell that one every year-- everyone knows it. I remember one year some earl was staying in town the week of the Days of the Dead, so they had some kids put on a reenactment-- with song! They made me play the first Blessed-- I tell you, Phil, it was so bad, I don’t even want to think about it anymore!” 

Phil was smacking the arm of his chair as he wheezed, trying to squeeze the next words of his story out but only producing more laughter. It made Tommy laugh with him, and soon they both dissolved into loud guffaws. 

“So you know how the story ends then, don’t you, Tommy?” 

Tommy nodded. “He proved himself, so She has him do one more thing, right?” 

“She told him to go back to that first cliff. Let the wind carry him, and if he did not catch himself with his wings even though he very well could, they could finally be together. It would prove he loved Her more than his own life and well-being.” 

Tommy pulled his knees to his chest, his toes playing with wayward building blocks through his socks as he listened to Phil speak. “Do you think he ever looked back before jumping?” 

“He didn’t,” Phil said with utmost certainty. “He didn’t belong with the mortals anyway. His home was with Her.” 

They stopped playing with the building blocks mid-afternoon, or so Tommy’s internal clock said, and instead they tried relaxing before dinner, each doing their own task. Tommy found a little box of yarn and some needles and thought he’d try his hand at knitting. It’d been a while since he’d done it, seeing as he never had the materials for it. He mostly sewed and it was mostly out of necessity. 

He sat down on the sofa while Phil sat in the armchair and read a thin paperback book. Tommy was staring at his lap for a good while before Phil picked him up out of his reverie. “Tommy? Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah. All good. Just… Ran out of ideas.”

“You don’t know what to make?” Tommy shook his head. Phil shut his book, leaning in closer to observe the untouched ball of yarn. “What about a gift?” 

“Who would I give it to? My best friend disowned me, the town hates me, and… Well, I don’t really have anyone left.” 

“You have me,” Phil reminded him. “You have Wilbur and Techno. Hell, you’ve got Kristin, as far away as she is.”

“Okay,” said Tommy, his face feeling undefended as the heat creeped up his neck. “What would you guys want? A sweater? A scarf?” 

Phil plucked the ball of yarn from Tommy’s grasp, spinning it, his eyes empty as he thought about Tommy’s questions. “Something from the heart, hm? You’ve got to really mean it, mate, or it doesn’t mean much at all.” 

“Phil!” Tommy sighed. “Every time you open your mouth, you make less sense. Is this, like, a family thing?” Phil placed the ball of yarn down on the other side of his chair, away from Tommy, and stood up, dusting off his cloak even though there was no way any dirt could’ve possibly gotten on it. It was a bit strange to see a man wearing a full sized cloak in his own home, but perhaps he just got really cold easily. 

“It’s time to start on dinner, don’t you think? Aren’t you feeling hungry?” Tommy hadn’t been feeling hungry before, but the moment Phil mentioned it, his stomach began bubbling something sinister. 

Phil had Tommy help out this time. All he had to do was cut up the fresh veggies. Phil wouldn’t let him touch the knife until Tommy showcased he could use a knife properly, which after ten minutes of laughing between lectures, he did. 

“This is so boring,” Tommy whined as he sliced the onions, his eyes turning glassy. 

“You know, the better you can cut vegetables, the better a swordsman you are. You’re still interested in swordsmanship, aren’t you? Even after Techno beat you down?”

“Ugh, so even you heard about that? Well yeah, I’m still interested. The Blade doesn’t see it as a beatdown, you know. He said he was impressed and I did well.” Phil hummed in acknowledgement of Tommy’s words, but did not craft a response, leaving Tommy grasping at straws, as if he had to somehow prove his worth to Phil. “Well, I bet Techno didn’t learn how to use swords by cutting veggies. I bet he fought tigers and shit.” 

“Potatoes.” 

“Come again?” 

“Techno learned control with blades from skinning and slicing potatoes. Tedious work, you know. ‘Let the knife do the work’ and ‘let the blade guide you’ are similar schools of thought,” explained Phil. “No formal training, and yet he was still a well-renowned swordsman. Best of his century. It’s what got Kristin and I interested in him in the first place.” 

“Was?” 

“It’s not all he does anymore. His soul had so much more than a sword attached to it.”

Tommy had finished slicing up all the vegetables at that point, and Phil took the cutting board from his grasp and tossed them into the well-oiled pan, the greens making a satisfying sizzling noise as they hit the pan. 

After the vegetables were golden brown, Phil threw in some steak bites he had, letting the juice from the vegetables juice the meat up. A side dish of mashed potatoes was prepared, as Phil said he suddenly had a hankering for them after mentioning Technoblade. 

“Speaking of,” said Phil as they set the table for two. “Wilbur and Techno are due to arrive tomorrow. I bet the darkness delayed them a bit.” Phil laughed as he said this, as if it were some sort of inside joke between the three of them. Tommy sort of wished he understood it, just to be a part of something with them-- even if he was sure it wasn’t actually that funny. 

Throughout dinner, Phil kept asking Tommy questions about himself. The longer the line of questioning endured, the harder the answers came to Tommy, yet they were asked in a certain manner which made Tommy comfortable to answer, like he wanted to tell Phil his deepest, darkest secrets. Sometimes, when Tommy couldn’t fill the silence that followed the question, Phil had some sort of way to prompt an answer out of Tommy, as if he was already very familiar with portions of Tommy’s life, parts which he had never shared previously.

To be perceived in such a way was startling yet comforting. Tommy felt bare and embarrassed each time he said something, scared Phil would recoil with disgust at one wrong answer, but it was quite exciting, letting someone in, allowing them to understand how one ticked. 

It wasn’t an interrogation, it was a rapport. For every three questions Phil had to ask, Tommy had a couple of his own to ask about Phil and his family and his travels, of which Phil was more than happy to answer. 

It felt like an entirely normal evening-- the sun had not disappeared, it was just nighttime. There were no plagues, he had food and water sitting right in front of him. 

All was well with Phil. 

The second day with Phil was the best day. 

Phil made some sort of bread cake called ‘pancakes’ and doused them in syrup and fruits. He even gave Tommy a little smiley face with the strawberries. 

They had the same activities to do as yesterday, but it never got boring. Tommy found a book on the bookshelf that gave him ideas of what to build with his building blocks. This time, Phil just sat back and watched rather than help out-- sometimes Phil got a little too invested and ended up a tyrant to the construction site. 

“So, when are Wil and Techno going to arrive?” 

“Evening.” 

“What business did you have them on?” 

“I have a treasure in this village that I needed them to keep an eye on.” 

Tommy’s eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. “Treasure? In this dump? What is it? Gold? Diamonds? Is it like a magic cup or something?” 

“Something golden.” 

“Weird. If the banker had something like that in his vaults, I don’t think he’d ever stop boasting. That guy only knows how to blab.” 

“It’s not in any vault. It’s out in the world.” 

“Phil!” Tommy admonished. “Maybe this is just coming from a poor person, but you should keep that shit safe! People might want to steal it. You’ve got to protect it.” 

Phil’s eyes fixated on Tommy’s face, staring deeply at him with something indescribable flashing in and out of his eyes. Phil lifted himself off the armchair and crouched down next to where Tommy sat on the floor. Without warning, Phil wrapped his arms around Tommy, pulling him into his chest at an awkward angle. “Phil?” 

“You’re precious. Did you know, Tommy?” Fingers threaded through his curls, sharp nails scratching his scalp in a way that made Tommy’s brain go foggy. “It’s been hard, and it’ll be harder, but this is my protection. Do you understand?” 

Tommy shook his head. What was going on? Why was Phil hugging him, and why couldn’t Tommy push him away?

Because this is what you wanted.

This was part of that beautiful dream of peace. 

Phil’s hand dragged down his neck to the center of his back, those sharp nails-- almost talon-like-- tracing lines along his shoulder blades. 

“Phil, I’m tired.” 

“Are you?” Phil asked, a happy lilt in his tone as he helped Tommy to his feet, placing him on his stomach on the sofa. Tommy’s eyes fluttered for a bit, his head being lifted momentarily before being dropped onto something at an angle-- Phil’s lap. His building blocks were long forgotten as his vision began to match the outside world. Phil was still rubbing his upper back, a certain soreness seeping in as Tommy lost himself to his senses.

When he awakened, it was still dark outside. No surprise. The fire was burning, his building blocks were cleaned up off the floor, and the room was noticeably fuller. Wilbur sat slouched on the armchair, his feet up with a book close to his face. He wore rounded glasses that were pushed down the bridge of his nose, clearly uninterested in the contents of the book. 

Technoblade was on the other side of the room, stoking the fire, his elbow on the shelf above the fireplace as he watched the scene in front of him. 

Tommy was careful to push himself up, his back still hurting. “How long was I out?” 

“Long enough. It’s past dinnertime,” answered Techno.

“Oh. Have you eaten?”

“Of course not. We’d never eat without you,” said Phil. 

“Really? I mean, you didn’t have to wait for me. I would’ve been fine. It’s enough that you’re letting me stay--” 

“Nonsense, Toms. Dinner is an important time for family.” Wilbur snapped his book shut and tossed it onto the coffee table, pivoting in his spot so he was seated properly in his chair. Techno dropped the poker and shuffled into the kitchen without another word. The three of them heard a clatter of pots and pans before Phil shot up from his seat and ran into the kitchen. Loud laughter drifted in from the other room, rousing Wilbur and Tommy from their spots, though Tommy found himself hunching over to alleviate the pain on his back. 

Techno was surrounded by pots and pans all over the floor.

One ended up on his head.

Wilbur was instantly on the floor, slapping his thigh repeatedly. “When are you going to learn?” he wheezed. “Stop trying to cook, man!” 

Techno’s frown deepened. “I was just goin’ to boil water to get it started.” 

Phil took control of the kitchen, booting the three of them out. 

Wilbur slipped a pack of cards out of his coat pocket and waved them in Tommy’s face. Ever play B.S.?” 

“Duh,” said Tommy, swiping the cards out of Wilbur’s hands. He opened the pack of cards and took the jokers out, masterfully showcasing his card-shuffling prowess.

Until all the cards fell to the floor. 

“We can’t all be good at everythin’,” Techno said, sweeping the cards up and shuffling them himself. 

“Shut up, stop trying to make yourself feel better about not being able to cook.”

After dividing all the cards evenly, Wilbur started the game by putting down one ace. Techno followed with two twos. Tommy put down four threes. 

“Bullshit,” Wilbur called instantly. Tommy didn’t even bother to show the cards before sheepishly pulling dusting them back into his deck. “You know the point of the game is to have no cards, right?” 

“Shut up.” 

Wilbur put down one four. Techno put down two fives. 

“Bullshit! Bullshit!” Tommy called, flipping Techno’s cards over. His face instantly dropped when he saw it clear as day: two fives. Wilbur had also been honest with his cards. Tommy put down one three and called it a six. Wilbur put down two sevens. Tommy glanced at his own deck-- he had two sevens. The chances of Wilbur also having two sevens was fifty-fifty. “Bullshit! I got you this time, bitch!” 

Wilbur grinned and flipped the entire pile over, watching with glee as Tommy threw his cards down in frustration. “Better luck next time, sunshine.” 

“Fuck you guys!” 

“Bruh, just tell the truth, or be better at tellin’ when someone’s lyin’ to you.” 

“I’m tired of this game.”

“Quitter,” scoffed Wilbur.

“I am not a quitter, my-- my back just hurts!” Techno and Wilbur froze, dropping their cards instantly. 

“Are you sure? Where does it hurt? When did it start hurting?” Wilbur asked in quick succession, pulling Tommy around so he was facing the wall opposite Wilbur. 

“Just-- like on the upper side? I don’t know. It just aches. It started right before my nap… It’s just weird because I think sleeping in this house is the comfiest I’ve ever been--” 

“Oh, Phil really chooses his timing.” 

Speaking of Phil choosing his timing, the man of the hour called from the kitchen to let them know the food was ready, though Tommy could smell it before Phil could say it. Wilbur picked Tommy up by the armpits and dragged him to the kitchen before Tommy’s neurons could send a message to his legs to get moving. 

Techno had gone to the kitchen while Wilbur was checking out Tommy’s back and had set the table. At the center was a pan of pork chops covered in a thick brown sauce and a pot of creamy macaroni and cheese. “Wow,” Tommy and Wilbur said at the same time, though their intonation differed entirely. Tommy said it with genuine awe while Wilbur’s was mocking. 

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you, Phil?” 

“Your mother said it’s one of the things she loves most about me.” 

Once again, Tommy was not a part of the joke, and the ugly jealousy clawed at his insides, lunging for his heart. He didn’t even want to laugh, he just wanted to know what they know; he wanted to be like them. “Are you allergic to pork or something?” 

“Uh… No. It’s more of the principle of things.” 

“Principle?” 

“Let’s eat!” Techno declared, who seemed to have no qualms about the pork chops. Techno sat down, but he waited for everyone else to be seated before serving Phil first, then Tommy, then Wilbur, and finally himself. Wilbur plopped Tommy into the seat across from Phil before sitting in his own seat adjacent to Tommy. 

The moment Tommy dug into the food, it was like returning to that heavenly dream. Two days into his stay, he didn’t even feel the need to continue to reference that dream-- that was fake. This was so, so real. This was peace. He wished he could stay like this with Phil, Wilbur, and Technoblade forever. 

“So, Phil, Tommy says his upper back hurts.” 

“Oh,” Phil said with a twinge of sympathy. “Sorry to hear that mate. I might have something to alleviate the pain. I’ll give it to you after dinner. Maybe Wil can perform something for us; something funny. Would that make you feel better?” 

Tommy didn’t think they’d take his complaints seriously. It sort of made him feel guilty, taking all these things they were offering him. He’d never had pain medication in his life-- he’d always learned to just live with the pain, physical and mental. They tell all the young boys: “You’re made of flesh, but you should’ve been made of steel. Act like you could’ve been.” And so it didn’t matter if it was a cut or a broken arm, he’d have worked through it. Through the sweaty summers and the frozen winters, he’d have worked through it, and he’d be able to survive. 

There was no survival here with them. There was only existence. 

Peace.

Techno took Tommy back to the living room after dinner was finished and threw him on the couch while Wilbur dug through the bookshelf, looking for some play or monologue. Techno threw in his input every now and then, and every time Wilbur shot it down with a light-hearted insult, yet it was Techno’s choice that won Wilbur over in the end. 

Phil came in with a small bowl of broth, crystals glistening on the top. “Just drink a little bit of this, and it’ll be like you never had the pain.” 

Tommy didn’t hesitate to drink. 

Wilbur moved the armchair out of the way so the space in front of the fireplace was completely free to be a pseudo-stage. Phil took a seat next to Tommy, and Tommy instinctively settled his head on Phil’s arm. He held his breath for a moment, waiting for Phil to push him off, but it never came. Instead, Phil adjusted so Tommy’s neck was at a more comfortable angle, his arm snaking behind Tommy’s numbed back. 

Wilbur was a natural performer. He barely looked at the book he was reading from, and not a step from his space went unused. He knew just how to say what he had to say in order to get a laugh out of the three of them, and he wasn’t afraid to look silly for more laughs. 

When Wilbur had finished, he received a standing ovation.

After Wilbur’s encore performance, Phil filled the bathtub for Tommy, and he had a nice, long soak before being tucked into bed to his chin by Phil. 

The third day with Phil (and Wilbur and Techno) was the best day. 

The nostalgic sound of nylon strings being expertly plucked guided Tommy to consciousness and led him to the kitchen. Wilbur was at the kitchen table looking over a book with strange notations while his fingers floated over the strings of the guitar, while Phil was at the stove cooking up a hearty breakfast. 

“Hey mate, how does your back feel?” 

“Still sore,” Tommy replied, rubbing the crust out of the corner of his eyes and flicking it to the floor. “Maybe my back’s just not used to such a nice mattress.”

“It’s probably something else. Here. I already brewed up some pain relievers.” Phil pushed a bowl of that glistening broth over to Tommy, who slurped it up quickly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as soon as he finished. 

“Is it still dark out?” 

“Yes, but I have a feeling we’ll see some light by the end of the day,” Wilbur said with a little laugh cutting the ends off of his words. 

Technoblade entered the room silently, his hair neatly tied up in a simple ponytail and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “What have you and Phil been doing these past few days?” 

Tommy nearly tripped over himself showing Techno his building blocks and the intricate lore behind the city he kept building and then taking apart. Techno would add his input or ask questions that tied Tommy in a knot. 

Techno just sighed fondly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Once you get the real thing, it’ll be easier to follow along with their stories.” 

“Real thing?” 

“Real villages.” 

“Like, building a real village? Techno, when the fuck am I ever going to do that?” 

“Whenever you want.” 

They ate breakfast and then they all separated for about an hour. Tommy spent his time sitting on the armchair with his chin resting on the back, staring out the window and wishing he could never see what was outside again. The moment he saw the horizon, it meant his stay here was over and he’d have to report back to that wretched town. 

A small part of him hoped they all died while he was gone. It’d make everything so much easier.

But Tommy reminded himself that Tubbo lived in that village. He loved Tubbo-- if Tubbo died, even if they were currently at odds, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. His first friend-- one that did not look at him with a turned up nose and a furrowed brow, but with fondness and curiosity. It didn’t matter that Tommy had dirt on his face everyday and hardly had food to spare because Tubbo would just paint his face with mud just to match Tommy. 

Thinking of Tubbo just made Tommy want to shrivel up. If Tommy could leave with Phil, he would miss Tubbo very much, but he wasn’t quite sure Tubbo would feel the same. Tubbo had a support system-- he had loving parents and siblings, a master that cared about his future, and Tubbo had planted dozens of new good friends to replace the loss of shriveled up Tommy. 

Tommy was Tubbo’s, but Tubbo was certainly not Tommy’s. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Phil stood by the fireplace, a look of concern on his face. 

“My friend Tubbo. I miss him.”

“Are you not happy here?” Tommy didn’t miss the edge, the anxiety, in Phil’s voice. 

“I am. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, Phil, and… It feels wrong.” 

“What’s wrong about being happy?” 

“Because nobody else is.” 

Phil sat down on the edge of the coffee table, leaning towards Tommy and the armchair. “Says who? I am perfectly happy. Wilbur is happy. Technoblade is happy. What else is there to say on the matter?” 

“But everyone in town--” 

“Oh Tommy, you’re too kind for your own good. You’ve been surviving for yourself all these years and still have time to worry about others. I love that about you, but you don’t have to labor anymore.”

I love that about you. Phil loved something about Tommy. Did he love other things about Tommy? Was there anything even loveable about him? “I don’t have to?” 

Phil smiled softly, shaking his head as if Tommy just asked a ridiculous question. “No, Tommy. You can stay with me-- stay with us forever if you’d like. Kristin loves you already. All you have to say is that you’ll choose us.”

Tommy’s heart soared. The dream didn’t have to end! But… “I don’t know, Phil.” 

“That’s okay, Tommy,” said Phil, cupping Tommy’s cheek. “But you have to decide by midnight.” 

Midnight was a long ways away. He could decide before midnight. Maybe his mind was already made up.

Techno and Wilbur popped in next. There wasn’t anything specific to do, so they all just sat around and basked in each other’s presence. 

It was the most comfortable silence. 

He turned to Technoblade, who was flipping through a massive purple book similar to the one the third wife had, but this one had a velvety cover and a golden textblock. It was a much prettier book. “Is that the Texts of Muerta?” Techno hummed in the affirmative. “Why do you read that garbage?” 

“It’s funny,” Techno replied, turning the page.

“You can read it, though? Oh, of course you can. You’re a rich fucker.” 

“You can read it too.” 

“I can hardly read in Standard, much less whatever old mumbo-jumbo that is.”

“Old mumbo-jumbo? Oh Tommy, you’ll break Phil’s heart. That’s his first language!” Wilbur sighed dramatically, covering his forehead with the back of his hand while Phil laughed at his antics. 

“If you look at the Texts as literature rather than a holy text, you’ll find it just as rivetin’ as an epic. Is the writing style a bit contrived at times? Yes. But there’s somethin’ funny about it anyway--” 

“Woah, contrived? You’ve never said that before,” said Phil, suddenly becoming defensive.

Techno rolled his eyes. “Come on, Phil. You know this was the way it was designed-- I-- I mean, at the end of the day it is a religious text--” 

“Well-- well--” Phil blubbered, failing to come up with a defense for the Texts of Muerta, which bewildered Tommy because of all things to defend about the Texts of Muerta, why would it be the writing style? I mean, there wasn’t much else to defend, but come on. Why die on that hill?

Tommy decided to save Phil from the embarrassment of coming up with an excuse for an ancient religious text by asking something that had been on his mind since Niki first brought it up. “Is it true there’s a line about a demon? Or, like, some creatures that poison wells or shit--” 

“Tommy, what are you talking about?” asked Wilbur. “There’s hardly anything like that. I suppose there’s a short section in the end about poisoned communities, but it’s more of a warning about falling for their own follies and whatnot. Demons? I guess the demons are just humans when you pull their skin off.” 

The conversation tapered off, but one thing kept going off in his head. Was he wrong about the Goddess? Maybe She wasn’t the bad one, but perhaps the mortals that controlled Her image when She could not defend herself. It was the Central Temple who controlled who could read the Texts, what to celebrate, who to hate. It was the Central Temple that built up legions of knights to follow their word-- it didn't matter if they were pious, as long as they followed the orders of the priests in the Temple. 

They controlled the culture, their lives. It didn’t matter if the town didn’t have any overly religious people before-- religion was the mud they first made their houses with. It was the concrete that supported their houses, and it was the support beams that protected them from high winds. There would be no country, no government without the Central Temple because the Central Temple would have it no other way. It was so well-entwined with the secular institutions that to get rid of it and worship in a new way would be to completely upheave the current systems. 

That probably scared people. That was why they sought comfort within the normalcy and consistency the Temple had to offer-- blame it on the Goddess’ mood swings rather than the core issue-- if it even was the core issue. Simple prayers don’t feed the starving children or house the homeless or cure the sick-- it was a sham-- the Temple was a sham.

Tommy had been misdirected-- his hate was for this Goddess who was probably too busy to care about such small things rather than the greed of the people who directly caused the issues. 

The cogs in Tommy’s head continued to turn all afternoon, even when Wilbur pulled him in to do a quick one act play with him, with Techno acting as some sort of director. It was just a bunch of nonsense for hours. The nonsense was the best part-- there was no rhyme or reason to the way they did things, they simply did it because it made them laugh. 

Tommy even did a special sword dance called ‘The Tommy Dance’ inspired by his Tommy-moves that Phil appreciated and probably appropriated all throughout his travels. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a mountain village that defended their walls with Tommy-moves. 

Phil denied this happening. 

They ate supper together and then Wilbur suggested they go outside to look at fireflies even though they were out of season. “Okay, let’s look at stars.” 

“Stars are also out of season, Wil. Pitch black, baby!” Tommy laughed. 

“Okay… I have it on good authority that there might be a meteor shower tonight,” Wilbur tried once more.

“What authority?”

“The Farmer’s Almanac,” answered Techno. 

“I’m a farmhand. I’ve never heard of that, like, ever.” 

“Guess you’re not as good of a farmhand as you thought,” rebutted Techno.

“Oh, you bitch! You take that back!” 

“No.” 

“Okay, you make a strong argument there, Technoblade. I accept.” 

Techno began to ignore Tommy’s banter while Wilbur went into more detail about their midnight outing. It only served as a reminder that Tommy had to have an answer to give Phil. 

It was a matter of the mind over the heart. His mind told him to be wise and look at this from all angles. He’d be well taken care of with Phil. He’d be abandoning the people he’d known his whole life. He could be happy. He’d never have to know the fate of the town if he didn’t want to. 

And it was a no-brainer, wasn’t it? 

They bundled him up in the cloak he wore when he arrived in the cabin. Techno strapped a sword to his belt, so Tommy did the same with his rapier. His back began to hurt again, no longer sore, but now it felt like something was scratching him from within, clawing an escape route. 

He didn’t want to ruin the meteor shower for Wilbur, so he kept mum. Tommy latched onto the edge of Phil’s cloak as a guide in the dark, the rest of the world obscured save for the soft glow of Phil’s lamp on the forest green cloak. 

They walked for what felt like hours in a direction Tommy could not make out. They finally stopped when Tommy could barely visualize the edge of something-- a cliff, perhaps. There was something bubbling underneath them, something normally tranquil preparing for its final straw. “Let’s set up here,” Wilbur said, and sat down on the ledge, waiting for the rest of them to follow suit. 

They waited in silence. 

The sky was still dark. 

Yet something changed. 

“Well, Tommy? Do you have an answer for us?” asked Phil. 

“I--” Tommy stopped himself. 

This was it. 

He was always waiting for his chance to soar away from this village. He was suffering now, and he could end that. He could live that perfectly peaceful dream, just as he had been these past three days. 

“I choose you,” Tommy choked out, and suddenly Tommy could see everything. 

The sky was alight with brilliant flashes as stars rained down from the heavens, illuminating the world to Tommy, though he would not hear how they exploded and made dips in the earth, in the trees, in houses and in the streets. He would not see it until later. 

He saw the way Phil’s grin reached his ears, how his blue eyes seemed more black than anything-- he saw how Wilbur’s eyes looked almost red and how Techno’s teeth looked sharper. 

And he felt-- oh, he felt the pain in his back maximize, worse than the worst feeling he’d ever felt. It was nothing like the time he had food poisoning from eating old garbage or when he broke his arm trying to work machinery that was much too large or complicated for a child. Tommy gasped for air, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he tried to ground himself because everything was all wrong. 

“I’m so glad to hear that, little angel. I just have one more thing to ask of you,” said Phil, raking his talons-- because that was what they were-- through Tommy’s curls. “I need you to put your faith in us. In all of us. Can you do that for me? Can you do it for Her?” He placed a quick kiss on Tommy's forehead then stood up, not waiting for a verbal response from Tommy.

They were gone by the time Tommy looked back up. 

It was only seconds.

His head had been lowered as he gripped the dirt tightly, holding in a screech. His hands had returned to their previous state, before having met them-- whatever they were. The skin under his nails were messy with dirt and his palms were red and sweaty from holding in the pain. No amount of pain relievers could cure the stabbings in his back, metaphorically and physically. 

He laid there alone trembling as the world came to an end around him. Tommy smelled burning leaves, but he felt little pellets of ice shoot down from above just as well. Thunder roared overhead, and Tommy knew the Goddess’ anger no longer lied solely with the village, but with all of humanity. 

What had they done to deserve all this? Was it Tommy? Was this all a joke on Tommy? Butter him up and then eat him because he dared to question Central Temple and the Goddess’ intentions? 

Were the townspeople right?

No.

No, Phil wouldn’t do this to him. He wouldn’t. 

He knew Phil. Put your faith in me, he said. 

Faith, faith, faith, was that something Tommy ever had? What faith did he have to give at all? 

By the time Tommy had ripped himself out of his head, it was too late.

Dozens of pairs of footsteps approached, stopped in a circular formation right in front of him. When Tommy looked up, he wished he hadn’t. 

Led by the village head, whose face was half man, half charred flesh and bright red, beating flesh, the muscles of his face visible to the naked eye. 

What did Wilbur say again? 

Demons are just humans when their skin is pulled off.

Chapter Text

Niki stared out the window, though she knew how useless it was. No one could see three feet ahead of them, and no human light source seemed to ignite outside.

Three days ago she had sent Tommy on his way to realize the truth about those detractors, and three days later Tommy was gone and it was still dark. 

And something far, far worse-- it laid in her bed, sweating and groaning, half chilled, half boiling, yellow pus dripping out of his swelling sores-- Ranboo, her little brother, was suffering, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

She could clean him the best she could with what little actual water they had, and she could stroke his forehead and tell him stories to distract him from the pain, but her brother was going and he was going quickly. Quicker than the old man at the edge of town, or the brave little girl who spoke her truth, or even the countless cadavers that made a home in the fields that once grew Deshire’s lifeblood. 

After their last meeting at the Donnelly pub, Niki had not heard a word from anybody else. All she knew was that if Tommy had come back, then the darkness would be gone and Ranboo would be healthy again. 

So there were two roads here: Tommy died to the detractors, or he had finally shown his true colors and defected to their side. 

If it were the former, she would mourn the boy like she mourned the rest of the town, cannon fodder to a larger attack on humanity; if it was the latter, then… She would find the boy and kill him herself, even if she was up against some otherworldly demons. 

“Niki,” Ranboo rasped, his hand grasping at the air, hoping to land in Niki’s own. She took his hand and clasped it tightly, even though she knew he was infected. It didn’t matter to her-- Ranboo’s comfort was the only thing that mattered. “I’m thirsty.” 

“I know,” she replied, “I know you are, but I don’t have much left. I’m sorry, Ranboo, I’m so sorry--” 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be like this. I should be helping you--” 

“No,” Niki protested. “No, you just sit tight, Ranboo, I’m going to fix you. You’ll be all better by the evening, I promise.” 

She left him alone in that room with a dwindling basin of water, a cloth over his head, and an old stuffed toy Niki had crocheted for him when Ranboo was younger. She had always taken care of Ranboo first-- he was the reason she never left this village in the first place. She had the opportunity to apprentice under a great baker from the capital, but the death of her parents left her with a small amount of money and a hungry mouth to feed. 

She opened her bakery to put him through school and to finance whatever aspirations he might have later in life, and she did not allow her bitterness towards her situation fester like an infected wound. Ranboo didn’t deserve that. Niki’s situation was a matter between herself and the Goddess.

The Great Woman in the Ground was an old moniker for Her. An all powerful, all knowing deity and Her three little Blesseds that went out to do Her bidding when She could not do it herself. She was the Great Woman in the Ground for She was bound to her realm, save for special circumstances. The only records of her leaving her realm were in the Texts of Muerta, when she was coercing the first Blessed and a second section that foretold the bringing of three more Blesseds. Of course, two of them had come true, but that final Blessed remained steeped in fantasy. 

Niki liked the idea of the Goddess. Even when the town had hardly made time for Her, and the Sunday services were barely filled, Niki was there. She listened intently to the priest’s sermons, always prayed to Her for good luck and for the strength to get through her bad luck. 

When the famine initially came to their fields, she did not think it was the work of the Goddess, and so she prayed for the Goddess to bless them with fertile fields. When the frogs came, it became clear something was ill with their town. Someone had poisoned a well for the Goddess to demonstrate her powers in the name of Her anger. 

A man who was not really a man had visited her bakery a few weeks before the first plague. A green cloak with tufts of black sticking out at the ends, a rimmed hat that veiled the threats in his eyes-- this being darkened the world with each and every step. Niki remembered the instantaneous fear she felt when he approached her, asking for a scone and nothing else. He left her a couple of gold coins, though upon further inspection, she found they weren’t Byssine’s currency. They were real gold-- she could taste that all the same-- but the inscription was an old language, similar to the one the Texts of Muerta were written in and the carving of a baby bird perched on a single finger. 

A few weeks later, after the first plague, another stranger came into her shop-- brown eyes that bled crimson, sharp canines, and a sharp style of dress that would not be observed in any part of this town. The only friendly thing about him was his fluffy brown hair that dipped over his face and saved bystanders the fright of having to look at his menacing glare. This one came only to look around the shop it seemed, smelling the air before dropping a whole bag of those same gold coins on her counter before leaving with a smirk. 

Niki never had the privilege of having the third stranger as a patron, but she saw him in the Temple, whispering to Tommy, distracting him from the meeting and the prayers. That boy, Tommy, was a performer through and through. He acted the way people wanted him to act to survive-- he’d be a paperboy and a farmhand, he’d worship a Goddess half-heartedly if it meant survival. 

All three of those strangers were enigmas and brought chills to the people they passed. They were off-putting, but Niki wasn’t sure of anything until the fountain incident. When that monster pushed Tommy into the fountain like that little girl said and the blood began to come out, that was when they started showing their true colors. 

Niki wasn’t clear on why they were doing this. She looked to the Temple for answers, to her Goddess. The priest and the village head heard her pleas and gave her answers. There were detractors. Demons who were trying to destroy their way of life in the name of discord, and Niki knew instantly who these demons were. 

The town knew too, they knew it was those leeches hanging around the orphan farmhand. Why would a boy less fortunate than all of them come out of the forest with full cheeks and lively eyes every other day? Why did he never seem to become ill with the plagues the rest of them suffered from? His landlady, Mrs. Donnelly, reported seeing frogs everywhere in her husband’s pub and their living quarters except for Tommy’s living space. 

It wasn’t until Niki had visited Tommy’s living space for the first time, seeing no altar even though the rest of the town had them in their parlors, that Niki knew Tommy was the cause. The demons knew he was easy pickings for he already lacked faith. His faith was performative-- he would go to the services, but who would pretend to be a worshiper in their own skin? 

Niki shook her head to snap herself out of her own reverie. She couldn’t lose focus while Ranboo was up there suffering. She had to get supplies; she had to find the doctor, darkness be damned! She’d venture into worse circumstances for Ranboo. 

Niki wrapped herself in her blue cloak and lit a candle, even when she knew that it would be snuffed out the moment she took a step outside. 

So it was. She couldn’t even see the smoke join the air. She could see her body but barely, even looking down at her own nose was a difficult task, but it was enough to begin walking in a direction. She knew this town like the back of her hand. Her family had lived here for generations. It didn’t matter if her eyes were blind, for her heart knew what lay ahead. 

Niki was at the Donnelly pub in only a few short minutes. She knocked three times before Mrs. Donnelly came to the door, her stringy hair down to her back and her eye bags quickly following after. A momentary flicker of surprise crossed the older woman’s face before she widened the door for Niki to enter. 

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced, but I need to see Tommy’s apartment.” 

“The boy hasn’t returned since he first left with that demon’s sword,” Mrs. Donnelly replied with a tinge of annoyance in her voice, though it was not directed at Niki. 

“That’s alright. I don’t need to see him, but what’s in his apartment.” 

“Oh? What’s in there?” 

“Ranboo’s sick,” Niki confessed. “I don’t have enough of anything to treat him, much less keep him comfortable.” 

“You think that rotten boy has anything?” 

“I know he does.” Mrs. Donnelly wasted no time in showing her up the stairs, admitting that she lost the key to get into Tommy’s room, but she suspected Tommy had stolen it to monopolize his privacy privileges. Niki shrugged and apologized in advance for Mrs. Donnelly’s door. 

With one fell swoop, Niki’s boot was creaking over the door as she stepped through the threshold of the miniscule space. Mrs. Donnelly’s jaw dropped. 

“My door!” she screeched, pulling at her hair. 

“I’ll pay for the repairs,” Niki said, knowing what it would mean if she had the chance to pay for the repairs. 

“There’s no altar,” Mrs. Donnelly noted as she snooped around the small space meant to act as a living room and kitchen. There was a ripped up two seat sofa next to the door while the other side of the room was a counter, a basin, and a rickety old table with two chairs. Niki didn’t care much for the superfluous-- she looked for more pointed things. 

Water. Food. Bandages. 

There were no bandages in Tommy’s apartment, but he certainly had everything else. It was real, clean water sacked away next to a water basin meant for washing. Tommy had been using this clean water to wash himself rather than give it to all the thirsty people of the village. 

He had bread too, and not the kind from the ration packages, but crunchy baguettes and sweet rolls. 

“I can’t believe this damned rat!” Mrs. Donnelly snapped. “Hoarding all these good things for himself when I’m struggling to feed poor Mr. Donnelly on his deathbed. I fed him, housed him, and gave him work when no one in Deshire would, and this is how he thanks me?” She threw the bread over the counter and onto the table for Niki to see. 

Niki showed Mrs. Donnelly the bottle of water before stashing it back in her small satchel. 

Mrs. Donnelly moved over to the table, her hand hovered over the bread as Niki’s breath picked up. She could not let that woman touch the bread anymore. 

Niki lunged for the package, ripping it from her grasp. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Donnelly.” 

“What are you doing? I need something for Mr. Donnelly! You give that back!” 

“I need this for Ranboo. You understand, don’t you?” Niki said with an awkward smile, already walking backwards to make her exit. Mrs. Donnelly, however, was not one to go down without a fight. She launched herself at Niki, her long nails scraping down the side of Niki’s arm, leaving claw marks that dripped down onto the wood with a quiet splatter. 

“It’s in my house, it’s mine, girl! I don’t give a fuck about your dying brother--” 

“I don’t give a fuck about your dying husband!” Niki retaliated with a kick to the thigh, pushing Mrs. Donnelly away from her. The woman fell back, tripping on one of the chairs that had been pushed out from the table and fell back, her head hitting the corner of the table.

The light left her eyes before she could even scream. 

Niki slapped a hand over her mouth to cover her own screams, but it was a pointless gesture, seeing as nothing came out. She looked down at the bread and water in her hands and took a deep breath, swallowing back the cry that was caught in her throat. 

Without a word, Niki was out of the pub and on her way back to the bakery. She discarded her cloak on the ground and ran up the stairs to her and Ranboo’s apartment, throwing the door open. 

“Ranboo! Ranboo, I’m back! I have some water you can drink!” There was no response. “Ranboo?” 

As she crept closer to the bed, observing the overwhelming stillness of the room, from the dry air to the lack of ripple in the water basin to the stilted position Ranboo’s own body was in, Niki was hit with a sudden realization.

“Ranboo!” she cried, throwing the food and water over her shoulder and crashing to her brother’s side. She reached for his hand which laid heavy at his side, her fingers moving up to his wrist to feel for a pulse and let out that cry she was holding in when she felt absolutely nothing. 

It couldn’t be. 

Niki felt his face, his sunken cheeks and his widened eyes, a telltale sign that he never could’ve been asleep. The Goddess had taken him. “No, no, no,” she wept. She had killed a woman to bring this boy food and water, to ease him in these moments of trouble, and yet when Ranboo truly needed her, she was gone. He died frightened and alone.

How could the Goddess ever forgive her for such a heinous crime? How could Ranboo? In his last moments, he had no hand to hold, no one to stroke his cheek and tell him it was alright. Niki’s only job was to protect Ranboo-- she gave everything up to protect Ranboo, why take him? 

Why did the plagues take him?

Why did that rotten orphan boy have to be so weak as to listen to those demons and let them destroy their town, destroy their people! 

Niki didn’t know how long she stayed like that, holding the hand of a corpse, but when her door knocked, she answered readily. The only people she’d seen throughout these days of darkness kept coming out as ghosts. She was ready to see a survivor. 

Through the candlelight, she could barely make out Tubbo’s outline. He had visited early on the first day of darkness, as he had visited consistently throughout that week knowing of Ranboo’s illness. He had not come yesterday or that very morning, so it was quite odd he was here now. 

She opened the door. “How is Ranboo?” asked Tubbo, pushing past Niki to enter without permission.

“Gone.” 

Tubbo stopped in his tracks. “What?” 

“He’s gone.” 

“Like, gone gone?” 

Niki nodded, the sadness weighing her entire body down, making it a difficult task to even pull her head back up. She felt as though she might fall through the floors and into the earth and be swallowed by the Woman. 

Tubbo raced upstairs, a gut wrenching howl echoing through the empty building. Niki dragged herself up the stairs, standing in the doorway as she watched Tubbo wail into Ranboo’s unmoving chest. 

“I was too late,” Niki admitted, staring at the bread and water on the floor. “I was too late for him.” 

Tubbo didn’t answer, too busy washing his face with his grief. 

“Why did you come?” Niki finally asked when Tubbo’s cries became inaudible, just white knuckles and dry heavings. 

“I came to check on Ranboo. I came-- I came to see him.” 

“This is Tommy’s fault,” Niki spat. “You know it too.” 

“It’s not. He’s being led astray--”

“How long will you defend him? I last saw him leave town three days ago. He has yet to return. He’s gone to those demons-- he wanted this town to burn. He wanted Ranboo to die.” 

“Stop it, stop it, stop it! Tommy wouldn’t do that! I know him better than anyone else in this world--” 

“Do you want to know where I got that bread and water?” Tubbo remained slack jawed, staring at Niki with expectation. “His apartment. In his dingy little apartment, I found good bread. I found water that he washed his face with. Not even to drink. He’s too rich to drink this sort of water. Don’t you think he looks better, Tubbo? Better than before the plagues had even started?”

Tubbo nodded, his face riddled with hesitance. “Yeah.”

“You know why.”

“It’s not his fault. Look at how he’s lived. If you had his life, wouldn’t you be enticed by what demons had to offer?”

“No, no I wouldn’t!” Niki laughed harshly. “I wouldn’t be selfish and leave my town to die! My community! If he had more faith in the Goddess, this wouldn’t have happened!”

She could still save them. If they just went to the Temple and prayed for forgiveness one last time, now that they knew exactly what to ask, then perhaps the Goddess would finally have mercy on all of them. 

Niki yanked on Tubbo’s arm and pulled him downstairs with him. Goddess, it was so late. How long had she been sitting there, just her and Ranboo? How long had she watched Tubbo and Ranboo? 

“Where are we going?” Tubbo screeched, trying to pry Niki off of him.

“The Temple! We have to go to the Temple--”

“Wait, stop! Do you hear that?” Niki paused, her head whipping around in both directions before settling on the display window, something novel lighting up the outside world. They could finally see the cobble on the streets, the lampposts, the buildings across the street. 

They could see the fire and ice damning them all. 

Spits of lava and rocks of ice came down from above and flooded the streets. A loud crashing noise not far from the bakery shot through the air, shaking the floorboards, and rattling the people inside. 

“What was that?” Tubbo said, moving past Niki to open the bakery door a lick to poke his head out. He instantly moved back inside after surveying outside. 

“What? What is it?”

“A-- a star fell from the sky! It hit the Hilden house!”

The village head. 

“Don’t move, Tubbo. We stay here. It’s dangerous,” said Niki. She had to stay close to Ranboo’s body. If her house was to be hit by a falling star next, then she could at least do one last thing as an older sister and protect her brother’s body, even if his soul had long departed. 

The only thing she could ever do for him.

They went back upstairs to Niki’s parlor. She knelt in front of Her altar and clasped her hands together, lowering her head in reverence. Please have mercy on us. We’ll bring the boy to justice, just… Please have mercy. 

A crash from downstairs, screaming, and the brutal sound of flesh meeting flesh made both occupants of the living room jump to their feet. They were incoherent, not a linear line of thinking from the people fighting downstairs.

They had crashed through the display window, fists in each other’s faces, a knife embedded in the pinned down man’s thigh. “Stop it!” Niki called, grabbing the bat she always kept from behind the counter and knocking it twice on the ground.

She knew these men-- they were patrons of hers-- Mr. Jeffries and Mr. Connors. Mr. Jeffries used to play the piano on Sundays at the Temple and directed the choir, and Mr. Connors’ family came from a long line of cobblers. They made the best shoes in Deshire. Why were they fighting? 

Why was it raining fire? 

Why was the world ending?

Ranboo was lucky he had gone away before the flames. 

Mr. Connors, who was straddling Mr. Jeffries, looked up at Niki with the bat in her hand. “You stay out of this, girl!” 

“You’re in my bakery. Get off Mr. Jeffries now.” Tubbo came from behind Niki and began to pry the two old men apart. Mr. Jeffries immediately scrambled away, his back hitting the counter with a harsh thud. 

“You looted my shop! I knew you were manifesting it burning to the ground, you old leech!” Mr. Connors screeched, pointing a spiny finger at Mr. Jeffries.

“You think I have time to worry about your stupid shop, leatherface? Look around, Connors, I have more important things to worry about!” 

“Explain why shoes are missing from my store? Explain why your boy’s wearing a nice new pair of boots with my mark on it!” 

“You’re a blind old bat, Connors, you know that? Everyone’s got a nice new pair of shoes-- we’ve all been taking from you!” 

Mr. Connors let out a guttural war cry before lunging for Mr. Jeffries’ throat once more. Mr. Jeffries, on his part, was better prepared for Mr. Connors attack by taking out the knife in his thigh and thrusted it in front of him, causing Tubbo to intervene once more, boosting Mr. Connors away with his shoulder. 

“Enough!” Tubbo screamed. “Can’t you see the world’s falling apart enough outside without you two making it worse?” 

It wasn’t just the bakery where chaos found a home. Outside sounded like a plane made for nothing but torture. Wails of lost hope and disillusionment harmonized with each other all around Deshire, the onslaught of falling stars still not being able to drown out the misery of the people. It was a special thing to be so miserable as to overpower the falling heavens. 

“Tubbo. We have to get to the Temple.” 

“Still?” 

“Yes.” Before they left, Niki ran back upstairs to Ranboo’s bedroom to check on him one last time. There was a chance she’d never see his face again. At his bedside, beside the water basin was a familiar brown pouch of coins, one Niki had left locked in the drawer of her nightstand one hot summer night. 

The green demon’s coins. 

Niki unlaced the pouch, surprised to see only two coins when she could’ve sworn there was a whole handful of them before. How did they get here?

Niki stared at Ranboo’s face, entranced by the stillness. His eyes were still wide open-- she had not closed them and neither had Tubbo. Niki dropped the two coins into her hand and gently placed them upon Ranboo’s eyelids, praying for a chance at Peace for him. 

The journey to the Temple was a perilous one.

No one was safe. 

Lifelong neighbors were enemies, brothers and sisters were strangers, and any sense of order that was attempted to be established by the Templar Knights was overrun by the terror the citizens of Deshire were feeling. 

Niki and Tubbo kept close to the walls and the alleys, and if anyone looked at them wrong she just had to give them a nasty glare and raise her bat for them to stand down. 

A large crowd surrounded the Temple, where Father Dream stood at the entrance with Sir Punz and Sir Sapnap flanking him in an attempt to keep everyone out. “Go back to your homes for now! Do not stop to speak to anyone--” 

“Our houses are on fire!” someone called from the crowd.

“My daughter’s dead!” a different voice wailed. All at once, the townspeople began to voice their grievances, closing in on the priest. The Templar Knights stepped in front of the priest, swords and shields drawn and ready to attack. 

Niki and Tubbo stepped forward to join the crowd, but stopped when a sword was pressed against their necks. “Don’t move,” Dame Puffy threatened, coming around from behind them, her sword remaining perfectly still despite the knight’s hands shaking. “Go back.” 

“I can’t go back,” Niki said. “I have to get to the Temple; I have to pray.”

“You can’t. Can’t you see the sky’s alight? It’s not just Deshire, Niki. It’s everywhere. All of Byssine is burning to the ground right now.”

“What did we do?” cried Niki. “What did we do to deserve this?” 

Puffy dropped her sword to her side. “It’s not us. It can’t be us. I saw a demon here. Pink hair, passing off as a knight. He’s leeched himself onto--”

“--Tommy,” Tubbo finished. “Only a blind person would see those creatures as human.”

“What do we do?” Niki’s question didn’t remain unanswered for long. Climbing out of the wreckage in a line of townhouses was the old village head, half his body unrecognizable, smoke coming off his face, arms, and chest. 

Mrs. Hilden did not come out. 

“My people!” Mr. Hilden called, waving his good hand for the attention of the crowds. Everyone stopped when they heard his voice. “My people, our good town of Deshire is in ruins! My house is rubble! My wife, bless her to Peace, is dead. She told me three days ago: ‘There is a boy among our ranks who has been playing with fire, conspiring with the demons that we sought to deny.’ The reason our Goddess has been so angry is because we have allowed them into our village, allowed the detractors to poison our well. We can fix this!” Yes, yes, yes! They could fix this! Their Goddess could have mercy on them! “I say we find the boy! We string him up! Offer him to the Goddess as an apology for our blindness. Our indifference! And when the sky clears once more, we rebuild, as humans have done thousands of times over! We will have our Goddess’ blessing once more!” 

The crowd roared with approval, already private conversations started on which weapons to bring, who had the best dog to sniff out the boy, or who would hit the final nail in Tommy’s coffin. 

“No,” Tubbo whispered. “He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into-- Tommy’s living in a dream right now, he doesn’t understand what he’s doing--” 

“Does it matter, Tubbo?” Puffy said sharply. “He has still caused irreparable damage even if he didn’t ‘mean it.’ If the only way to fix this is for Tommy to go, then… I’m sorry, but I’d rather Tommy goes then the entire world dies.” 

“Niki,” Tubbo pleaded. “Please, you have to help me save Tommy.” 

“Tubbo, you were Ranboo’s friend, so I’ll only say this once. Go back to your family. Stay out of it. Tommy’s fate is out of your hands.” 

Tommy’s wrists and ankles were bound. He was dragged by his arms, his legs digging a path in the ground as they brought him to the fields, where it all began.

To make matters worse, the crowds were chanting and singing cheerful drinking songs as they escorted him to his grave. It was the same place Tommy spent hours dumping bodies of the boils victims or the people who simply could not take the torment of living through the times. 

The smell made Tommy’s eyes water and his nose scrunch, a personal torture that he could not cover his face with his arm. 

He had tried to fight them off. He held his rapier steady in his hands and ran through the moves Phil and Techno taught him. He kept his feet steady, he played to his strengths, but all the technique in the world didn’t change one irrevocable truth: Tommy was just a boy, and they were dozens of men and women with unadulterated hatred focused on one singular being-- Tommy.

It didn’t help that his back had begun pulsing, as if it were breathing, something daring to sprout out of his shoulder blades if he relaxed enough. 

When they had finally reached the burial site, Tommy found it was much worse than he anticipated, for he was not to be buried like the normal dead.

Initially, Tommy did find it odd that only a dozen or so people went hunting for him, but now he understood why.

The other half of the town had come here with wooden planks and nails, building a cross to showcase to the world that their great villain, a fourteen year old boy, was caught and offered up to the Goddess they worshiped. A Goddess that had turned Her back on them because they were such wretched, evil people.

Tommy would not hide it anymore; that was just how he thought now. He thought he didn’t deserve to be treated like this just because he lived life at a lower station. Because he’d been fighting his entire life to play at the same difficulty of life as the rest of the world. 

“String him up!” one of the men holding onto him called, swinging Tommy’s entire body forward so he was laying in a fetal position in front of the cross. Instantly, extra hands were on him, pulling him in every direction: up, down, left, right. 

They cut the ropes on his limbs and held him tightly against the wood. There were already nails pressed into the wood that the townspeople tied him to with small pieces of rope rather than nailing his palm into the wood. 

They did the same with his other arm and his two legs. No amount of struggle released him from this embarrassment. 

“Let him go! Please, let him go! It’s not his fault!” Over the hatred was a voice full of light, emblazoning a path through the crowd. “Let him go!” 

Tubbo.

Tubbo! Tubbo hadn’t abandoned him! He was right there, pushing his way through Tommy’s tormentors with an axe in his hands. 

“Get out of here!” someone screamed. 

“Leave, kid!” another demanded. 

“No!” Tubbo snarled. “Let Tommy go! He’s just as much of a victim as the rest of us! Killing him won’t fix anything!” 

“You don’t know that!” the village head replied. “And we lose nothing by trying.” 

“You’ll have to go through me if you want to kill him,” said Tubbo, swinging his axe in front of him to fend off anyone who got too close. 

“Not a problem,” one of the Templar Knights smirked-- Sir Punz. “Say your prayers.” With the downswing of a sword, Tubbo was sprawled on the ground in front of Tommy’s cross before anyone could even process a reaction. 

“Tubbo,” Tommy gasped. “Tubbo!” he screamed, pushing all his pain into one startled call. 

Tubbo disagreed with him, denied him, but he still came back. He still came back for Tommy, and what did that get him? A massive cut in the middle of his chest, blood pouring out into a massive puddle that made everyone step back. 

Tommy could feel his fingers tightening under the tight grip he held them in, his legs bouncing, his inner cheeks bleeding as he stopped himself from screaming out. They had not even physically cut him yet, and somehow they had already inflicted the worst pain possible.

These people were beyond saving.

They were evil. Evil, evil, evil and they deserved every bit of suffering the Goddess threw at them. Tommy couldn’t believe he ever hated the Goddess for punishing them-- if he were in Her position, looking down on these little creatures that only existed to hurt each other, he too would want to make them learn their lessons in a way they would remember. 

Put your faith in us. 

Tommy had hours to think it over, reflect on every single interaction he ever had with Philza, Wilbur, and Technoblade. Every piece of food, every lasting glance, every moment of foreshadowing-- he remembered them all. It did not erase the kinder times from his mind.

Because after all this, the townspeople still had it wrong. 

They were not demons.

They were the very thing the town, the country, the world fought so hard to impress and praise. Though they did not appear the way the people imagined-- they did not fit the image, the narrative the Temple had created, and so rather than worship them, the people scorned them.

The Goddess’ Blesseds. 

The first, a winged man who fell to his Death. 

The second and third, a pair of brothers that fought through life and into Death.

A bird and two boars. 

Suddenly, Tommy was brought back to that story Phil told him on the first day of darkness-- the story of the first Blessed-- Phil’s story. He had to prove himself to the Goddess that he was worthy of being with her and away from the mortals. 

Put your faith in us.

This was Tommy’s cliff moment, wasn’t it? He just had to get through this, and then they’d come for them. All of them would. Not just Philza, Wilbur, and Technoblade, but the Goddess too. 

She wanted him too. 

She never hated him. She’d always loved him. She chose him. 

Tommy closed his eyes, his head falling forward as he did something he’d never done in his life.

He prayed.

A real, genuine prayer. 

This time he was not sitting in the Temple staring at the cold and detached statue with nothing but malice in his eyes. He was not standing in the corner singing terrible psalms about a character some mortals made up off an old, mistranslated book. 

He was in his own mind, thinking long and hard, and oh, how he loved the Goddess. She would take care of him if he just let Her in like he let Phil in. 

I believe in you, I believe in you, I believe in you. Please have mercy on me. 

It was a new, overwhelming, but beautiful feeling to have so much faith, so much trust in one thing. It almost made him forget his exploding back, the fire rain pelting them from above, and the fact that he was tied to a cross in a field of his peers, surrounded by the living that wanted him to disappear in appeasement to their character.

“I hate you,” he snarled, a long grin piercing his face. “I hate all of you! I want to kill every last one of you!” He shook in his ties, kicking and screaming at the sky as he repeated those words over and over again. 

“We’re doing the right thing,” someone said, someone familiar. 

The baker. 

She had a haunted look and a dagger in hand while standing next to Dame Puffy and Dame Hannah. 

“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” Tommy spat. 

She glared at him before turning to the village head. “Dawn is coming soon. We can end the darkness and the fire now. What are we waiting for?” 

The village head smiled, shaking his head as if he just heard a joke. “Absolutely nothing. Alright, who would like to do the honors?” 

Niki was the first to raise her hand. The village head and the priest gestured for her to begin. She looked down at her dagger, tracing the blade with her finger before looking up at Tommy. “I’ll make it quick.”

“Fuck you!” 

Dame Hannah and Dame Puffy came to Niki’s aid in an attempt to reach Tommy’s neck. With the blade on the side of his neck, she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “This is for Ranboo,” and with a clean slice only a culinary expert could really have, the three women were sprayed with the red of a child. 

Tommy’s eyes bulged, his entire life flashing before his eyes. The frozen alleys, the sweaty summers, skipping stones with Tubbo, sword fighting with Technoblade.

That beautiful dream. 

Just as it started, it ended. 

A golden haired boy not yet fifteen slumped over on display for the whole town to see, and Niki stepped down, her entire front covered in the crime. 

It was a slow applause before it became a full eruption of cheers. That same mood they had when dragging him over returned.

They were free now.

They were free now, right? 

The dawn approached swiftly. Someone pointed at the horizon and saw the sun; someone began to weep. 

There was no more ice, no more fire. The darkness dispelled, making way for reds, oranges and streaks of blue. They could see the clouds again. The air felt pure once more. 

Still, something was off-- something not quite right.

As the sun continued to rise, the feeling grew, until everyone quietened down and stared at the cross, how the body was just a silhouette with the light overcasting it. They stared at the boy covered in red, just like how he looked when he climbed out of that fountain. They stared at the boy at his feet, terror clinging to his corpse, knuckles white as he held onto that axe. 

“We did the right thing,” Niki said again, her eyes fixated on the sunrise. 

In an instant, those that admired the view covered their faces when something grotesque shot out of the cadaver’s back, one and then one again. The new appendages flared out and all at once it caused nothing but shame to well up in the people present.

Beautiful golden wings stretched out, flecks of blood splattered on the otherwise pristine wings. They curled up, bordering the rising sun, and with a sharp inhale, Niki knew she had sorely miscalculated. 

The Woman in the Ground was not hers. She had gotten it all wrong. Tommy was not the criminal, they were. They were being punished on Tommy’s behalf. 

Oh, they had it all wrong.

Because Tommy was the fourth Blessed. 

From the shadows, four figures appeared, three of which the people of Deshire were very familiar with, and the last was one the people thought they were familiar with, but soon realized they knew very, very little about. 

They did not move. They stood in place, watching as the scene continued when the rest of the town thought the play had ended. 

In a slow movement, Tommy’s head rolled up, his blue eyes sharper and colder, as were his teeth. He was able to rip the ropes off his arms and legs in one movement, landing in front of Tubbo’s body, his wings flared up in a protective stance. 

“I hate you,” he said definitively. “I hate you all!” 

“No, please!” The village head cried. “We didn’t know. Oh Blessed One, we didn’t know!” 

Tommy paid them no mind, instead turning to the four figures in the shadows. The woman stepped out from the group, coming forward and grasping Tommy’s hands. “You had faith. I’m proud.” 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his eyes becoming misty as an unknown feeling blocked his chest and his throat as he gazed upon this woman. He knew Her so well; She was so familiar, yet he had never even met Her. “I’m sorry I didn’t before.” 

She shushed him. “It’s alright, sunshine. Everything’s alright now. You’re safe now.” 

The other three came up from behind the Goddess, patting one part of Tommy. “Welcome home, Tommy,” said Technoblade. 

“What do you want to do now, my little angel? How would you like to leave them?” asked the Goddess, not even bothering to look at the crowd, who could not walk away from their crimes. They were too entranced by Her divinity, her celestial presence. 

“They killed Tubbo.” 

“We’ll do things the way you want to.”

Tommy turned back to the crowd. They all stared at him wide eyed with fear. Every kick, every stingy payment, every malicious glare they ever sent his way was now being replayed in their heads, hoping that if they erased it from their minds Tommy would magically forget about it as well. 

But he never forgot.

Only one person looked at him with no regrets. In fact, she did not even look at him at all, but at the Goddess.

The baker. 

“How could you?” she asked. “I prayed to you. I loved you. Everything I did was for you.” 

“Oh, my dear,” the Goddess said, hiding her smirk under her fan. “You were praying to a creature I do not know. I do not ask those things of you.” 

“But-- but--” she spluttered. “My brother! You killed him then, in cold blood, for what?” 

“He died of illness as a result of your town’s abuse towards my son. A result of your town’s illness as a whole. You poisoned your own well.” 

Niki fell to her knees, clawing at the dirt, as if she dug far enough she would eventually be swallowed up and enveloped by the Woman in the Ground, not whoever this monster in front of her was. 

“Well, sunshine? What’ll it be?” asked Wilbur, smoothing out Tommy’s matted bangs. Wilbur dug through his pockets and pulled out two coins, a currency unrecognizable to Tommy, and dropped them in Tommy’s palm. Instinctively, Tommy knew what to do. He knew to kneel down in front of Tubbo and close his eyes. He knew to place the coins steady on his eyelids, kiss him gently on the forehead. 

He knew to say goodbye. 

“I never want to have to think about them again,” Tommy decided, dusting himself off and turning away to fall into Philza’s open arms. 

“Done,” the Goddess said with a smile, sending a look to her older sons. “A gift to your brother. What do you think?” 

Wilbur and Technoblade traded toothy grins as they gave each other the same look, turning back to the horrified town as the two Blesseds closed in on them while the Goddess and her two birds left for home. 

Their true home. 

In a different realm, a different reality was a small house on a grassy hill, a dirt path leading to a low porch, a rocking chair and a hanging bench in front of the windows. A colorful burst of flowers tucked into a clean bed of dirt, well taken care of. 

It was similar to the cabin they spent the time of darkness in, but much more personalized to the residents this time. There were paintings in the hall, books left in the middle of the couch cushions, a shelf of curiosities in the corner of the living room. 

There was a bedroom for each son, a special touch of the individual in each of them.

On the dining table that seated five was a buffet of foods. Chocolate cake with thick frosting, pastries, rich meats, and fresh vegetables. 

It was almost like he had already lived a life here before in a dream.

When his brothers returned, steeped in blood, they grabbed Tommy by the back of the neck and pulled him for a tight hug. Tommy’s wings fluttered at the contact, causing Philza and Kristin to laugh. 

They sat down to eat. Tommy was nervous to touch anything, scared that if he did, the mirage would fade and he would be back in that field with his throat still slit. But it didn’t. It was real. It was delicious. 

Kristin grabbed Tommy’s non-dominant hand and squeezed it, a wide smile on her face. Everyone looked at Tommy. 

“What?” he asked, returning their smiles with a cheeky grin. “Is there something on my face?” 

“No,” said Phil. “We’re just happy you’re finally here with us.” 

“Me too.” 

Time did not move the same here as it did on the mortal plane. There was no beginning and end, no morning or night. The colors of the sky changed at Kristin’s whim. Sometimes it was cold simply because Kristin liked the feeling of being near fire. Sometimes it was warm because Wilbur expressed he wanted to go swimming. 

There was no greater purpose and there was no escape. There was no reason for need, for Tommy had everything he wanted. And though it would be many, many centuries before Tommy felt he was ready to enter the mortal plane again, he was fine staying where he was with his family, enjoying the little things. 

Sometimes it felt like that little blip of time in that town was the real dream, so long ago that it slowly faded far from Tommy’s memory until the four deities successfully kept their promise, and Tommy never thought about those times ever again. 

And on Kristin and Phil’s part, they would consider this a success. This son came much kinder and quieter than the other two-- and though Technoblade and Wilbur had warmed up to their roles and statuses eventually, it was hard for the entire world at first. 

Truly, it was best to break him down until he loved nothing else but them, and then love him back with everything he had ever missed.